Her laughter fills the car again, bright against the quiet hum of the heater. “Junk,” she repeats between giggles. “Please tell me someone recorded that. That’s gold.”
“I’m sure one of the guys did,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to blink away the fatigue. “Probably uses it for blackmail.”
“How did that not go public?”
Her question makes me think back to the other PR disasters we’ve barely survived. Penn punching Santa. Jaylynn’s #GobbleGate. The chaos that comes when one stupid thing gets caught on camera.
“We had the place to ourselves,” I tell her. “And none of us are the type to leak that kind of footage. When we can, we protect our own from the media.”
The words hang in the air, heavier than I mean them to be. Maybe it’s the late hour or the way her voice softens when she talks to me, but I find myself watching her out of the corner of my eye.
Do I trust Rowyn?
Yeah. I do.
Her hand slides across the console, brushing mine, a quiet touch that pulls me out of the fog in my head. “Thank God. That would have been horrible for Noah.”
That’s when I remember we were talking about Noah’s fear of spiders. My heart pinches, liking that she feels protective of my teammate. She turns toward the window, watching the city lights smear across the glass like watercolor. “I can’t believe Rip’s grandfather owns the Hart Hotel.” Her voice sounds as tired as mine. “That’s where the WAGs are all going after the playoffs.”
“So you are going?”
“Thinking about it.” She laughs again, the sound soft and tired and still somehow full of life.
I’m dead on my feet—every muscle heavy, my mind foggy—but being here with her? Yeah, I could drive all night.
“What?” I ask, my voice rough with exhaustion and something else I can’t name.
“I was just thinking about that story Gabby told me about Roman dressing up as Mrs. Roper from that old seventies show. You work with quite the fun bunch.”
“I really do.” I smile, thinking about my buddies, and the lives they’ve built here in Boston. Most of them live near me in Beacon Hill, and I see their kids on bicycles, or at the neighborhood playground. Tonight, the place is washed in the soft orange glow of the streetlights, and I’m pretty sure my brain’s on autopilot as I head home.
Rowyn’s phone rings, breaking the cozy silence. She shoots me an apologetic look.
“Sorry, it’s work. I have to take this.”
“Go for it.” My voice is low, scratchy with fatigue, and maybe something else, something that might be loneliness.
While she talks in that low, professional voice, I focus on the road and try not to listen. Her tone shifts between clipped and careful, and I know whatever’s happening isn’t good—or my business. My eyelids feel like sandpaper, and for a second I think about how nice my bed will feel—then the thought of her voice keeps me from fully drifting into that half-dream state.
When she finally hangs up, I glance her way. “Everything okay?”
“Ah…” She stares straight ahead. “Not really.”
There’s something in her tone that makes my stomach tighten. “You okay?”
She hesitates, then looks around. “Um… are you kidnapping me, or does this fake dating come with benefits I don’t know about?”
It takes me a beat to register what she means—then I look out the windshield and realize where I’ve stopped in my driveway.
“Oh, crap.” I drag a hand over my face, yawning hard enough to blur my vision. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Rowyn. I’m so tired I basically let the car drive itself home.”
I reach for the gearshift to back out, but she stops me, her hand sliding gently over mine. Her touch is warm, soft, reminding me I haven’t felt anything like it in a long time. “No, you’re actually too tired to drive. I’m going to get an Uber.”
“I don’t like the idea of you in an Uber alone.”
She gives me that look, the one that’s equal parts exasperation and fond amusement. “Jaxon,” she says, her tone teasing but firm, “Weren’t you the one who said I can take care of myself?”
I rest my head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, and let out a low laugh. “Yeah, well…” I turn toward her, my voice softer now. “Listen, I might be a big-city hockey player, but you and I both know I’m still a small-town boy at heart, with small-town values. And I know it’s old-fashioned, but I invited you out tonight, so that makes me responsible for getting you home safe.”