Reckless on Ice

Paparazzi

BECKETT

I haven’t forgotten.

Two years ago, Ashley Brooke begged me not to hurt her like that. She left me two hundred and thirty-three messages that night. Two hundred and thirty-three. And I didn’t return a single one.

So why the f**k am I standing here, pissed the hell off, acting like she’s still mine?

My grip tightens on the edge of my desk, jaw clenched so tight it aches. "Give me another shot."

Matthews freezes. “Dude.” His voice is sharp, edged with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?”

I don’t look at him. I can’t. I just nodded at the bartender, tapping my fingers against the counter like that’ll somehow make the shot appear faster.

“Langley,” Matthews snaps, stepping closer. “You don’t drink.”

No s**t. I know that. I’m a D1 athlete. A hockey player. My entire f*****g scholarship depends on staying clean, on keeping my body in peak condition, on not f*****g up. And yet, I wanted to f*****g drown myself, so I’d black out.

I reached for the glass.

Matthews is faster.

“Jesus Christ.” He snatches it before my fingers even graze the rim, his other hand already waving at the bartender. “Yeah, can we get two waters or—f**k it, iced tea? Thanks.”

I blink. Then narrowed my eyes. “Did you just order me a f*****g iced tea?”

Matthews doesn’t even look at me. Just nodding at the bartender as this is a completely normal thing to do to a guy mid-breakdown. “It’s a Wednesday, Langley.” He finally turns, leveling me with that cut the s**t look. “You showing up here, looking like you just lost a playoff game in overtime, is what’s f*****g suspicious.”

My fingers flex against the counter, curling into a loose fist. I force them to relax, stretching them out.

He’s not wrong.

But that doesn’t mean I want to hear it.

Instead, I shift, adjusting my elbow against the bar, pretending to study the bottles behind it. The labels blur together, nothing but glass and gold foil, and yet I can’t look away.

Because if I do, I know what I’ll see.

Matthews. Smug. Smirking. Watching me like he’s got me all figured out.

And I’ll have to punch him in the face.

Which, as tempting as it is, would get me benched.

So I keep my eyes on the liquor.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I mutter, dragging a palm down my jaw.

Matthews leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “Yeah? Because last I checked, you don’t drink, but you’re out here ordering shots like you’re about to lose a kidney.” He tilts his head, expression unreadable. “You want to tell me what the f**k’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

I snort. “Like you’d get it.”

He shrugs. “Try me.”

I turned back to Matthews, slapping a hand on his shoulder. "Actually, you know what? Introduce me to someone."

Matthews blinks. "What."

I nod at the table. "Sister? Cousin? Friend? Set me up."

Matthews’ mouth opens. Then closes. Then he full-on laughs. The bartender laughs too. I glared at both of them. "You guys are f*****g useless."

Matthews shakes his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “Dude, you’re acting like a guy who just found out his ex moved on with his best friend.”

I freeze. My grip on the bar tightens.

Matthews' smirk falters. "Wait. Did she?"

"No."

I suck at darts, but I want to play it right now. There’s a dartboard in the back. A couple of guys playing pool. A table full of girls. Perfect.“ Let’s play darts.”

Matthews grins.

I shove him.

He stumbles back, still laughing. "Holy s**t, you’re down bad."

"Shut the f**k up."

"You are so down bad."

I shove him again.

He stumbles back again.

"You want to throw hands, Langley?" He flexes, mock-serious. "Wanna settle this over darts?"

I roll my shoulders. Crack my neck. “ Now we’re talking.”

This is a f*****g terrible idea.But I’m already moving. Already pushing through the crowd, already shaking out my shoulders like that’ll help me get my s**t together. The bar is loud, too hot, the scent of cheap beer and sweat clinging to my hoodie like a bad decision I can’t take back.

Matthews follows, grinning, because of course the asshole enjoys this. “You sure about this, Langley? Your aim is ass.”

“Your aim is ass,” I mimic, dropping my voice into a mocking lilt. I roll my eyes, grab a dart off the nearest table, test the weight between my fingers. “f**k off.”

Matthews hums, stepping beside me, arms crossed. “You know, if you’re trying to distract yourself, you should’ve gone with something you’re actually good at.”

I ignore him. Square my stance, set my shoulders, lock onto the board.

One deep breath. Exhale slow. Then I throw.

Thud.

The dart lands.

Nowhere f*****g near the bullseye.

Matthews bends at the waist, laughing so hard he damn near wheezes.

“Shut up,” I mutter, snatching another dart.

"Langley—what the f**k was that?"

"I don’t know." I flex my fingers, shake them out. "It slipped."

"It slipped? Jesus. Maybe you should stick to hockey."

I flipped him off, grabbed another dart, and threw again.

Thud.

Miss.

“Okay, that was the worst one yet,” Matthews announces, loud enough that a couple of girls at the next table turn to watch. He grins, nodding toward them. "You should probably tell them you’re an athlete before they assume you're legally blind."

"Eat shit."

Matthews just chuckles. "You wanna try for a hat trick, bud?"

I inhale. Close my eyes. This is fine. I am fine.

I’m just gonna—but when I open my eyes again, Ashley is standing there, looking right at me. Holy s**t. Am I drunk? Nope. I drank a f*****g iced tea. So unless Matthews spiked my drink when I wasn’t looking, this is real.

Matthews, the oblivious asshole, just laughs, nudging my shoulder. “Damn. She’s hot.”

I snapped out of it. “Shut up.” I didn’t even look at him, just dropped the dart, pushed past Matthews, moving before I could even think.

“Langley?” Matthews calls after me, confused.

I don’t answer because Ashley Brooke is trying to walk away from me again and over my dead f*****g body is that happening twice.

“Ash!”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn. Just f*****g keeps going, pushing through the bar’s entrance like she’s making a run for it.

Bad idea, Cupcake.

I broke into a stride, pushing past the crowd, ignoring the heat creeping up my throat because why the f**k is she even here? Why is she running? Why does it feel like if I don’t stop her right now, I’ll never catch up again?

I step outside—and then it f*****g hits me.

Cold. Wet. Rain.

It’s pouring.

“Ashley!”

She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even f*****g acknowledge me. Oh, for f**k’s sake. This stubborn girl.

I grab her wrist—but she shoves me away, hard, like just the thought of me touching her is enough to piss her off. Damn it. We’re getting soaked already.

The rain is pouring, drenching us, making her hair stick to her face, making her oversized hoodie cling to her frame. Her glasses are slipping down her nose, but she’s too busy trying to walk away from me to fix them.

Not happening.

“Ashley.”

I lunged forward, blocking her path. "What the hell is your problem?"

She jerks her head up, eyes blazing. "Are you serious? You’re my problem, Langley!"

I swear to God, this girl is going to be the death of me.

She shoves at my chest. It’s not hard. Not enough to do anything except make me even more pissed off than I already am. “ I f*****g hate you---”

“What?” I cut her off, taking a step closer, forcing her back against the nearest wall. “What did I do?”

Her mouth snaps shut.

And that? That silence?

It f*****g wrecks me. I like everything about her except when she’s f*****g silent because my girl, my cupcake, always has a f*****g opinion on things, especially on me. I rake a hand through my soaked hair, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Why’d you here?”

She glares at me, mouth twisting like she’s seconds away from biting my head off. “I don’t know!”

Then, shove.

She plants both hands on my chest and pushes. Harder this time, like she actually means it, like she wants me gone. Not f*****g happening.

I barely stumble back an inch before there’s a blinding light. A f*****g flash of a camera.

Motherfucker.

Ashley notices the shift in my expression, follows my line of sight, brow furrowing. "What—"

I snap my head around, eyes scanning the street, the sidewalks, the f*****g shadows between cars.

Fuck.

Fucking paparazzi.

I move before she can react. One hand grabs her wrist, yanks her close. The other cups the back of her head, pressing her face against my chest.

Her muffled protest is immediate. "Langley, what the—"

"Shut up." I glance over my shoulder, spot the shadow moving closer, the lens lifting. "We need to get the f**k out of here."

She pushes against me, but I don’t let her go.

"Beckett, I swear to—"

"Do you want to be a headline tomorrow?"

She goes rigid.

Exactly.

"Where’s your car?" I grit out, keeping my body between her and whoever the hell is snapping these photos.

She hesitates. “I—I don’t—”

Another flash.

Fuck this.

"New plan," I mutter. Then, before she can protest, I shift my grip again and lift her onto my shoulders.

She sucks in a breath. "You’re joking."

I bent my knees, steadying her weight. "Hands in my hair and don’t fall."

I gripped her wrist, yanked her closer. “Get. On.”

Ashley sputters, slapping at my shoulder. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Yes.

Always.

When it comes to her.

However, I don’t have time for her being a bratty brat. So, I duck low, hook an arm under her legs, and haul her up before she can protest. She yelps, arms flailing before locking around my shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around my waist.

“Langley,” she huffs, tucking her face against my shoulder. “You are the dumbest person I know,” she added.

I grin, because she says it like an insult, but my heart takes it as a f*****g compliment. After all these years, Ash. After all these years. You still trust me to hold you. You still fit.