Alpine Embrace

Chapter 17

Friday night in Chamonix was electric. The air vibrated with a low-frequency hum that seemed to come from the mountain itself, but I knew it was coming from the thousands of fans pouring into the arena.

I stood in the family waiting area, clutching Mia’s hand. The hallway was a bustle of activity, security guards, caterers pushing carts of pretzels, and perfectly groomed women in high-heeled boots.

I felt... underdressed.

I was wearing my dark jeans and a gray cashmere sweater I’d salvaged from my suitcase. It was nice, but it wasn't hockey wife nice. I didn't have diamonds. I didn't have a blowout. I had nerves and a six-year-old in a unicorn parka.

"Ms. Burbank?"

A young man in a team polo shirt approached us. He held a black gift box tied with a silver ribbon.

"Delivery from the locker room," he said, handing it to me. "For you. From Captain Hale."

My stomach did a little flip. "Oh. Thank you."

Mia bounced on her toes. "Open it! Is it chocolate?"

I lifted the lid.

It wasn't chocolate.

Nestled in black tissue paper was a jersey.

It wasn't the cheap replica kind they sold in the fan shop. It was the real deal, heavy-duty fabric, reinforced stitching, the fight strap hanging from the back. It was black, with the roaring lion crest of HC Lausanne on the front.

I unfolded it.

On the back, in bold white letters: HALE.

And the number: 44.

A note fell out. I caught it before it hit the floor.

Sabine said you should keep a low profile.

I disagree.

Wear this so I can find you in the crowd.

- J

My heart hammered against my ribs. He had listened. Or maybe he had just sensed the vibe. Either way, he was telling me, and everyone else, exactly where I stood.

I wasn't a secret. I was on the team.

"Put it on!" Mia squealed. "We have to match!"

I pulled the jersey over my head. It was huge on me. The sleeves hung past my hands, and the hem hit my mid-thigh. It smelled like fabric softener and... him.

I rolled up the sleeves. I looked at my reflection in the glass of a trophy case.

I looked ridiculous. I looked like a kid wearing her boyfriend's clothes.

But I also looked... claimed.

"Let's go," I said, grabbing Mia’s hand again. "Game time."

The VIP box was full this time.

When I walked in, conversation stopped.

There were five other women in the box. The WAGs. They were sipping white wine and adjusting their scarves. They looked at me. Then they looked at the jersey.

I saw eyebrows raise. I saw a few whispers behind manicured hands.

"Hi," I said, channeling every ounce of New York confidence I had left. "I'm Kelsea. I'm with... well, I'm with number 44."

A blonde woman near the window turned. She had kind eyes and was holding a baby.

"We know," she smiled warmly. "Sven hasn't shut up about the 'Snow Angel' all week. I'm Lena. Sven's wife."

She pointed to the jersey. "Bold move. Jaxon never gives those out. Not even to his sister."

"He insisted," I said, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

"Good," Lena said, moving over to make space on the plush bench. "He needs a cheering section. Come sit. Do you want wine? It's terrible, but it's free."

I took the seat and the wine. Mia immediately abandoned me to go play with the other kids in the corner play area.

Then, the lights went down.

A laser show cut through the darkness. Heavy bass thumped through the floor. The crowd roared, a deafening, primal sound.

"Mesdames et Messieurs!" the announcer boomed. "Accueillons... H-C... LAUSANNE!"

The team skated out through a giant inflatable lion head. Smoke machines hissed.

And there he was.

Jaxon led the line. He looked terrifying. He was bigger than the other players, broader. He skated with a predatory grace that made the hair on my arms stand up.

He did a lap of the ice, his stick tapping the pads of the goalie.

Then, he stopped at the center circle. He looked up.

He scanned the glass of the VIP boxes.

He saw me.

He saw the jersey.

He didn't smile, he was in game mode, but he tapped his stick against his chest, right over the heart, and then pointed it at the box.

"Did he just..." Lena gasped. "Okay. That was hot."

My face was on fire. "Yeah. It was."

The puck dropped, and chaos erupted.

I had never watched a hockey game live before. TV didn't do it justice. It was fast. It was violent. The sound of bodies slamming into the boards shook the glass in front of us.

Jaxon was a beast.

He played defense, which meant his job was to stop the other team from scoring. He did this by being a wall.

In the first period, a player from Geneva tried to speed past him. Jaxon simply stepped into his path. The collision sounded like a car crash. The Geneva player went flying; Jaxon barely wobbled.

"That's my Daddy!" Mia yelled from the coloring table.

By the second period, the score was tied 1-1. The tension in the arena was thick. Geneva was playing dirty, lots of slashing sticks and late hits.

Then, it happened.

Jaxon had the puck behind his own net. He was looking upfield to make a pass.

Two Geneva players came at him from opposite sides. They didn't go for the puck. They went for him.

One hit him high. One hit him low.

It was a sandwich. A brutal, illegal check.

Jaxon went down. Hard. His helmet slammed against the ice with a sickening CRACK.

He didn't get up.

The whistle blew. A fight broke out immediately, Sven dropped his gloves and started pummeling one of the Geneva players, but I didn't watch the fight.

I watched Jaxon.

He was lying face down on the ice. Motionless.

"No," I whispered. I stood up, pressing my hands against the cold glass. "Get up. Jaxon, get up."

My wine glass tipped over, spilling onto the carpet, but I didn't care.

The trainer ran out onto the ice.

The arena went silent. You could hear a pin drop.

"Is he okay?" I asked Lena, my voice trembling. "Why isn't he moving?"

"He's tough," Lena said, but she looked worried. "Give him a second."

A second felt like an hour.

I felt a cold knot of panic tighten in my chest. It wasn't just concern for a friend. It wasn't just gratitude for a rescuer.

It was sheer, unadulterated terror.

I can't lose him, I thought. I just found him.

Down on the ice, Jaxon moved. He rolled over. He shook his head, looking dazed.

Sven skated over, pulling Jaxon to his feet.

Jaxon swayed. He grabbed Sven's jersey for balance.

The crowd erupted in applause.

Jaxon waved them off. He didn't go to the bench. He skated a slow circle, testing his legs. He rolled his neck.

Then he looked up at the box again. He knew I was watching.

He gave a thumbs up.

I let out a breath that was half-sob. I sank back onto the bench, my legs shaking.

"He's staying in!" Lena exclaimed. "The absolute maniac. He's not even going to the quiet room."

"He's an i***t," I said, wiping a tear from my cheek. "A stubborn, reckless idiot."

"Yeah," Lena grinned, handing me a napkin. "But he's your idiot."

I looked down at the jersey I was wearing. HALE 44.

I looked at the man on the ice, who was currently shouting orders at his teammates, ready to go back into the fray.

"Yeah," I whispered, the realization settling over me like the heavy fabric of the jersey. "I think he is."