Breaking the Beast on Ice

Chapter 14 - Fishbowl

“You realize every single person in here is pretending they aren’t staring at us, right?” I rasp, slightly leaning across the marble bistro table.

The espresso bar’s floor-to-ceiling glass is tinted, but it doesn't stop the crowd outside from crowding the perimeter. Some palms are even pressed against the glass, reminding me of horror movie posters.

Oh, and there’s a strip of clear glass that everyone’s trying to make good use of.

Inside the cafe, people are trying to act more coolly, but someone has at least tried to take a picture by sliding his phone ever so casually on one side. I choke back a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

But Harper does not even flinch. She does not even look at them.

“Oh, let them look,” she whispers after a long sip of her coffee. Black. I’m very surprised. Then, she dunks several teaspoons of sugar in it and stirs happily. “We are relying on our visibility to tell our story, remember? It’s up to us to look like we don’t give a f**k. We are relaxed, which is the opposite of what we usually are.”

Do we…not give a f**k?

She does look relaxed and composed, with her blazer unbuttoned, revealing the satin camisole underneath. Her platinum hair looks slightly longer than the shoulder-length I’m used to. It has not been that long, is it? No. She’s just leaning more to one side, and I can see that longer hair makes her look younger.

More vulnerable.

All the rest don't see what I see.

Her left hand trembles slightly as she reaches for her napkin. She knows how to correct it, but it makes me think of how she’s able to learn that at all. Of course, people got to know me first as a teen rising in the world of college hockey, but the world knew her from when she was born.

My chest tightens, carrying a heavy and unfamiliar ache.

God, she’s incredible.

I want to laugh. Chase and Eddie won’t stop letting me have it if they knew the kinds of unwanted thoughts I have been having.

And yes, it’s a dangerous thought. Reckless. Stupid, even. But it does not stop my eyes from tracking the line of her throat up to heart-shaped lips bitten with worry. It does not stop the urge to reach out to her and wrap my hand around hers.

I mean, I can do it. It will be part of the whole act. But I’ll have to remind myself that this is temporary.

Get a grip.

She’s not yours. She’s never going to be yours.

It’s a PR stunt.

Harper does not like rough men. I’ve seen how she flinches around them. It does not matter if it is power or size they have over her. She needs someone gentler, one who can read between the lines. See that the heavy makeup is a mask.

I can’t afford to fall for the lie we’re selling.

“Your hand,” I say quietly, keeping my gaze fixed on her face so I don't look down at her lap.

Harper pauses, her fingers freezing over her cloth napkin. Then, they clench into a fist. “What about it?”

“It’s shaking, Holloway…Harper.”

For a second, her mask slips. A flash of raw, defensive annoyance flickers across her features. “It’s just adrenaline. I’m fine.”

“I didn't say you weren't fine,” I murmur, resting my forearms on the table, careful not to make sudden movements.

She shifts in her chair, the silk of her top rustling. Outside, a guy in a tailored suit presses his phone closer to the window glass, trying to get a picture.

Harper notices the movement out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively, she leans in closer across the table, playing her part for the audience. She reaches out, her small, warm hand covering the top of my wrist where my dark ink spills past my shirt cuff.

The heat of her skin feels like a jolt of electricity. I get the feeling I usually get when the referee blows the whistle. Yet, instead of moving, my shoulders lock up even as my pulse spikes. Her thumb caresses my wrist. Slow. Languid. If she keeps at it, my c**k is going to give her a full salute. This girl does not even have to show me her body to make me feel things.

“Out there? I had to tell them about Lara. It’s the truth, anyway. I don’t like it when people try to break someone with a lie.”

“I’m glad Lara is okay with it,” I choke out.

“Why wouldn’t she be? It’s not like you did anything terrible to her. You two just grew up. Grew apart. Now, your past with her has become proof that you don’t make it a habit to hurt women.”

“Make it a habit?” I echo,managing a smirk.

“You know what I mean. You don’t hurt women. Period.”

“I still hurt men. Really bad,” I remind her, trying not to bare my teeth at her to show her what those men see when I strike.

Instead, I calm down my inner villain, and I just say those words with a calm I don’t feel. The violence inside me has nothing to do with hurting anyone. She’s rattled me.

“You have your reasons,” she says, giving me a sweet smile.

It’s part of the act, Silas!

“I guess I just wish you could tell me how I can help you, too, Harper.”

Something flashes in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable. Harper Holloway does not like it when parts of her threaten to rise to the surface. My smoked salmon and dill tartine is still left untouched, while she eases her way through her pistachio madeleines. She does it even while one hand rests on my wrist. She keeps rubbing with her thumb, as if I needed comforting.

Perhaps I do.

Just lean in, a dark, dangerous voice in the back of my mind whispers. The press and all sorts of people are watching through the window anyway. Give them a show. Touch her cheek. Pull her close.

Desire slams into my gut like a cross check. Why not? It would be so easy. It follows Alexa’s advice to look insufferably in love.

Something stops me, though. I can still see her face whenever Dominic’s name is mentioned. There’s something she’s not telling me. She has walls all around her. Touching me must be so hard.

I need to help her. Not just as a fake boyfriend for the cameras, but as a real ally. I need to be the one wall in her life that doesn't collapse or demand something from her in return.

Slowly, carefully, I flex my wrist, breaking the subtle physical connection. I reach down, grab my glass of water, and take a long, slow drink, forcing the burning heat in my throat to cool down.

Harper blinks, as if waking up from a trance. She pulls her hand back to her side of the table, almost knocking her coffee cup down. Her fingers curl tightly around her linen napkin as her cheeks flush a faint, delicate pink.

“We should go,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Alexa’s going to want a full debrief before the afternoon press cycle hits.”

Harper swallows hard, clear-headed logic returning to her expression like an iron curtain dropping back into place. “Right. Of course. The afternoon cycle.”

She picks up her designer sunglasses from the marble table, slipping them over her eyes.

“Thank you, Silas,” she murmurs, her voice cool and professional once more as she stands up.

“What are you thanking me for? It’s time we talk about what you need from me,” I say, knowing that to be fair, she must get something out of this, too.

“W-what?” she stammers. “Oh…that. Yeah, I will tell you about it. But we can’t hop on to that from this. People will know everything’s just -”

“Just great,” I murmur.

I stand up beside her, my broad frame instantly casting a shadow over the table. I step slightly ahead of her, placing my body firmly between her and the crowd peeking through the glass window, ready to clear the path.