Page 12 of The Runaway

“Hideaway Springs.”

She chuckles again. “Wait, you’re serious? And you’re here with Chase?”

“Am I missing something?”

“I used to date Levi, Chase’s older brother.”

I bite my lower lip, jogging up my memory. “Oh, I remember him. The cute one.”

Lonnie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, he’s a pretty boy alright. But he had a kid and that’s not really my thing.”

“So what makes Chase such a big shot around here, anyway?” I look around since I don’t even see him. “Is he like the manager or something?”

Lonnie frowns. “You bustin’ my chops?”

“Your what?”

Another eye roll. Then she leans in and shifts my chin toward the ice. “Number forty-nine, our team captain. Brought home the last two championships, kept us at the top of the charts for three years in a row and the youngest team captain in the league. Aka, ‘the King’.”

“We took care of your date,” Tracy says when she walks me back outside the locker room. Chase is leaning against the wall outside the double doors, scrolling through his phone. He’s in a sweatshirt and holding a red and white bomber jacket that looks very much like the team colors.

Chase sets his leg down and lifts his brow. “My date?”

“That’s what she said. Be a gentleman and take the girl out. It’s the least you could do since she waited for you all night.”

“Right.”

He hands me my helmet as the girls offer me a quick hug—which I awkwardly accept before they disappear in their own locker room across the hall.

Chase pushes the jacket against my ribs. “Ready…date?”

I lift my hands. “Look, you might be some sort of god here, but I’m not carrying your stuff.”

“Jacket’s for you, wiseass.”

“Oh.”

“It dropped about ten degrees outside, and I don’t need you shivering behind me.”

“How sweet,” I deadpan.

“Professional hockey, huh?” I ask as we slip back onto his bike.

“Disappointed?”

“Surprised…but also not.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a long ride back to town. Hang tight and try not to fall asleep again.” His shield goes back on and he waits for me to wrap my arms around him before taking off.

“You do this drive every day?” I ask when we finally pull into town and stop at a red light.

“No.”

“You certainly are a man of few words.”

“Wish I could say the same for you.” The engine revs up again and we’re heading back down a familiar road. It’s quiet, dark. Close to midnight. I’m trying not to fall asleep, but the exhaustion is slowly taking over.

He stops in front of a small cottage. It’s familiar, nestled between a larger home and an open space that looks like it was the start of some groundwork cut short. Something I learned all about living in New York when construction would stop until proper permits were acquired.

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