Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
"Harper," he says. His voice is gravelly, stripped of the usual boisterous energy that defines him. He looks like he hasn't slept, his eyes bloodshot and weary.
"Ryan," I whisper, clutching the phone so hard the edges dig into my palm.
"I've been sitting here for four hours," Ryan says, looking away from the camera and toward the window. "Just staring at the wall, thinking about how much I wanted to go back out there and finish it. Thinking about how I was going to tell you that you're dead to me for choosing him. Thorne, of all people.”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a shard of glass. This isn’t starting off too great. “Ryan.”
“Let me finish,” my brother cuts me off. "But I couldn’t do it. I saw your face last night when he said those things. When he said he loved you. I’ve never seen that look on your face before."
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the faint hiss of static over the connection. It’s an admission I never expected from him—a recognition of my happiness over his pride. For a man whose entire identity is built on winning, this is the ultimate concession.
"I hate him," Ryan continues, his voice gaining a bit of its usual bite, though it’s tempered by exhaustion. "I want to be clear about that. If he ever fucking hurts you, I’ll tear him a new asshole and shove his hockey stick in it. But I can't lose you, Harper. You're not just my little sister, you’re my best friend."
I feel the hot prickle of tears finally spilling over. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, leaving a damp streak on the gray fleece. "I'm not going anywhere, Ryan. You're my brother. Nothing changes that."
"Everything changes it," he corrects me gently. "But I’m willing to try. I’m not saying I’m going to go get drinks with the guy and talk about our feelings. But I won't walk out of the room when you bring him up. I’ll… I’ll give him a chance. For you. Only for you."
"Thank you," I breathe, the relief washing over me in a cold, clean wave. "That’s all I’m asking. Just a chance."
"Yeah, well, don't make me regret it," he says, taking a sip of Jack Daniels, the half-empty bottle sitting on the table beside him. "And tell him if he thinks this makes us friends on the ice, he's got another thing coming. I’m still going to kick his frozen ass every chance I get."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," I say, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. We talk for a few more minutes, the conversation drifting back to safer territory—his schedule for the next few weeks, how things have been at the ER. When we finally hang up, I feel lighter, as if I’ve finally shed the leaden coat I’ve been wearing for weeks.
By the time I head out to the living room, I find Jaxson standing by the packed bookshelf, staring at my collection of books. He looks like a statue, the 'Ice Wall' personified, until he hears my footsteps and turns around.
The tension in his frame is palpable. He doesn't ask. He just waits, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
"That was a quick run," I say, my voice steady despite the lingering emotion.
“I wanted to get back here and make sure you’re okay.” He shrugs.
I step closer to him. "He’s going to try, Jax. He said he’ll give you a chance."
He reaches for me, pulling me into the hard, warm center of his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, tucking my head under his chin, listening to the thunderous, relief-filled beat of his heart.
“But he threatened to tear you a new asshole if you ever hurt me.”
Jaxson laughs, a low, rich sound that sends electricity flowing down my spine. He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones with a tenderness that warms me from the inside out.
"That will never happen," he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "Hurting you would destroy me."
He leans down, and the kiss is different than the ones before. There’s no desperation in it, no frantic need to prove something. It’s slow, deliberate. I melt into him, my fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to this moment of impossible peace.
He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. The light from the window catches the sharp planes of his face, softening the sternness into something beautiful. He looks like a man who has finally come home after a long, cold season.
He turns me in his arms again, his expression shifting from playful to something much more intense. The heat radiating off him is a physical force, a pull that I’ve stopped trying to resist. He picks me up effortlessly, my legs hooking around his waist as he carries me back toward the bedroom.