Page 75 of Fractured Faceoff

In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of someone who might be ready to face the world—or at least ready to face the game. The thought of Brody flashed through my mind like an unwelcome guest crashing a party. I doubted I would actually see him; as a radio host, he was in the press box during the game, but still. Shaking it off, I focused on putting one last touch on my lips when Jared’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Sugar, you in there?” He knocked softly before pushing the door open.

I turned around just as he stepped into the room. My breath hitched in my throat. He wore a tailored suit that clung perfectly to his athletic frame, sharp lines accentuating his broad shoulders and slim waist. The navy fabric contrasted with his sun-kissed skin, while a crisp white shirt peeked out beneath the fitted jacket.

His tie hung loose around his neck, adding a hint of nonchalance to his polished look—classic Jared. The Southern charm radiated off him like warmth from a summer sun, and for a moment, all thoughts of Brody vanished.

“Wow,” I managed to whisper as I took him in from head to toe.

He smirked and adjusted his collar, clearly enjoying the effect he had on me. “You like?”

“I do,” I admitted, fighting back an involuntary smile.

Jared leaned against the doorframe with an easy confidence that made it hard not to stare. His dark hair fell just right across his forehead, giving him that effortlessly rugged appearance that sent butterflies dancing in my stomach.

“You clean up pretty well yourself.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at my outfit.

My cheeks flushedwarm under his gaze—a reaction I couldn't ignore. Something about him being this close and looking so good made me forget we were supposed to be pretending.

His eyes danced with mischief as he reached out, holding a folded jersey. He handed it to me with a grin that made my stomach flip.

“I have something for you,” he said, his voice smooth as honey.

I raised an eyebrow, unfolding the fabric. It wasn’t a cute girl jersey, adorned with sparkles or frills; it was one of his, the nameCrowderemblazoned across the back in bold letters. The fabric smelled faintly of laundry detergent mixed with something distinctly him—a hint of sweat and fresh air from the rink.

“You really want me to wear this?” I laughed, but my heart raced at the thought of wearing it.

“Slip it on,” he instructed, his tone light but insistent.

I hesitated, glancing at him. The idea felt absurd but also thrilling. With a shrug, I tossed aside my shirt and pulled on the oversized jersey. The fabric draped loosely over me, swallowing my frame but also wrapping me in warmth and an undeniable sense of comfort.

Jared stepped back to assess me, his eyes narrowing slightly as his jaw ticked.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.

“You're perfect,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think what?” I pressed, searching his face for answers.

He hesitated for a moment, the usual charm fading into something deeper. “I didn’t think you could look this good in one of my jerseys.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, disbeliefmingling with delight. “Really? That’s what you were thinking?”

“No.” His expression shifted, sincerity replacing the teasing spark in his eyes. “I mean... yeah, you look good in it—but more than that.” He took a breath as if weighing his words carefully before continuing. “You look... free. Like you belong here—like this is exactly where you're meant to be.”

His gaze locked onto mine, piercing through the bravado I had wrapped around myself like armor. Something inside me softened at that moment; maybe there was truth in what he said.

“What do you mean?” My voice came out softer than intended.

“I mean you’re not hiding anymore.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret just between us. “You’ve got this spark when you let go. And I can see it. And the world will see it."

The air between us crackled, charged with something unspoken. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, a wild rhythm that seemed to sync with the way Jared looked at me. Those amber eyes held a depth that made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, I forgot all about Brody, my sister, everything that had pulled me down until now.

“Well,” he finally broke the spell. He straightened up and checked his watch. “You ready?”

I nodded, unable to find my voice. A part of me wanted to hold onto this moment—this fragile thread of connection—but reality crept back in like an unwelcome guest.

The car ride to the rink settled into a comfortable silence. Jared drove with one hand on the wheel, while the other drummed softly against his thigh. I stared out thewindow, watching the world blur by in shades of gold and orange as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Every so often, I caught him glancing over at me, those quick glances sending warmth flooding through me. I focused on the scenery outside—the familiar streets leading to our rink—while my mind danced with thoughts of what we were about to do.

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