Page 66 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

I lift her into my arms, carrying her to the safety of solid ground.

“Harrison, put me down,” she protests as she clings to me, holding on for dear life as I skate across the ice.

I grunt in annoyance. “Dammit, woman, will you let me take care of you for once?”

“This is ridiculous. I’m not a helpless damsel in distress,” she huffs, her grip tightening around my neck.

Her words are curt and dismissive, but her body tells a different story. The way she steals a glance at me every few seconds, thinking I don’t notice. Her fingers curl tightly at the nape of my neck, and her breath hitches when I adjust my hold. For a fleeting moment, I revel in being so close to her—the warmth of her presses against me, the thrum of her pulse, keeping in time with my own.

Over the past month, we’ve put all of our energy into sparring, each argument a fight for dominance. Yet, as I hold her in my arms, that familiar spark I once felt has become a blazing fire. It makes me wonder if things could be different if I let go of the resentment I’ve been holding on to for the past ten years. Is it really worth letting it simmer until we’re both consumed with nothing but bitterness? Or is it time to confront the past and break free of the chains that have kept me in an endless cycle of anger and frustration even before Fallon came back into my life?

As an athlete and CEO, risk assessment, tough decisions, and taking chances are second nature. So why have I avoided a real conversation with Fallon? It’s not like me to shy away from difficult conversations. The difference is, for once, the stakes are personal, and the wrong step could cost me more than I’m prepared to lose—no matter how I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise.

When we reach the home team’s bench, I carefully set her down and retrieve the blade guards I left there earlier. I slip them on before kneeling in front of Fallon to take off her skates.

She scoots back, her eyes as big as saucers.

“What are you doing?” she demands, her tone high-pitched.

“Taking your skates off so you don’t break your damn neck when you decide to storm off again,” I say sharply. “I promise you can go back to yelling at me in a minute, just let me take off your skates so you don’t get hurt first.”

Fallon sighs, crossing her arms in defiance as I kneel down to untie the laces. Her eyes burn into me as I trail my fingers down her jean-covered thighs. Even with the fabric of her pants between us, I notice the goose bumps rise on her arms, and her lip tucked between her teeth, fighting her reaction.

“You can’t keep me here,” she growls.

“You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.” I stay right where I am, sliding my hands around the right boot, pulling gently to lift it off her foot. “Why the outburst on the ice?”

“Kissing you was a mistake.” She shrugs. “End of story.”

“Bullshit.” I take off her other skate and set it down next to the other one. “Ever since the day we saw each other at Cash and Everly’s wedding celebration, you’ve been distant and harsh.”

Fallon raises her hands in exasperation. “I can say the same thing about you, except you’ve been cold and calculated.”

“Because I had every right to be.”

Fallon blinks, her expression shifting from confusion to irritation. Before I can react, she pushes me back, sending me off-balance. She turns on her heel, leaving me there, stunned.

I rise to my feet, prepared to follow her, but she stops and spins around to face me.

Her eyes burn with accusation. “How dare you.”

“Whoa, slow down,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I knew you were a jerk, but this is a new low, even for you,” she accuses as she steps toward me. “How do you think it felt waking up after one of the best weekends of my life, only to realize that you were gone,” she spits out, her hands balling intofists. “You humiliated me beyond belief, but that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to dig up old wounds and treat me like dirt because your ego couldn’t handle that I wasn’t still pining for you all these years later. I was just another one of your puck bunnies. Good for a weekend, only to be discarded.” She exhales deeply, her lips trembling.

I furrow my brow, resting my hand on her arm. “Fallon, that’s not what happened,” I reply softly, hoping my calm tone will keep the situation from escalating.

She yanks her arm away from me and takes two steps back. “Don’t you dare patronize me. I remember every detail like it was yesterday.” She briefly closes her eyes, trying to hold in the emotion threatening to spill over. “I woke up to an empty bed, your side cold and empty without an explanation. I get that it was a no-strings-attached situation, but you could have said goodbye or at the very least, left a note.”

I drag my hand across my face, the truth settling in—both of us have been clinging to distorted versions of events, and neither is accurate.

“Fallon, I did leave a note,” I say, the words rough against my tongue.

She lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious? That’s what you’re going with? Why lie about this?”

I close the distance between us and take her hands in mine, waiting until she looks at me to speak. “I’m telling the truth. My mom called to tell me my dad had a heart attack. He was going into surgery, and there was a plane waiting. It all happened so fast.” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “You were still asleep, so I left a note with my number. I told you to call me while you had breakfast.”

Her gaze drops to our joined hands as she bites on her lower lip and shakes her head in disbelief. “I checked both nightstands. There was no note,” she whispers.

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