Page 9 of Seal the Deal

“Not usually,” I say, my voice wavering as the wind gusts and rustles the trees around us. “But this is different.”

As if to prove my point, a bolt of lightning flashes followed by a thunderclap so loud it feels like it’s shaking the ground beneath us. I yelp, grabbing onto Jake’s arm.

Therain starts, hard and sudden, drenching us within seconds. The path back to camp quickly blurs in the downpour, and I can barely see past the sheets of rain cascading down in front of us. Jake’s expression changes, noticing the worry I’m trying to hide.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, his tone softer. “I was just messing with you. We’re safe, I promise.”

But the thunder’s relentless rumble makes my heart race, and I feel a panic rising in my chest that I can’t quite stifle. I keep clinging to him, needing his solid presence.

Jake reaches an arm out, pulling me in. “I’ve got you, Charlie girl."

With his arm around me, we start moving again, picking our way carefully through the woods. Despite the chaos around us, Jake’s calmness feels like an anchor, steadying me with every step.

When we finally reach the edge of camp, soaked but safe, I let out a shaky breath. We duck under the porch of a nearby cabin, the rain still pounding down around us, but it doesn’t seem as frightening now.

“You okay?” Jake asks, brushing a wet strand of hair away from my face. A line of concern deepens between his brows, and it warms me from the inside out.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice still a little shaky. “Thanks to you.”

He responds with a soft smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Charlie. You weathered the storm.”

The way he says it, like it’s a fact that's plain as day, makes me believe it. Even if it's just for a moment.

***

Charlie - Present Day

I pull my newly acquired burgundy-and-blue scarf tighter around my neck as Zoe practically drags me through the crowded concourse of the arena. She insisted I wear Colorado Storm colors tonight, and now I see why. Without this scarf, I’d stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of jerseys, face paint, and foam fingers. Even with it, I feel conspicuously out of place.

I’m barely two weeks into my new life in Denver, and Zoe’s already taken it upon herself to make me a hockey fan. Tonight is the Storm’s season home opener—a huge deal, apparently. Honestly, I wouldn’t know. Ice hockey barely exists in New Zealand. I’ve never seen a game live, but Zoe’s been hyping this up for days and I’m keen to see what the fuss is about.

As we enter the arena, the hum of excited voices, the smell of buttery popcorn, and the distant scrape of skates against ice hit me all at once. I feel like I’ve stepped into a completely different world. Everyone here seems so at home, and here I am, just hoping to blend in.

“You’re going to love this!” Zoe says, practically bouncing towards our seats as the Colorado Storm players skate around for warm-ups. “Plus, number 27 is out there tonight—total legend. Incredible player. Women go nuts for him.”

I nod absently, half-listening as we settle into our seats. Zoe’s enthusiasm is infectious, but my mind’s wandering. I’m still trying to figure out the rules of this sport. We’re sitting close enough that I can see the sweat on the players as they whiz past, but they all look like armored giants out there. The only way to really tell them apart is by their numbers.

“There,” Zoe says, pointing toward the ice. “Number 27. He’s like... an ice god.”

I laugh. “Ice God?”

“Well, he moves like one.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively. “Trust me, once you see him up close, you’ll get it.”

I snort, sipping my beer as she rattles off the team roster like she’s naming items on a menu. I may not know much about hockey yet, but I can appreciate the buzz. The warm-up drills fade into anticipation as the players leave the ice and then come back a while later for the anthem and face-off. The arena hums with energy, a charged excitement that’s hard not to get caught up in.

Beer in hand, I nibble on a pretzel and try not to look too out of place as the game begins. The puck drops, and the players explode into action, their movements fluid and powerful like it’s second nature. And that’s when I hear the announcer.

“Jake Brooks with the puck!”

I freeze mid-sip. What the fuck did they just say?Jake Brooks? I glance at the ice, scanning the players as they whizz around, but my eyes can’t seem to focus. Zoe’s still talking through plays, oblivious to the mini heart attack happening right next to her.

I squint at number 27 as he skates past. Broad shoulders, strong jawline, a face that’s... holy shit. My beer almost slips from my hand as my heart gives a weird little lurch.

It’s Jake.MyJake. From camp.

I slowly blink as my brain scrambles to process. My pulse races, and I grip my cup a little tighter as I do a quick mental calculation. Twelve years. It’s beentwelve yearssince I’ve seen him.I could kick myself for not connecting the dots sooner. Zoe’s been yapping about him nonstop, and he’sright there, gliding on the ice like he owns the place, all stubbled and chiseled like some rugged superhero. Like anice god.

The memories rush back, and suddenly I’m not at an ice hockey game. I’m at camp, sitting by a fire under the stars, talking all night about dreams, fears, and life. Laughing for hours until our eyes were shiny with tears. We never got together back then, but I wanted to. I think he did, too. But we were so young, and life happenedto youback then. So we said goodbye, thinking the world was too big for us to hold onto each other.

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