Chapter Five

Emberleigh

I fled down the hall as cranberry sauce dripped from my blouse and cursed Mother Nature for trapping me here…with him . The polished wood steps echoed under my boots, the cacophony behind me fading as I reached the sanctuary of my room. Shutting the door firmly, I sagged against it and closed my eyes. The sticky residue of whatever was in my hair clung to me like a bad memory—appropriate for the way the entire evening had unraveled, which I was sure would be burned into my memory forever.

I should be at home back in Denver, taking advantage of the holidays to get ahead on my work projects. It wasn’t like I had any family obligations. My parents were off skiing with my sister, her rich investment banker husband, and their perfect 2.5 children. I doubt they’d even heard about the storm. I’d been looking forward to spending Christmas, just me and my laptop—or at least that’s what I told myself.

And yet, here I was now, marinating in a cocktail of emotion, cranberry sauce and gravy. My room felt stifling. I paced, trying to banish the image of Logan from my mind, but the memory of his body on top of mine and the look in his gray-blue eyes behind the pines had unraveled me in ways I didn’t want to admit.

I rubbed the sauce on my blouse again with a face towel, wishing the mess of my emotions were as easy to clean up. I knew that Logan had been trying to talk to me, but I hadn’t let him get close, not because I was angry—though I was—but because I didn’t feel strong enough to resist him, despite what he’d done to me in the past. The pull between us was as potent as ever, dragging me toward dangerous waters I wasn’t sure I could navigate without drowning.

Logan McKenzie was a hurricane. A bear of a man—strong, handsome, and utterly devastating. I’d fallen for him once, only to be left with my heart in pieces. He’d disappeared from my life without so much as an explanation. Now, seeing him all over social media—surrounded by beautiful women, smiling, unburdened—had only cemented my belief that I couldn’t compete. Couldn’t hold his attention. I’d be the girl left behind again, the footnote in someone else’s story.

I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my hair still styled, my makeup intact despite the chaos downstairs. Even with food stains and flushed cheeks, I looked like my on-air persona: polished, put-together, untouchable. But it was a shield, wasn’t it? A way to keep everyone at bay, to avoid being seen—truly seen—for the flawed, uncertain woman I was underneath.

That was it—I’d had enough of this mask.

With trembling fingers, I reached for a clean washcloth and ran it under warm water. Slowly, deliberately, I wiped away the foundation that had become my armor. I scrubbed at the eyeliner and mascara, letting the black streaks trail down my cheeks before washing them away. Layer by layer, the glossy reporter vanished, replaced by someone softer, more real. My freckles emerged, faint but visible, across my nose and cheeks. My lips, bare of lipstick, were pale but mine—no fillers plumping them up like Sasha’s overblown pout.

My hair came next. I loosened the pins and rubbed at the scalp with my fingers until the strands fell in soft waves around my shoulders. I stared at myself, raw and unvarnished, and felt… lighter. Not perfect. Not beautiful. Me.

After undressing and wrapping myself in the plush robe provided by the lodge, I pushed my feet into the pair of white terrycloth slippers waiting in my closet and padded over to the window. Snow drifted past in a serene hush, the blizzard wrapping the world in its muffled cocoon. It felt like a sign, this stillness. An invitation to step outside the image I’d been clinging to.

My gaze fell on the spa’s outdoor hot tub, steaming against the snowy backdrop. The rules forbade use at this hour, but tonight, I needed to reclaim some part of myself. No one would care if I bent the rules, not here, not now.

Tightening the robe around me, I left my room. The corridors were dimly lit, and the quiet felt almost reverent. My heart pounded, not from fear but from anticipation. I wasn’t sure what I expected, only that I needed to feel alive—to feel like Emberleigh Quinn, not the polished on-air persona.

The spa doors opened to the deck, and I stepped outside. The snow glowed beneath the moonlight, cold air biting at my skin. I shivered, my breath misting as I slipped off the robe and slippers, leaving myself completely bare. The shock of the cold made me gasp, but it was freeing, exhilarating. I eased into the hot tub, hissing as the warmth enveloped me. Steam rose around me, mingling with the snowflakes that melted on my shoulders.

Under the starry sky, I closed my eyes and exhaled. Here, without makeup, without curated clothes, I was just me and I could allow myself to feel the jumble of emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface ever since Logan’s eyes connected with mine again. The sensations he sparked in me scared, but also thrilled me. Maybe letting go of my usual defenses would give me space to finally sort out what I was feeling.

Suddenly, the soft scrape of the door opening jolted me. My eyes flew open, and I ducked lower in the water until only my shoulders and collarbones were visible. Logan stepped onto the deck, wrapped in a towel, his breath pluming in the cold. He froze when he saw me, then his gaze softened, a mixture of surprise and…admiration?

“I didn’t think anyone would be out here,” he said, his voice low.

“Neither did I.” My words were soft, unsteady. For a moment, I thought about covering my face, making an excuse, or running, but something stopped me. I met his gaze head-on, letting him see me—bare and vulnerable.

His steps faltered. “I…I’ll go if you want me to.”

“You can stay,” I whispered. The words surprised me as much as they seemed to surprise him. But they felt right. This was honesty, not weakness.

Logan set his towel on a nearby chair and slipped into the water. The sight of his naked body—broad shoulders, toned chest, bulging biceps—made my breath hitch. He moved closer, the distance between us shrinking until I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“You’re different,” he said, his voice reverent. “I like you this way, without all the makeup. Talk to me, Emberleigh. Please.”

The vulnerability in his tone undid me. I found myself speaking in hushed tones, confessing how his disappearance had hurt me, how I’d built walls to protect myself. He listened, his eyes never leaving mine, and when he spoke, his words were raw and unguarded. He told me about his injury, the shame of failing his family, his fear of showing me the broken parts of himself. He spoke of his younger sister Starla, her brilliance on the ice as a competitive figure skater, and how it reminded him of what he’d lost. How he’d run because it was easier than staying and being vulnerable.

“I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I didn’t deserve you, Emberleigh. But I’ve thought about you every day since.”

“Tell me,” I said, the words barely louder than a breath. “What was it like, walking away from everything?”

He sighed, the sound heavy with emotion. “It was hell. At first, I told myself it was what I had to do. That I was sparing everyone—you, my family, my teammates. I thought if I just disappeared, no one would have to deal with the wreck I’d become. But it didn’t work. The shame followed me everywhere. Seeing Starla compete, watching her win…it should’ve made me proud. And it did, in a way. But it also reminded me of what I’d thrown away.”

“You didn’t throw it away,” I said gently. “You were injured. That wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw tightened. “Try telling that to my parents. You know who they are, what they were—Dad a former renowned hockey coach at the best prep school in Denver, and Mom a retired competitive downhill skier. Growing up, holidays meant traveling to tournaments, early morning ice rink practices, and countless motivational speeches about striving for greatness. When both Starla and I began gaining attention for our efforts on the ice, we were basically marked as the shining stars of our family legacy. So when my playing days ended prematurely, I felt not only personal disappointment but also that I’d failed to uphold the family standard.My dad…I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me. I felt like a total failure, and to be honest, I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”

I reached out, my fingers brushing his arm under the water. “You’re not a failure, Logan. Not then, not ever.”

His gaze met mine, the intensity in his eyes making my chest ache. “Hearing you say that…it means more than you know. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Emberleigh. You didn’t deserve that.”

His fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed gently. I nodded, too overcome by emotion just then to speak.

He continued, his voice low. “Over time, I realized that I truly loved the sport of hockey, not just because I’d grown up with it, but because it became a part of me. I thought maybe I could still contribute—just not as a player. When the Warlords offered me an assistant coaching position, I’d resisted at first, but then mentoring the younger players, helping them avoid my mistakes—well, I remembered what I’d missed. I learned to appreciate the game from a new perspective, one centered on teaching and nurturing talent, building a different kind of legacy than my dad’s, beyond just the goals scored.”

I smiled, touched by everything he’d been through and how much he’d grown. “Your approach has definitely worked well for you. I’m really happy for you, Logan. As the new head coach of the Warlords I know you’ll do a lot to inspire the younger generation.”

“I hope so,” he replied. “The owners of the North Star Chalet are passionate about supporting youth sports and seasonal retreats. I was supposed to meet with them about hosting off-season hockey clinics—programs for aspiring young players, underprivileged kids who might not have top-tier facilities in the city, and even a summer training camp for professional athletes needing a quiet place to recover and refocus. I want to create a space where players at any stage—amateur, pro, injured, or just starting out—can rediscover their love for the game, like I did. The partnership with the lodge owners would fund scholarships for kids who can’t afford hockey gear, invite guest coaches, and host weekend family tournaments that celebrate the sport’s community spirit, that kind of thing.”

“Wow,” I said with a gasp of amazement at the scope of his vision.

“I’d planned to finalize details with the lodge owners after the charity game,” Logan continued. “But the meeting never happened due to the storm. I’m going to wait it out, hoping to seal the deal before the New Year.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Logan,” I said sincerely, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Thank you for that,” he said.

The words hung heavy in the air between us as we gazed into each other’s eyes with newfound understanding. Then he reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from my cheek. The gentle contact sent a jolt through me, and I leaned in. Our mouths met slowly, almost reverently. The kiss deepened, his hands gliding over my shoulders and back as I wrapped my arms around his neck. The world faded, leaving only us, skin to skin, breaths mingling, the steam curling around us.

We moved together, lost in the sensation of skin against skin, of the water caressing us as we explored each other. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to ignite a new spark of desire, the warmth of the water only heightening the heat between us.

"Logan," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He responded with a low hum, his lips moving to my neck, his hands cupping my face as if he couldn't bear to let me go. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, to the feel of his body against mine, the taste of his kisses, the way his touch made me feel like I was the only person in the world.

We rose together so that we stood in the middle of the hot tub, feeling the chill of the air on our torsos and the heat that rose from within and beneath us. Eventually, we broke apart, both of us breathless, our hearts pounding in unison.

“Are you sure?” Logan asked. “Because if we continue, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“I’m sure,” I said, reaching for him. “Please.”

Once again, Logan’s hands found its way to my waist and then moved down to cup my cheeks of my ass while I pressed myself to him, feeling his erection against my belly. Our lips met again, and our kisses grew deeper, hungrier. He moved his hand around to my clit, drawing slow sensual circles around the nub. My nipples pebbled in response, and I wrapped my fingers around the thickness of his shaft, beginning to stroke up and down.

I looked into his eyes, so filled with desire and a readiness to please that I felt my orgasm start building. “I need you,” I whimpered, realizing that whatever happened next, this was going to be a moment I would never forget.

Spreading my legs, I guided him inside, causing us both to moan in pleasure. He wrapped my legs around his waist and thrust himself into me hard.

“God, you feel good,” he groaned.

I couldn’t even speak I was already so close.

Our bodies began to move in rhythm, the pulsing building with intensity until every fiber of my body zinged with electricity.

“Come for me baby,” Logan breathed, sucking and nipping the skin of my neck with his mouth.

My body suddenly exploded into orgasm, the vibrations making my back arch and my head roll back.

“Oh, fuck,” Logan said as he thrust his cock into me deep and I felt the rush of his release into my core.

The sensations slowly dissipated, and we finally pulled apart, gazing into each other’s eyes silently. Reaching up, he traced my lips with his finger.

"That was incredible," he said softly, “thank you.”

I smiled and kissed his fingertips. “It was. And you’re welcome.”

Logan smiled in return and took my hand in his, pressing it against his chest so I could feel his heartbeat.

We stayed in the water for a while longer, talking softly. The world seemed to hold its breath and standstill for us, or maybe I was just caught up in the magic of the moment, but I wanted it to last forever.

Afterward, wrapped in towels, we whispered goodnight near the spa door. As we parted, my heart swirled with hope, tenderness, and a flicker of fear. Old wounds might have started to heal, but the next two days would reveal if they were truly mended or merely bandaged.