Page 82 of Total Shutdown

The only relief came partway through the week when Collins messaged, letting me know Ezra had turned up at her apartment and she took him for pizza and ice cream. I was suiting up when I got the text. Imagining the two most important people in my life sitting in a booth somewhere, Ezra’s beaming face as he shared a pizza with my girl, was the best possible game prep I could’ve wished for.

I killed it that night on the ice. The only place I’d have chosen over the rink would’ve been a seat next to one of them in the booth or maybe just the chance to be a fly on the wall, witnessing the effect those two had on each other.

Collins Mackenzie is incredible. Sure, she’s beautiful, smart, and her own unique brand, just as she portrays to the outside world. But as I peel the layers back, I see so much depth to her—a side I think she subconsciously denies herself from revealing. The kind of caring side I’m convinced is exclusive to my son—and I hope to me too.

Realizing I’m in love with the woman while sitting in her workplace parking lot was not on my bingo card. In fact, none of this was. Yet it’s happening, and not an ounce of me is mad or intimidated by it.

As I sit in my truck—my luggage in the trunk since I didn’t even bother to take that home—I watch her go about serving customers and filling out paperwork from behind the front desk.

From this distance, I can’t see her face, though I know she’s smiling—she has to be. Motorcycles are what makes this girl happy. Witnessing the passion as it rolls off her in waves is what makes me happy. Because I can relate to that feeling with hockey. When Sophie died, that passion dulled, at one point turning into something that felt more like resentment—since if I hadn’t been away from home at that time, I might’ve been able to save her.

Collins has reignited that passion. Hell, I even smiled during a press interview last night. Jack, the fucker, feigned passing out when he saw the footage.

Swinging my door open, I close it and lock the truck up, striding toward the entrance as Collins disappears back inside the garage.

The bell above the door rings as I push into the reception area, pulling off my Blades cap and running a nervous hand through my hair. I’m desperate to talk about us and what she wants.

Christ, please be me.

“Can I help you?”

I’m halfway to the seating area at the back when a male voice stops me in my tracks, and I spin around to face him.

I’ve no doubt this is her boss, Cameron, wearing a crisp white shirt and black pants. He even dresses like an asshole and uses way too much hair gel. I can smell it from here.

Taking a couple of steps back toward him, I tip my chin at the door leading to the garage. “I’m here for Collins.”

His brown eyes study me carefully, slick black hair shining under the fluorescent lights. I can’t be sure if he recognizes who I am, and equally, I couldn’t give a fuck.

“I assume you’re another one of Collins’s Instagram followers, looking for a free bike service or health check?” he asks, voice full of cynicism.

Ten seconds in his company, and I don’t like him; he gives me the fucking creeps.

I scrub a hand over my unshaven jawline, puffing out a soft breath. The temptation to do just as I did in the bar that time and claim I’m her boyfriend is overwhelming, but I resist, opting for the truth.

“I don’t own a bike. I’m here to take her out.”

He balks but tries to hide it. “As in a date?”

“Yeah,” I reply, not that it has anything to do with him.

Cameron scratches the side of his neck, clearly displeased. “Well, you’ll need to come back when she gets off her shift at, like”—he pushes back the cuff of his shirt, checking his watch—“after five.”

I mirror his actions, pushing up the sleeves of my coat and black henley. “She has a lunch break in, like, twenty minutes, no?”

Casually, he readjusts the collar on his shirt. The move is condescending. How the fuck does a girl like Collins stand working for a guy like this? Thoughts that she actually slept with this prick surface, and I push them away.

Don’t punch her boss, for fuck’s sake, Sawyer.

“You want to take her out for a date on her lunch break?”

No, fucker. I want to see her as soon as motherfucking possible, and if that means grabbing an hour with my girl before she has to return to work for your sorry ass, then that’s what I’ll do.

I smile, patience wearing thin. “Yep. I just got back from a week away, and I want to see my girl.” Themy girlpart slips out unintentionally.

His brows shoot to his hairline. “So, you’re a thing?” He huffs out a doubtful sound. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, buddy. Collins doesn’t get serious with anyone. Not even NHL players.”

Ah, so he does recognize me.

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