Alpine Embrace

Chapter 16

There is something inherently unfair about gravity. It pulls harder on some people than others.

Or maybe it was just Jaxon Hale.

We were gliding across the center ice. Jaxon was skating backward, his movements effortless and fluid, while I clung to his forearms like they were the only solid things in the universe. My boots slid clumsily on the ice, but he adjusted his grip, balancing us both with a casual strength that made my knees weak.

"Relax your knees," he murmured, his face inches from mine. "You're locking up. If you lock up, you fall."

"I am relaxed," I lied through clenched teeth. "I am the epitome of chill."

"You're vibrating, Kelsea."

"That's just... enthusiastic shivering."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my hands. "Look at me. Don't look at your feet."

I looked up. His gray eyes were warm, crinkled at the corners. For a second, the empty arena disappeared. It was just us. The cold air, the scrape of his blades, the heat radiating off him.

"See?" he whispered. "You're doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Trusting me."

My breath hitched. "Randomly, I have always trusted you since we met, Jaxon. You dug me out of a snowbank."

"Yeah," he said, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "But that was survival. This is... something else."

He slowed to a stop. We were in the center face-off circle. The silence was thick, charged with electricity. He let go of one of my arms and reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face. His gloved thumb lingered on my cheek.

"Hale! Get a room!"

The spell shattered.

A loud BANG echoed against the plexiglass boards.

I jumped, nearly slipping, but Jaxon caught me tight against his chest.

We looked toward the tunnel.

A herd of giants had arrived.

Ten or twelve men were pouring onto the bench, hollering, banging their sticks against the boards, and laughing. They were massive. They were loud. And they were all looking at us.

"Showtime," Jaxon muttered, though he didn't look upset. He looked... resigned.

He skated us over to the bench, keeping a protective arm around my waist.

"Who is the hostage, Captain?" a voice boomed.

A blonde giant with shoulders the size of a loveseat hopped over the boards and skated toward us. He had a wide, infectious grin that revealed a distinct lack of a front tooth.

"Sven," Jaxon warned. "Back off. She bites."

"I like biters," Sven laughed. He stopped in a spray of ice shavings that coated my boots. He held out a massive gloved hand. "I am Sven. Defense. I keep the bad guys away from Jaxon."

"I'm Kelsea," I said, shaking his hand. It was like shaking a catcher's mitt. "I'm... the neighbor."

"The neighbor!" Sven turned to the other guys, who were now circling us like curious sharks. "She is the Snow Angel! The one from the roof collapse!"

A chorus of "Oooooh" went through the group.

"You survived Jaxon's cooking for three days?" another player asked, a shorter, darker-haired guy. "That is a medal of honor right there."

"I made grilled cheese," Jaxon grumbled. "It was adequate."

"It was excellent," I defended him.

Jaxon looked down at me, surprised.

"See?" Sven slapped Jaxon on the shoulder hard enough to bruise a normal human. "She defends you! Keep her, Hale. The last one just stole your protein powder."

The mood was light, boisterous, and overwhelmingly male. It smelled of testosterone and stick tape. I felt small, uncoordinated, and very aware that I was wearing jeans while they were in gear.

"Alright, clear out," Jaxon ordered, his voice shifting into command mode. "Coach will be here in five. Warm-ups. Let's go."

The herd dispersed instantly. They respected him. It was obvious. Jaxon wasn't just a player; he was the authority.

"I should get off the ice," I said. "Before I get checked into a wall."

"Probably smart," Jaxon agreed. He guided me to the bench door. "Go sit with Mia in the box. It's warmer."

I climbed off the ice, my legs wobbling as I hit the rubber matting.

"Kelsea!"

I turned back.

Jaxon was already skating backward toward the blue line. He winked. A genuine, cheeky wink.

"Nice balance," he called out.

I felt a blush heat my cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.

I found Mia in the VIP box, which was really just a section of seats with a glass partition and a heater. She was coloring in a book, ignoring the chaos below.

"Did Daddy fall?" she asked without looking up.

"No," I said, sitting down and pulling out my sketchbook. "Daddy definitely did not fall."

I watched practice for an hour.

It was brutal. The coach, a terrifying man with a whistle that sounded like a scream, skated them hard. Sprints. Drills. Hitting.

I sketched Jaxon. I drew the curve of his back as he leaned into a turn. I drew the aggression in his posture as he fought for a puck in the corner. I drew the way he tapped his stick on the ice to call for a pass.

He was in his element. He was powerful. He was... hot.

"Ms. Burbank?"

I jumped, nearly dropping my charcoal.

I turned around. Standing in the doorway of the box was a woman.

She was stunning.

She had sleek, dark hair cut in a sharp bob, perfect makeup, and was wearing a tailored wool coat that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. She held a clipboard and a phone.

"Yes?" I said, suddenly conscious of my frizzy hair and Jaxon’s oversized hoodie I was wearing.

"I'm Sabine," she said, her voice cool and accented. "Public Relations for HC Lausanne. Jaxon told me you were up here."

"Oh. Hi."

She stepped inside, looking around the messy box with a critical eye. She looked at Mia, then at me.

"I need to coordinate a statement," she said, tapping her phone. "About the avalanche. The press is asking why Jaxon missed media availability yesterday. We need to control the narrative."

"Okay?" I said. "What does that have to do with me?"

Sabine smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Well, the narrative is that Jaxon was trapped with his daughter. A hero father story. It plays well with the sponsors."

She paused, looking me up and down.

"We don't want to complicate it with... rumors. About a houseguest."

The implication was clear. You are a complication. You are a dirty little secret.

My spine stiffened.

"I'm not a rumor," I said evenly. "I'm a survivor of a natural disaster. And Jaxon did save me. That's part of the hero story, isn't it?"

Sabine’s smile tightened. "Perhaps. But Jaxon is a widower. The fans are very... protective of his grief. A new woman in the house? It looks messy."

"We aren't—" I started to defend myself, to say we aren't together, but the memory of the kiss stopped me.

"Just keep a low profile, darling," Sabine said, turning to leave. "For his sake. He needs to focus on the game. Not on managing a scandal."

She walked out, her heels clicking on the concrete.

I sat there, stunned.

Scandal.

I looked down at the ice. Jaxon was doing laps, skating hard.

Sabine walked down to the bench. I watched as she leaned over the glass. Jaxon stopped skating. He glided over to her.

She put a hand on his arm. She laughed at something he said. She looked perfect, professional, and very much a part of his world.

I looked at my sketchbook. At the drawing of Jaxon.

Suddenly, the drawing felt childish. The paper stars felt silly.

I wasn't a part of this world. I was just the girl he found in the snow.

"Kelsea?" Mia asked. "Why are you erasing the picture?"

I looked down. I was rubbing my thumb over the charcoal drawing of Jaxon, smudging his face into a gray blur.

"Just... fixing a mistake, peanut," I whispered. "Just fixing a mistake."

Down on the ice, the whistle blew. Practice was over.

Jaxon looked up at the box. He scanned the glass until he found me. He raised his stick in a salute.

I forced a wave.

But inside, the cold was creeping back in.