Page 83 of Hearts on Ice
A warning wrapped in a coach’s tone.
But Sam heard it. Everyone did.
I swallowed, my throat tight in the best way.
Sam’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look at me again.
A quiet pride bloomed low in my chest—warm, startling, a little dangerous.
“All right,” Beau clapped, breaking the tension. “Encore!”
“Yeah, Maestro,” Jester said. “Something that’ll get us in our feelings.”
“You sure?” I teased.
“Bro,” Jester said, hand to heart, “my feelings have feelings.”
So I shifted the guitar.
Softened the chords.
Let the melody slide into something Latin Caribbean, warm and familiar. Bad Bunny—stripped down, acoustic, gentle enough that even the guys who didn’t speak a word of Spanish leaned in.
Lily made a little sound of delight. JB tapped the beat against his knee. Devin whispered, “Damn.”
When the chorus came, the room tried to sing along—a messy blend of accents and half-remembered lyrics—and I couldn’t stop smiling. Drew didn’t sing, but his eyes stayed on me long enough that it felt like a song all by itself.
He looked away before anyone noticed.
But I caught it.
I always did.
When the song ended, Tank threw his arms up. “That’s it. I’m leaving my job to become your manager.”
The laughter rolled again, bright and easy and loud enough that for a second, I forgot Drew and I were hiding anything at all. I let myself believe we could stay in this pocket forever. Just the team. Just the warmth. Just the man I couldn’t touch in public leaning against the counter like he belonged in the same room as me.
Because he did.
And because every second of this—even the hidden parts—was worth it.
Later, when I slipped outside for air, the balcony was quiet except for the hum of traffic below. The breeze carried the salt tang of the coast, cool enough to raise goosebumps along my arms. I leaned on the railing, letting the noise of the living roomfade behind me, letting myself be Miguel, not Maestro or the goalie, not the secret.
A moment later, the door clicked open.
I didn’t have to turn.
I felt Drew before I saw him. That subtle shift in the air, the grounded weight he always carried.
He came to stand beside me, not touching, but close enough that the warmth of him skimmed along my side. We looked out at the sprawl of lights, at the city that had no idea what we were to each other.
“You play like you’re trying to seduce half the room.”
I huffed a laugh. “Only one person was supposed to notice.”
“I noticed.”
His tone—warm, rough, threaded with want—hit me in the spine.
