Page 24 of One Weekend in Vienna

His grin is teasing. “You said you wouldn’t wear my jersey until I wore the Jäger name on my back. I’m just making good on the deal.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, Boosey shoves a bright red box into my hands. I look at it, then back at Max, who’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Open it,” he says, nudging my arm.

Curiosity wins out, and I lift the lid. Inside, folded neatly, is a black and gold Titanium jersey with Max’s name and number emblazoned on the back. My heart stutters in my chest.

“For when you come to my games,” he says, his tone soft now, almost tentative.

Emotion tightens my throat, and for a moment, I can’t speak. I run my fingers over the fabric, feeling the weight of his gesture—not just the jersey, but everything it represents.

I start to pull it out, but Max stops me, his hand brushing against mine. “Save it for later,” he murmurs, his eyes locking with mine. “I don’t want Felix having a heart attack mid-game. And I’d rather enjoy seeing you in it for the first time... privately.” His eyes darken with his husky words.

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I quickly shove the jersey back into the box, ignoring the wolf whistle that comes from a nearby fan. Max just smirks, clearly enjoying my flustered state.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“True,” he says, leaning back in his seat like he belongs here, like he hasn’t just upended my entire evening. “But you like it.”

Before I can respond, the arena lights dim slightly, signaling the start of the second period. The players flood back onto the ice, and my focus shifts as Felix skates toward our section.

He stops in front of us, his skates kicking up a spray of ice, and lifts his visor, his gaze zeroing in on Max.

For a moment, the two of them just stare at each other, the tension palpable.

Then Felix nods, knocking his stick on the glass, “Looks good on you, Walker,” he shouts before skating off for the face-off.

I turn to Max, who looks ridiculously smug.

“You knew he’d be okay with this,” I say, realization dawning. “Didn’t you?”

“I might have gotten a heads-up,” he admits, his tone far too casual. “And an invitation to Christmas dinner.”

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, but I can’t hide my smile.

Max leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just a reminder, Luxx has offices in Vegas. Once that promotion of yours comes through, you could transfer. Maybe wear that jersey while I’m on home ice, and around the house if you’re so inclined.”

My heart stutters, caught between the playfulness of his words and the weight of what he’s suggesting. “Your house?”

“If Santa gives me what I asked for, it could be our house.” He winks. “I’ve been a very good boy this year, you know.”

I blush again and he reaches out to take my hand.

“I don’t know, it seems wrong to cheer for another hockey team,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

“You can root for whatever team you want,” he says, his eyes locking with mine. “As long as the only name you scream is mine.”

Suddenly, it’s too hot, even sitting right next to the ice.

“I love you, Anya. Every decision I’ve ever made in life, I’ve made it quickly, knowing it’s the right one. You’re the right one. Come home with me after Christmas, Anya.”

The chaos of the game fades into the background as his words settle over me, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, I forget the crowd, the noise, the glare of the arena lights. All I can see is him, the man who somehow managed to find his way into my heart despite every wall I’ve tried to build.

And, as we sit here my hand warm in his, I realize he belongs there.

EPILOGUE

MAX

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