Page 69 of The Hockey Contract

The casual suggestion of a future together—a future beyond our three-month contract—hung in the air between us. Neither of us acknowledged it directly, but it sat there, a tentative possibility neither of us was brave enough to grasp.

"I'd like that," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

The moment might have evolved into something more had the front door not chimed, followed by Leo's voice calling out.

"Hello? Are we interrupting the domestic bliss?"

Jax and I stepped apart—had we been standing that close?—as Leo entered the kitchen with Chloe trailing behind.

"Sorry to barge in," Leo continued, not looking remotely sorry. "But Chloe was helping with a delivery when Olivia called about the contract details, and since we were nearby..."

"It's fine," Jax assured him, though I detected a note of frustration in his voice.

I turned my attention to Chloe, surprised to find her looking unusually flustered. Her typical composed demeanor had been replaced by a slightly breathless quality, and was that a blush?

"Delivery went okay?" I asked her.

"Fine. Great. Mr. Henderson says hello." She busied herself examining our cooking results with unusual intensity. "Wow, fancy French food. Aren't you two cultured?"

The conversation shifted to practical matters—contract details for Jax, bakery business for me—but I couldn't help noticing a change in the dynamic between Leo and Chloe. Their usual antagonistic banter now carried an undercurrent of something else. Their gazes held a beat too long. They found excuses to stand closer than necessary. When Leo made a characteristically bad joke, Chloe's eye roll was accompanied by a barely suppressed smile.

Interesting.

After they left and as we returned home, the intimate atmosphere of earlier had dissipated. Jax retreated to review game footage, and I headed to our shared bathroom to prepare for bed. I found myself lingering there, applying face cream with deliberate slowness, hoping Jax might appear in the doorway as he sometimes did.

When he finally did, I pretended to be surprised, though I'd been listening for his footsteps.

"Good session with Chef Laurent tonight," he said, reaching for his toothbrush. "Though I think my soufflé technique needs work."

"You weren't bad for a beginner." I leaned against the counter, oddly reluctant to end our day. "Your knife skills are actually pretty good."

"Years of stick-handling translate well to chopping."

A comfortable silence fell between us as he brushed his teeth and I fidgeted with my hair, neither of us making any move to leave the shared space.

"Jax?" I finally broke the silence.

"Hmm?" He met my eyes in the mirror.

"Did you mean it? About Paris?"

He rinsed and set his toothbrush down before turning to face me directly. "I don't say things I don't mean, Sienna."

"But our arrangement..." I trailed off, unsure how to articulate the confusion swirling inside me.

"Is what it is," he finished, his expression unreadable.

Chapter 23: Jax

The Kraken advanced to the second playoff round after a hard-fought Game 6 victory. The locker room erupted in celebration—not the unbridled euphoria of a Cup win, but the satisfied recognition of a battle well-won and bigger challenges ahead.

I played one of my best games of the season, contributing a crucial assist and logging nearly thirty minutes of ice time. Coach Miller actually smiled when he congratulated me, a rare enough occurrence that several teammates documented it on their phones.

"Harrison's a machine tonight!" Nichols shouted, spraying me with water. "The Ice Man cometh!"

The nickname no longer bothered me the way it once had. Perhaps because I no longer felt like ice inside.

The team celebration moved to The Puck Drop, our usual haunt transformed by playoff energy. Fans bought rounds for players, asked for autographs, offered superstitious advice for the next series. I participated with more patience than usual, signing jerseys and posing for photos.

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