Chapter 20

Riley

The plane lands in Ann Arbor, and I brace myself to enter the lion’s den of the rival Michigan Viking’s teams practice facility. The place that I know Leland Hutson, now known to me as Amelia’s twin brother, has to be since it’s his job.

No, I wait and watch practice until it’s over.

As soon as it is, I go down to the ice. That way I’ll be seen when Leland comes off.

Amelia's brother, a spitting image with her same fierce eyes and stubborn tilt of the chin, stands before me. His crossed arms signal he's already on defense.

"Leland," I start, my tone level, "I need your help with Amelia."

"Help?" Skepticism laces his one-word question, a verbal check into the boards.

"Yeah." I lock eyes with him, blue meeting brown in a silent standoff. "I want her in the same room so I can talk to her. Explain things. Show her she can trust us."

"Us?" Leland's eyebrow arches, challenging.

"Me. And the team." My words are as solid as the ice we both know so well. "We care about her. I care about her more than you think."

Leland leans back against the wall. His gaze shifts from the floor to me, solid and unyielding. "Riley, you need to let it go. Amelia's moved on. You should too."

"Moved on?" I scoff, feeling my grip tighten on the edge of the bench. "Since when does hiding away mean moving on? Since when does Amelia Brooks back down from a challenge?"

He snorts, pushing off from the wall and standing toe-to-toe with me. He’s got a few inches on me with his skates still on. "This isn't some game, Captain. This is her life. And she doesn't want—"

"Stop!" I thrust a hand up. "Just... stop." Taking a deep breath, I muster every ounce of conviction I have.

"Listen to me, Leland. Amelia is more than just a Blade’s staffer to us—to me. She's the heart behind our hustle, the calm in the storm of our season. Yeah, I know Zach screwed up. But there's something here worth fighting for, something real that I can't—and won't—just walk away from."

"You tell me what's so damn special about her then?" He crosses his arms again.

"Everything," I say without hesitation. "She sees beyond the jerseys and the glory, and she does her job to perfection without expecting any of the spotlight."

"Sounds like you've got it bad," Leland mutters, but his voice lacks its earlier bite.

"Damn right, I do. I'm not playing around when it comes to Amelia. She's fierce, strong, and she makes me want to be a better man. After everything that's happened, I owe it to her—to show her she can trust me, trust us."

"Riley," Leland begins, but I cut him off with a raised hand again.

"Let me finish," I insist. "I see her, Leland. Not just the tough exterior she shows the world, but the laughter that slips out when she forgets to be guarded, the flash of openness in those hazel eyes when she thinks no one's looking. I see the woman who's been burned before, yet still has the courage to wake up every day and face a bunch of overgrown boys with sticks."

Leland's expression softens, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "She's my sister, Riley. I don't want her hurt again."

"Neither do I," I reply. "I want to protect her, fight for her, hell, even get benched for her if that's what it takes. I want her happy. With me."

Silence hangs heavy in the room, punctuated only by the distant hum of machinery from the ice rink. Leland's eyes meet mine again, still uncertain.

"Give me a chance," I say, finally. "Let me prove to you, to her, that we're not just a team. We're a family. And families stick together, through thick and thin, wins and losses. Let me prove that she's as much a part of this family as anyone wearing a Blades jersey."

Leland stares at me long and hard, weighing my words, measuring the sincerity behind them. He nods once, sharply.

"Fine," he says gruffly, "but, Captain, if you fuck this up, you'll have more than just the rival team to answer to."

***

The locker room door slams shut behind me, echoing in the empty corridor of The Blade's practice facility. My breath puffs out in white clouds as I step onto the ice in the empty rink. It's eerie, this silence, like the calm before the storm.

"Alright, listen up!" I say, my voice bouncing off the walls as the team shuffles out to center ice, each wearing their game jerseys. "We've got some unfinished business."

They form a semi-circle around me. Tonight, we aren't playing; we're here to win back trust.

"Amelia switched to nights," I say. "She's been dodging me, and the entire team, ever since those photos got leaked, ."

Murmurs ripple through the group, heads drop. The air is sharp with frost and regret.

"Can't blame her, can we?" I continue, locking eyes with each of them. "We didn't exactly make her feel like part of the team like we do with all of the staff of the Blades."

A nod here, a swallowed sigh there. It's the first step—acknowledgment.

"Tonight, we change that," I declare. "We show her she's part of this team. More than just a towel girl, more than any damn scandal. She's family."

"Family," echoes back, a chorus gaining confidence. This is what I do best—rallying the troops. It's not a power play or penalty kill; it's about making things right.

"Riley, you think she’ll even want to see us?" Jasper asks, breaking the huddle.

"Doesn’t matter if she wants to," I shoot back, the captain in me standing firm. "We owe her this. We show up, we apologize, and we let her decide where to go from there."

"Alright then, Cap," Zach chimes in. "Lead the way."

I nod, feeling the weight of the 'C' on my jersey. Tonight, it stands for more than just captain—it’s a symbol of commitment, of change. It's about Amelia.

"Let's do this," I say, clapping my stick on the ice. "And keep your damn egos in check."

One by one, they nod, tapping sticks on the ice—a salute of solidarity.

My heart races, and the sound fills the rink, loud and clear. We're here for her, ready to break the ice and rebuild what was cracked.

"Keep it going, boys," I yell, leading the charge of making noise until Amelia comes out to see what the racket is. "We've got a teammate to win back."

I watch the rinks’ doors until one swings open with a creak that echoes off the walls. Amelia steps out. She's wearing the Blade’s staff polo style shirt, but she might as well be armor-clad for all the protection she's thrown around herself these past weeks.

"Amelia Brooks," I start, voice steady even if my pulse isn't. "On behalf of the Chicago Blades, we want to present you with this." I hold out the jersey to her, our gazes locked.

Her eyes widen, a flicker of raw emotion crossing her face before she changes it into a neutral expression. The guys shuffle behind me.

"We're not just asking you to forgive us for being assholes," I continue. "We're asking you to join us—as an official part of this team."

"Riley, I..." Her voice trails off, a hand coming up to touch the fabric delicately, tracing the stitching that spells out her name.

"Look, I know actions speak louder than words, right?" I say, my own hands surprisingly steady as I offer the jersey to her. "But here’s the thing: you've been behind the scenes, making things happen without any glory. You’re invaluable to us, Amelia."

"Promotion's not just a title," I add, glancing at the guys who nod in agreement. "It's our way of saying you're a Blade through and through. We wouldn’t be able to do what we do, if you didn’t get all of our stuff ready each and every day.”

Her arms unfold, reaching out instead to accept the jersey. A smile—a real one—breaks across her face.

"I'm part of the team now, huh?" The words are soft but filled with unspoken promises.

"Damn straight," I reply, the corners of my mouth lifting in response. "Welcome to the Blades."

The team erupts into cheers, sticks banging against the boards in salute. The distance between us narrows until she’s in my arms, right where she belongs.