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She shakes her head. “I need to do this myself.”

My girl is nothing if not stubborn. It’s one of a million things I fucking love about her. I want to argue. Hell, I want to be there when she breaks the news to Ryan, but the determination in her eyes stops me. She wants to fight her own battles, and I’m smart enough to let her.

“Whatever you need, baby. Just know I’ve got your back.” I pull her tight against my chest and bury my face in her wild hair. She smells like vanilla and rain and pure Harper. “If he gives you any shit, I’ll kick his ass. Hell, I plan to kick his ass on the ice no matter what.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “If he gives me trouble, I’ll kick his ass.”

Fuck yes. She couldn’t be any more goddamn perfect.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HARPER

The steam from my coffee cup rises in a thin, mocking ribbon, disappearing into the ambient noise of the bistro before I can even take a sip. I’ve spent the last ten minutes tracing the grain of the wooden table with my thumbnail, cataloging every imperfection in the varnish while I wait for the storm to arrive. Ryan is late, which probably means he overslept or ran into some fans.

I check my phone for the tenth time, my thumb hovering over Jaxson’s name in my recent messages. He’d sent a meme of a goat licking the camera with the caption: You goats this. I laughed so hard I almost spit my coffee all over my phone screen.

The bell above the door jingles, a sharp, cheerful sound that sets my nerves on edge. Ryan strides in, looking like he owns the place. He spots me and grins.

"Hey, Harp," he says, sliding into the booth across from me and bringing the scent of cold air and expensive cologne with him. He leans over to kiss my cheek. "How’s it going, shorty?"

God, I hate that nickname. “Great, string bean.”

Ryan scoffs, flagging down a waitress with a casual wave of his hand. The waitress arrives, and Ryan orders a massive burger and a side of fries without looking at the menu. I settle for a salad I know I won't eat.

As soon as she leaves, I know the time has come to get my secret out in the open. I can feel the secret pulsing under my skin, a rhythmic thrumming that demands to be let out.

"So," Ryan says, leaning back and eyeing me with his sharp intuition. "What's really going on? You've been weird on the phone the last few weeks. Please don’t tell me you’re dating some middle-aged doctor and you’re quitting work to be his sugar baby."

My brother would probably take that scenario better. "I'm not dating a doctor," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. I take a breath, feeling the air catch in my throat. "But I am seeing someone."

Ryan grins, completely unaware of the cliff we’re standing on. "Spill it."

I look up, meeting his eyes, knowing he isn’t going to like what I’m about to say.

"Ryan, I need you to listen to me before you react," I say, my tone shifting into the one I use with hysterical patients in the trauma bay. "I've been seeing someone. It's serious. More serious than I expected it to be."

Ryan’s smile falters, his brow furrowing as he senses the shift in the atmosphere. "Okay? Why the dramatic buildup? You're a grown woman, Harper. You don't need my permission to date some guy unless he’s a loser."

"It's Jaxson Thorne," I say. The name hangs in the air between us, a physical barrier, cold and immovable. I don't look away. I can't. "I’m in love with Jaxson." It’s a relief to get the words out.

The transition in Ryan’s face is instantaneous. The confusion drains away, replaced by a blank, terrifying stillness that I’ve never seen directed at me. He doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe. He just stares at me as if I’ve suddenly started speaking a language he doesn't recognize.

"Repeat that," he says, his voice dropping an octave, coming out as a low, dangerous rumble. "Slowly."

"I'm in love with him, Ryan," I say, and the admission feels like the first real breath I've taken in weeks. "I didn't plan for it to happen. God knows I fought it. I had the rule. I knew who he was. But the man you see on the ice… that's not all of him. He’s different with me. And your professional rivalry has nothing to do with me."

Ryan’s hands fist on top of the table, the knuckles turning a stark, bloodless white. "He’s my enemy, Harper. My fucking enemy."

"He’s a rival player," I argue, leaning forward, desperate to make him see the man who sends me silly memes and worries about the loneliness of his own success. “Not a mortal enemy.”

He stands up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor like a dying animal. The waitress arrives with his burger, her eyes wide as she looks between us, but Ryan doesn't even acknowledge her. He’s looking at me with a mixture of betrayal and disgust that feels like a physical blow to my solar plexus.

"I can't believe you’d do this to me," he says, his voice trembling with a rage he’s barely contained. "You know my history with him."

"I’m not doing anything to you!" I shout, standing up to meet him. "For once in my life, I chose what made me happy, and it has nothing to do with you. You and Jaxson can have your rivalry on the ice, and it has nothing to do with my relationship with either of you."

"You're betraying me," he spits, the word landing with the weight of a stone.