Page 30 of Bar Down

The ice at Scotiabank Arena felt like coming home. Growing up in Toronto, Marcus had dreamed of playing here while watching Maple Leafs games with his father, mentally tracking shot angles from the stands.

As he carved deep edges during warm-up laps, his eyes kept drifting to the press area. Stephanie had avoided him throughout the flight from New Haven, burying herself in work at the back of the plane. After that kiss in her office yesterday, her sudden distance burned like a high stick to the ribs.

"Looking good, Spreadsheets," Kane called, gliding alongside. "Ready to show your hometown what you've got?"

"Always," Marcus replied, his focus snapping back. Game day. Toronto. No distractions.

"Trouble in paradise? Noticed Ellis keeping her distance on the plane."

Marcus shot Kane a warning look. "Don't start."

"Hey, just saying—for someone who had her lipstick on your collar yesterday, she's working pretty hard to avoid you today."

Marcus nearly stumbled mid-stride. "What did you just say?"

Kane grinned. "Chenny saw you leaving her office. Said you looked like you'd just scored in overtime. Then Westfield shows up five minutes later, and suddenly you two aren't speaking? Not hard to connect the dots, man."

"Focus on the game, not gossip," Marcus growled, accelerating away before Kane could dig deeper.

But his captain's words confirmed what he already suspected—Reed and Westfield's appearance had spooked Stephanie into retreat. After what she'd told him about Reed's threats and what he'd pieced together about their history in Boston, her reaction made more sense. She wasn't just being professional. She was being protective.

Which made that kiss all the more significant.

Practice flew by in a series of drills and systems work. When they left the ice, Marcus spotted Stephanie directing Chenny through a video segment. Her black blazer and rigid posture screamed professional distance, a stark contrast to the woman who'd wrapped her arms around his neck just yesterday. Their eyes met briefly across the arena, and he caught it—that flash of heat before she gave him a quick nod and turned away.

His phone buzzed as he headed to the locker room. It was his sister Amara.

Table for THREE in case your PR friend changes her mind about lunch too. Don't be late!

He didn't bother responding. His sister's stubbornness was legendary—and secretly appreciated. As the team bus returned to the hotel, Marcus ran through the odds: Stephanie joining them for dinner tomorrow (higher now after that kiss, despite her retreat), Amara asking embarrassing questions (absolute certainty), keeping things professional (impossible after feeling Stephanie's lips against his).

Instead of following his usual game-day routine, Marcus stopped at Stephanie's hotel room on his way to meet Amara.

One hard knock. The door opened to reveal Stephanie in jeans and a gray sweater—his first glimpse of her off-duty. The casual look suited her, softening the sharp edges she presented to the world. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Marcus. Shouldn't you be with your sister?"

"Heading there now," he said, fighting the urge to step closer, to see if she'd respond to him the way she had in her office. "She's saved you a place. If you want to join us."

Her expression softened before her professional mask slammed back into place. "I have calls scheduled. But thank her for me."

"The calls you made up after I invited you," he said bluntly.

Her lips pressed together, caught. "Has anyone mentioned your directness is a pain in the ass?"

"Frequently. Usually you."

A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. "Go have lunch with your sister, Marcus. I promise we'll talk before dinner tomorrow."

"Dinner is at seven. Amara's place, not my mother's. Less interrogation that way."

"I'm looking forward to it," she said, the sincerity surprising them both.

Marcus nodded, turning to leave before pausing. "About yesterday..."

Her breath caught, eyes darting to his lips before quickly looking away. "We shouldn't discuss that here."

"Not the kiss," he clarified, watching her cheeks flush at his directness. "Westfield and Reed."

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