Page 23 of The Final Faceoff
ChapterNine
Leif
What to Do When Hockey Instincts and Life Instincts Collide
The proverb “If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain” basically means that if something doesn’t happen, you have to make it happen yourself.
Which is why, after giving Hailey plenty of time to reach out and tell me what’s going on, I did the next logical thing—asked Jacob to find her for me.
Jacob, my agent-slash-problem-solver-slash-actual-magician, has a network of people who can find anything or anyone given enough time and motivation.
And my motivation? Hailey Jean’s disappearing act. According to Jacob’s sources, she’s currently holed up inside a not-so-fancy hotel near Central Park, probably eating ice cream and—well, who the fuck knows what she’s doing to make this all go away.
But wallowing is over. She should know better by now. I won’t let her. Which is why I’m currently standing outside the building, staring up at the windows.What the fuck happened to you, Hailey Bean?
Because something did happen. I don’t know what, exactly. But Hailey doesn’t go dark like this unless she’s avoiding something—or someone. I take the front steps two at a time and push through the doors. The lobby is modest. This is one of those places you hole yourself up when you don’t want to be found.
Which is exactly why she picked it.
The elevator closes too fast, so I take the stairs, because standing still isn’t an option right now.
She’s on the fourth floor. Room four hundred and twelve.
I slow down when I reach her door, rolling my shoulders back, setting my face into something neutral. I don’t want her to see how fucking mad I am—so fucking mad—because that won’t help.
Then I knock.
Silence.
I wait. Knock again.
Nothing.
I let out a breath, debating my next move. Break the door, call the manager or . . . as I consider calling her name so loud it’ll embarrass her, I hear shuffling inside.
A few seconds later, it cracks open just enough for her face to appear. And, okay—she looks rough. Not in the Hailey-was-out-too-late way. Not in the Hailey-just-got-off-a-long-flight way. This is something else.
Her eyes scan me quickly, like she’s deciding whether to let me in or shut the door in my face.
I hold my hands up. “Before you slam the door, let me just say—you’re really bad at ghosting people.”
She exhales, something tired, resigned. Then, without a word, she steps back and lets me inside.
The room is exactly what I pictured. A half-eaten carton of ice cream on the nightstand. A pile of blankets in a shape that suggests she’s spent way too much time under them. A movie paused on the TV—one of those predictable romcoms she swears she doesn’t love but can quote word-for-word.
She crosses her arms, shifting her weight like she’s bracing for impact. I take my time looking around before facing her fully.
“I should be flattered, you know,” I say, nodding toward the mess. “That you actually thought this was a good enough hiding spot to keep me from finding you.”
She groans and drops onto the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. “Leif, I swear to God?—”
“What?” I step closer. “You swear to God, what? That you were just going to keep ignoring me forever? That I’d eventually take the hint and let you spiral alone?”
She flinches, and I hate it.
Because I didn’t come here to make her feel worse.
I take a breath, forcing my voice softer. “Hailey.” I shake my head. “Whatever this is? You don’t have to do it alone.”
