Page 93 of Chips & Checks
Ash bats her eyelashes at him and tosses her hair over one shoulder. “What do you want people to call me? Ass?”
Owen gives a slow nod of his head. “Hm. You make a solid point.” He glances behind us and straightens up, his face suddenly serious. I swear the whole vibe of The Puck Drop shifts as every murmured conversation trails off.
Bowen has entered the bar.
“Hey, you’re on the team, right?” Ash loops her arm through Owen’s. “Want to tell me about some, uh,superimportant hockey stuff? Like whose jersey that is?”
She points at one of the framed shirts on the back wall. It says, in giant letters,BECK.It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she’s giving me some alone time with Bowen. Even Owen puts two and two together without being prompted. He leads her away as Bowen makes his way across the room.
“Hey, Vi.” Bowen posts up at the bar beside me.
“How did it—” I begin.
The bartender, Joey, interrupts us to ask if Bowen wants a Guinness. I order a limoncello while I have his attention.
When he’s gone, Bowen asks me, “Do you think he did that because I’m a hockey player, or because he thinks I might start wrecking the joint?”
I fiddle with a curl of hair. “This place is owned by one of my dad’s former teammates. I don’t think they’re scared of hockey players. Or fights.”
“You think he could take me?” Bowen’s mouth curls up at one corner. “I’m not so sure about that. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.” He flexes one bicep. “I am the new team bruiser.”
I don’t know how he can joke about this.
I’m so scared I’m going to lose him for good, and he’s sitting here making jokes like this is just another blip—just another story we’ll laugh about later. But it’s not. This is our entire future hanging by a thread, and he’s holding the scissors like they’re props in a magic trick.
He could be suspended. Traded. Released outright. And even if he’s not, what if this is the moment he realizes I’m not worth the fallout? That defending me—loving me—costs too much.
My chest tightens like I’ve been cross-checked in the sternum. I don’t want him to see it. But I also don’t know how to hide it.
Because losing Bowen wouldn’t just break my heart.
It would hollow out the best thing I’ve ever had.
Joey returns with our drinks, filling the silence with the usual patter about tabs and tipping. Bowen slides his card across the bar before I can so much as blink.
“Let me,” he says softly, and I don’t have the energy to argue. Not after today. Not after everything.
“So what brings you here?” he asks once Joey drifts away, folding his arms on the bar like we’re just two people catching up, not two people standing on the edge of something that could break us or bind us forever.
“Ash sent up the Bat Signal.” I stir my drink with the little lemon twist and avoid his eyes. “Then she promptly abandoned me. Honestly, I didn’t want to come. I still don’t. I’d rather be at home.”
Bowen raises an eyebrow, playful. “Dare I dream you mean home with me?”
I meet his eyes then. Let the silence hang just long enough to feel like a weight.
“Do you still have a home here?”
He breathes in slowly, and for once, he doesn’t reach for a joke. “Yeah. Turns out… I do.” His voice softens, roughened at the edges by something that sounds suspiciously like relief. “Renee did her thing. She had the receipts. Like, next-level SVU shit.”
I press my glass to my lips to hide the tremble. “Really?”
He nods. “You’ll probably see the hotel hallway footage soon. No sound, not yet. But it’s going viral. People are seeing the truth.”
I sag against the bar, lightheaded. “What about Chad?”
“Gone. Released. Blacklisted.” Bowen reaches for my hand. “You okay? You just went ghost-pale.”
“I feel… wrong for being relieved.” My voice is barely audible. “Like I should be celebrating, but all I feel is haunted.”
