AGAINST THE ICE

Chapter7

Rory POV

Rage didn’t even scratch the surface of what I felt. As I boarded my flight to Vancouver, anger scorched through me, drowning out any flicker of fear. Takeoff? Smooth. I barely noticed, too consumed by the sting of waking up alone in Max’s hotel room.

He’d left a note. A damn note.

I yanked it from my pocket, rereading it for the eleventh time: *Had fun. Hope you make it back to Vancouver okay. Max.*

What the hell?

Fury surged like liquid fire, searing away the hurt. How could he? After everything we’d shared, he just vanished without a goodbye. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to continue this in Vancouver, but to slip out like that? No words, no closure?

The worst part? I had no way to unleash this anger. He was gone. Out of my life. And for that, I think I hated him.

*****

My parents stood in the airport lobby, their faces etched with worry. “Hi,” I said, forcing a hug. “How’re you guys?”

Their eyes flicked to each other before settling on me. Dad cleared his throat. “Flight okay?”

“Fine.”

Mom brushed my cheek. “Darling, are you alright?”

I kept my expression blank, a mask to hide the storm inside. “Yeah.”

Dad being here at 2 p.m. on a workday was a first. He never left the office. “Why are you both here?” I asked, glancing between them.

“Sweetheart,” Mom said, leaning on Dad for support, “you survived a *plane crash*.”

“I know.” But the crash wasn’t what haunted me. It was Max—his touch, his laugh, the way he’d blown my world apart and then slipped away while I slept. Ask me which hurt more.

“We thought you’d need us,” Mom said, her eyes searching mine.

I shrugged. “I’m fine. They found my purse and phone, but my suitcase is gone.”

Mom gasped, tears welling. “Oh, my poor baby.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m just tired.”

“That’s my girl,” Dad said, pride in his voice. “A true Ashford.” He always said that when I did something he deemed impressive.

I didn’t mention I’d blacked out before the crash. “Can we go?”

My parents didn’t know what to make of my calm. Growing up, I’d been terrified of flying—hysterical, even. Hypnotherapy, medication, canceled family trips: none of it helped until I braved a plane for New York. So, their confusion at my nonchalance made sense. I didn’t get it either. Maybe surviving your worst fear strips it of power. Or maybe I was too busy obsessing over Max.

*****

That night, I couldn’t sleep. My parents wanted to dissect the crash, but I had no words for it. The only person who’d get it was Max. I hated how much I wanted to talk to him, to share the weight of that night. Did he ever think of me?

He’d warned me our connection wouldn’t last past that night. I thought I’d understood, but I didn’t expect this ache. I craved more—his kisses, his touch, another movie sprawled across a hotel bed. I wanted to know him. Where was he now? Did he feel as alone as I did?

Max could be anywhere. I didn’t even know his last name.

*****

The next morning, I dragged myself to the breakfast table. Dad was buried in the sports section, Mom scribbling in her diary.

“You’re up!” Mom beamed, pulling me into a hug.

“Morning,” I said to Dad.

He folded the paper, eyeing me. “Morning.”

“So, Rory,” he said, all business, “I’ve been thinking about your role this year.”

“Darling, let her settle,” Mom cut in. “She just got home.”

“No,” I said quickly. I needed the distraction—anything to stop replaying Max. “I want to start now. Today.”

Dad’s poker face cracked with surprise. “That’s my girl.”

“I want to work in media,” I said. “Use my art skills, maybe help with graphic design or the website. Learn from the ground up.”

He scoffed. “Nonsense. You’re being groomed to take over. You’ll start as my right hand.”

*Damn it.* “Dad, can we discuss this?”

“We just did.” His CEO voice shut me down, his eyes scanning my hoodie and jeans. “We leave in thirty. Borrow something from your mother. Business professional.”

Mom shot me a worried glance. I forced a smile. “Can I raid your closet?”

*****

In the car, Dad droned on about player stats and contracts while I stared out the window. His driver navigated Vancouver’s morning traffic. Only 365 days of this. I could survive it—a trade for my four years in New York. I’d be the perfect employee, then walk away free.

I smoothed the black dress I’d borrowed from Mom—fitted, capped sleeves, just above the knee. Paired with Louboutin heels, a platinum watch, and diamond studs, I looked like a polished businesswoman. My hair was pinned up, makeup subtle. I was ready.

We pulled up to Aurora Stadium, my second home. Named after me—my full name, Aurora, though only Granny used it. I’d grown up here, attending over 200 hockey games before I was five. Mom used to set up a crib in our private box so she could watch games and my bedtime. Hockey was in my blood, but I didn’t want it to be my life.

Dad owned the Vancouver Wolves and the stadium. It was his empire. As we strode through the concourse to the corporate offices, he dumped stats and negotiations on me. I listened, nodding, determined to keep my promise to make him proud. But God, this year would drag.

“I have a surprise,” Dad said, holding the door to the executive wing.

I braced myself. “What kind?”

He led me to an office next to his, with a view of the rink and sleek oak furniture—a desk, bookshelves, leather couch. “Yours,” he said, gesturing grandly.

My stomach sank. This was nepotism on steroids. Taking the second-best office would make me a target. “I don’t deserve this,” I said. “I haven’t earned it.”

“You were born for this,” he replied. “You don’t need to earn it.”

His pride was palpable, and I realized he thought this would thrill me. I could fight him and make us both miserable, or I could lean in and make this a good year. I chose the latter.

“I love it, Dad. It’s amazing.”

His grin was huge. “I’ve waited for this since you were born.”

No pressure. I swallowed hard. “I’ll make you proud.”

He winked. “I know you will.”