Chapter 23

I park outsideof Mulligan's and climb out of my Bronco, pushing my keys and my phone into my pocket. I'm looking forward to seeing my teammates and hearing more about the games I missed, but mostly, I just want to see Summer again. Mulligan's is a public place, after all, and we're technically still faking a relationship.

Which means I get to do all the things I want without questioning them. I can touch her, hold her hand, even kiss her if the moment requires it. That's how it goes with a fake relationship. So yeah. I'm a little eager to get inside this very public bar and very publicly greet her.

Though, we didn't have an audience this past weekend. Not when she was taking care of me. Not when she was lying beside me in bed, talking about kissing me if it weren't for my fever.

That conversation felt real.

Summer stayed at my house for two solid days. She made me soup. She brought me medicine to bring my fever down. She kept me company when I was tired of sleeping and told me way too many terrible hockey jokes. I smiled at every single one—even the ones that weren't funny—just because she was the one telling them.

I've always been stubborn about my independence. I don't need anyone. I can't need anyone because I've chosen a lifestyle that isn't conducive to that need. But having her with me, close to me, occupying my space, it felt good. Even better than having teammates.

Over and over again, Summer has positioned herself as my ally—my partner. And not just because of our fake relationship. She's shown up in ways that don't have anything to do with a publicity stunt.

With Blake.

When my fans got too handsy before the Chicago game.

At the press conference when the reporter kept digging with invasive questions.

When I was too sick to take care of myself.

She has been a constant, comforting force. I'm just not sure I deserve it.

I won't deny wanting her. I do. Desperately.

But now that the fog of sickness has cleared and I'm thinking straight again, I also want her to know better than to want me back.

I push into the bar and immediately scan the crowd. I don't see Summer, but Felix, Gracie, Logan, and Parker are at our regular table in the back. Alec is standing at the bar, and he lifts his head in acknowledgment when he sees me walk in.

I hated missing the last three games.

The only thing that made it slightly more tolerable, aside from Summer's near-constant company, was knowing it was a lot harder for the Appies to win without me. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want them to lose. But I don't mind knowing they had to work a little harder for the win.

Felix pushes out a chair for me as I reach the table. Without me even having to ask, he nods toward the bar. "She's here. Up at the bar."

I'm not sure what it means that my teammates seem to have already decided Summer and I are a done deal.

They don't know what they're pushing for.

I wouldn't be a good boyfriend to Summer in the best of circumstances. I definitely won't be at the tail end of our season when we're getting ready for playoffs.

Maybe my teammates have been able to make relationships work. But for how long? How long before it gets hard and messy and stuff just…breaks?

I can't take the risk. I can't be a risk for Summer. No matter how much I want to.

Still, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. It feels like I'm walking around with a ticking time bomb inside my chest. Like a cord is coiling inside me, wrapping tighter and tighter, making me taut with tension.

The only reason I haven't snapped so far is that I can at least pretend to be with her in public.

"She's where?" I ask, eyes still moving over the crowd. Mulligan's is unusually crowded tonight.

"Right there," Gracie answers, pointing.

There's something off about her tone, and I swivel my eyes to her. Parker is beside Gracie, and they're wearing matching frowns, their bodies tense as they stare past me toward the bar.

"What's going on?" I ask. "What's happening?"

Gracie reaches out and touches my arm. "Summer is fine," she says. "She's been texting me."

"Where is she?" I ask again, my voice a little firmer this time.

Gracie flinches the slightest bit, and Felix drops a warning hand on my shoulder. "She's at the bar talking to her old boss. And I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want you making a scene."

I immediately turn in my chair, scanning the bar until I finally spot Summer wedged in between two bar stools, a man hovering behind her and almost entirely blocking her in.

Oh, I'm definitely making a scene. I told Summer exactly what I would do if this guy ever showed his face around her. I don't care what she texted Gracie—if that guy is anywhere near her, she isn't really fine.

I'm out of my seat and stalking across the bar before anyone has the chance to stop me.

I once had a school counselor tell me there were things I could do to make myself seem smaller, less imposing. Ways to soften my expression, to let people know I'm not actually contemplating ripping them limb from limb.

I do none of those things right now.

I'm two steps away when Summer looks up and spots me, and the relief on her face sends a bolt of lightning straight to my heart. She's glad I'm here. Which means I'm right, and this guy shouldn't be anywhere near her.

He must sense her shift in focus, because he turns, then rears back the slightest bit when he sees me.

Yeah, buddy. I have that effect on people for a reason.

The guy quickly recovers, his posture shifting in a way that feels slick and obvious, his confidence blatant enough that it can only be fake. I don't recognize him, but I recognize the kind of man he is.

I use my left shoulder to nudge him out of my way, then reach for Summer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her toward me.

She comes willingly, her palms lifting to my chest as her body presses against mine.

I'm not exactly sure why I do it. But when Summer is finally in my arms, I don't stop. I don't say hello. I just lean down, wrap my palms around her shoulders, and kiss her.

Maybe it's to let this guy know exactly how serious I am about keeping Summer away from him.

Maybe it's because if I don't channel the energy coursing through me into something, I actually might rip him limb from limb.

Maybe it's because the coiled tension inside me has finally snapped.

I could lie to myself and say I'm only kissing her because we're in public. Because her jerk of a boss is watching, and he needs to believe we're together.

But right now, I'm kissing Summer because I want to—because I want her to know she's mine.

Her lips are warm and soft and yielding, parting the slightest bit as she kisses me back. Her hands form fists as she grips the fabric of my hoodie, then she tugs me toward her, pushing up on her tiptoes to bring us even closer. I lift a hand, sliding it up the back of her neck, cradling her jaw, her hair slipping through my fingers like silk.

Even though we've kissed before, all the previous kisses have been careful. Intentionally measured so they didn't go too far, so I didn't feel too much.

But I'm not measuring anything now. And I'm feeling—everything.

It's stupid. Reckless, even. I don't know how to do this—and yet, I don't know how to not.

If we were anywhere else, I would not stop with one kiss. I would pull Summer against me, explore her mouth with the reverence and attention it deserves. But we have a very attentive audience, and it's time for me to tell him to get the hell out of Harvest Hollow and leave Summer alone.

"Hey, baby," I say to Summer, looking at her warmly. Talking like we've done this a thousand times. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

I motion to her jerk of an ex-boss with a tilt of my head. "Who's your friend?" I infuse my words with what I hope sounds like easy confidence, keeping my words light enough that there's no trace of jealousy. I'm not intimidated by this man. I don't want him to think I am.

Summer tucks herself under my arm, slipping a hand around my waist. "This is my old boss, Jason Roscoe. Remember? I told you all about him," she says pointedly. "Jason, this is my boyfriend, Nathan Sanders. He plays hockey for the Appies."

Jason looks me up and down, then audibly scoffs. "So it is true," he says, his tone dripping with derision. "Congratulations on finally wearing her down. She's a prickly one." He says this last part with a knowing eye roll, like we're commiserating over a shared experience.

I pull Summer a little closer. "Funny," I say. "That hasn't been my experience at all."

This comment backfires because it shifts Jason's roving gaze to Summer. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, and Summer tenses beside me.

If this guy creeps me out with his stare, I can only imagine what his gaze does to her.

It's all I can do not to pick him up by the collar and haul him outside so I can show him exactly what I think of his attitude, but then Alec appears behind him, his expression telling me I have more to consider than Summer's feelings.

I'm an Appie.

And Appies don't get into bar fights.

If only I could meet this guy on the ice.

"If you'll excuse us," I say, my tone overly friendly, "we've got friends waiting for us."

I turn and walk Summer back to the table, tucking her close, keeping my body between her and Jason. I don't even want him to see her anymore, much less think he can try to talk to her again. I guide her to the seat next to Gracie, then place both hands on her shoulders, squeezing them once. "Stay here," I say, my voice low.

"Nathan, wait—" Summer says, but for once, I ignore her.

I motion to my teammates, who immediately stand up and wordlessly follow me back to the bar.

I won't get into a fight, but I will let this guy know he'd better never show his face in town again.

I step up behind Jason Roscoe and lean close, giving his shoulder what I hope is a painful squeeze. "You have exactly two minutes to pay your tab and get out of this bar. Understand?"

He looks over his shoulder, and I tighten my grip as his eyes move from me to Felix, Alec, Eli, Logan, and Van, who are standing behind me, a looming brick wall of muscle and mass.

He nods once, and I let him go. But I'm not through with him yet.

It takes him almost four minutes to make it into the parking lot, but when he does, I'm waiting for him. I step out of the darkness as soon as he rounds the corner, leaving the glow of the lights illuminating the bar's front entrance.

I push him into the brick wall, pinning him there, my hands holding onto the lapels of his coat. He grunts, his eyes widening as he looks over my shoulder and sees my teammates, still flanking me.

"She's not your concern," I say menacingly. "She doesn't want to hear from you, she doesn't want to see you. And you won't see her again. Not unless you want to answer to me."

Jason's jaw tightens, but then he rolls his eyes and nods.

I lean into him a little harder.

"Tell me you understand," I say, and he huffs. "Tell me," I growl.

"I understand." His voice cracks at the end of his last word, and I finally let him go, stepping back enough for him to move past me and get to his car.

I watch him, unwavering, until he's pulling out of the parking lot, then I finally blow out a long breath.

"I hate guys like that," Eli says, stepping up beside me. He drops a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I nod, but then I look at Eli and frown. He's smirking. Like he's seconds away from bursting into laughter.

"What?" I say, and then my eyes lift to the rest of my teammates, who are all wearing similar expressions.

"That was some kiss, man," Alec says.

I run a hand across my beard. "I've kissed her before."

"Not like that, you haven't," Van says.

So it wasn't just me who thought that kiss was different.

I have to wonder what Summer thought about it. What she's thinking now.

For the briefest moment, hope glimmers in my mind. Maybe we could be together. Maybe we could make this work. But then my waning adrenaline gives way to the full scope of emotions building in my chest, and I shake my head.

"It's not real," I say. "It was just because her old boss was there. Because we're in public. All of this—it's all been fake." My words crack at the end of my sentence, and I drop my head, my chin falling to my chest.

Felix steps up beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Nathan, it's never been fake," he says. "It doesn't matter what lie you've been telling yourself or telling her, that's the truth. And you know it."

I shrug out of his grip and stalk toward the door, suddenly frantic. I have to get away from him, from whatever is happening, but I stop in my tracks when Summer steps into the parking lot.

I freeze a few yards away from her, and she does the same. Her face is a study of emotion. There's desire there, and my pulse immediately reacts, sending hot blood racing through my veins. But there's something else, too. Something I can't quite read.

It only now occurs to me that I spent the last fifteen minutes reacting, without actually asking Summer if she wanted my help. I kissed her. Called her baby.

Then I dropped her in a chair and commanded her not to move like I'm some kind of Neanderthal who fights her battles for her.

It felt like the perfect choice at the time, and I can't say I have regrets. But does Summer feel the same way?

Slowly, my friends file past me, offering me encouraging looks or pats on the back. Felix is last to go, and he looks me dead in the eye and says, "Don't run, man. Don't run from this."

I want to believe I can do what he says.

I'm just not sure I know how.