AGAINST THE ICE

Rory POV Airports always gave me a low-grade headache not because of the noise or the endless security lines, but because airports meant movement. Movement meant change. And I wasn't sure I was ready for the kind of change waiting for me in Vancouver. I stepped into the airport lounge, pulling my carry-on behind me, and found an open seat at the bar. My dress clung to me uncomfortably, thanks to the sticky August heat, and my nerves already had a head start on the alcohol I hadn't even ordered yet. "Gin and tonic," I said to the bartender. "Heavy on the gin." He offered a knowing smile. "Rough day?" "Just heading home," I replied, like that explained everything. In a way, it did. Home. Back to my father, his hockey empire, and the heavy expectations that came with being Mark Ashford's daughter. I'd graduated two months ago with honors, a business degree in hand, and now it was time to step into his world. Whether I wanted to or not. My phone buzzed in my purse. Speak of the devil. "Hi, Mom," I answered. "Sweetheart! Are you at the airport already?" "Yep. Just got to the lounge." "I can’t wait to see you. Your father’s been pacing all morning." That didn’t surprise me. "Tell him to chill. I’m not late." "He’s just… excited. It's a big day. You're finally joining the family business." I bit back a sigh. "Can’t wait." We hung up, and I flagged down the bartender for a refill I hadn’t yet earned. That’s when he walked in. The man who dropped into the seat two stools down radiated the kind of energy that disrupted atmospheres. He had that messily handsome, brooding look, a five o’clock shadow along a chiseled jaw, piercing eyes I couldn’t quite see yet, and a lean but muscular frame under a black T-shirt and jeans. He ordered a whiskey, neat. Of course he did. I glanced at him. Not subtly. He met my gaze like he knew I’d been looking and wasn’t particularly impressed. "You always stare at strangers like that?" he asked. I tilted my head. "Only the ones who look like they walked out of a bad-boy romance novel." That got half a smirk. "You read those?" "No," I lied. "But I hear they all end the same way." He turned slightly toward me, now obviously intrigued. "Which is?" "The girl regrets it." That got a full smirk. He lifted his glass. "I’ll drink that." I looked away, hoping the heat in my cheeks wasn't visible. What was wrong with me? He was a stranger, a hot, infuriating, annoyingly confident stranger but a stranger all the same. I was going home to start a new career, a new life. I didn’t need a distraction. But fate didn’t give a damn about my plans. An hour later, I boarded my flight and nearly lost my breath when I saw him again seated in 2A. He looked up. "You’re kidding." "Nope," I muttered, checking my ticket. 2B. The universe clearly had a sense of humor. I dropped into the seat beside him, avoiding his gaze. The plane was a small private charter, courtesy of my father’s connections. Normally, I'd fly commercial, but this was supposed to be a "welcome home" gesture. Right now, it feels like a punishment. "Afraid of flying?" he asked after takeoff, noticing how I clutched the armrest. "No," I lied. Again. "You look like you’re preparing for a crash landing." I exhaled. "It’s just… turbulence." "You're gripping that armrest like it's a lifeline." I gave him a side glance. "And you're unusually chatty for a guy who broods at airport bars." "Touché," he said, chuckling. Then the plane jerked. Hard. My stomach flipped and I made a soft noise I immediately regretted. He noticed. Without a word, he reached out and covered my hand with his. "You're okay," he said softly. "Just breathe." I wanted to pull away. I didn’t. There was something about his touch that anchored me. His thumb rubbed small circles against my skin, and I focused on that instead of the rattling metal shell we were trapped in. "Rory," I blurted. He blinked. "What?" "My name. It's Rory." He nodded once. "Max." We sat there like that for a while. Me, gripping the armrest with one hand, his fingers wrapped around the other. And it should’ve felt weird. But it didn’t. When the pilot announced an emergency landing due to mechanical failure, panic rose in my throat. Max squeezed my hand harder. "You’re not going to die today, Rory." He sounded so certain. We landed in North Dakota. Not exactly a glamorous destination. The weather had turned suddenly, snow falling like it was mid-December, not late August. Because of the storm and damage to the plane, we were stuck for the night. The only hotel nearby was half-dead and fully depressing. The receptionist looked apologetic. "Only one room left. One bed." Max raised an eyebrow. "I’ll take the floor." I was too tired to argue. The room was cold, but not as cold as the silence between us as we settled in. Max tossed a pillow to the floor, but I stopped him. "Look, it's just one night. Just sleep in the bed. Keep to your side." His expression was unreadable. "Sure." We lay in silence for a long while. I couldn’t sleep. My brain wouldn’t shut off. "Do you always run away from things?" I asked into the dark. "What makes you think I’m running?" "The look in your eyes." He was quiet for a beat. "Maybe. What about you? Are you running, too?" I sighed. "More like being summoned." "By who?" "My father." He turned to look at me. "What does he do?" "Owns a hockey team." Max froze. "Which one?" he asked slowly. "The Vancouver Wolves." His eyes narrowed. "You’re Ashford’s daughter?" I blinked. "How do you know my dad?" But he didn’t answer. The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. Max was gone. No note. No goodbye. Just a memory and a pillow that still smelled like him. It shouldn’t have hurt. But it did. Three days later, I walked into my father’s office for my first official day. And there he was. Max. Sitting across from my father, wearing a Wolves jacket. Our eyes met. He looked just as shocked as I felt. "Rory," my father said, standing. "Come meet our newest player." I swallowed hard. Max stood slowly. "Nice to meet you, Miss Ashford." His voice was cool and professional like that night never happened. But his eyes told another story.