Page 9 of From Ice to Home
She looks up at me with a small smile, the neon lights dancing across her features. “So neither of us wanted to come here, and yet here we are. If I didn’t know any better, God sent you here to make sure I survived this trip. When do you have to go back to New York?” she asks, and I don’t miss the tinge of hope in her voice.
She’s just starting her trip, and I’m at the end of mine.
I look at my watch, seeing that it’s already two-thirty in themorning. “I have to be on a plane in five hours. We have practice in the afternoon and a game tomorrow night.”
The disappointment is clear, as we realize that both of us want more time.
“Shouldn’t you be heading to bed then?” she asks, her tone teasing but edging with practicality. “You won’t have a great practice on zero hours of sleep.”
We continue to walk slowly along the strip. Her hand is still firmly held in mine, her arm pressed against me as we walk side by side. We’ve created our own little bubble and I’ll do anything to stay in it for as long as possible.
I glance at her, shaking my head. “I’ll sleep on the plane.”
I lift her hand to my mouth, unable to help myself as I place a kiss against the back of it. There’s a flash of uncertainty across her features at my gesture, which she quickly hides. Someone who doesn’t know Hannah might’ve missed it. A sinking feeling twists in my stomach, a mix of fear and insecurity.
“So, tell me more, Sanders. What have you been up to?”
“A lot,” she says, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “A lot can happen in five years, Luke.”
Her words are light, but they carry a weight I wasn’t expecting. The way she says it, so casually, makes my chest tighten. My eyes drop to her left hand, almost involuntarily, wondering if she’s met someone in the time we’ve been apart.
I know she’s not the kind of girl to lead someone on or be involved with someone while keeping things ambiguous with me, but I can’t shake the feeling. Maybe it’s the way she’s been avoiding certain things, the way she’s stepped back in moments when I thought we were connecting. Or maybe it’s because I still remember how easily she slipped away from me the last time we were together.
“Does that mean you’re spoken for?” I ask, needing to know.
At dinner earlier, our conversations were more surface level. We mostly spoke about the team and her studies, but we didn’t dive into too personal things, especially with my teammates and her friend being in the vicinity.
She blushes and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear so I can see more of her face.
“No, nothing like that,” she says, shaking her head.
Relief floods me, igniting something deeper, something unexpected.
“Good.” My voice comes out too rough, too raw, betraying the excitement coursing through me.
“Good?” she asks, her green eyes searching mine, as if she’s trying to read me.
“I won’t pretend I’m not happy you’re not seeing someone,” I tell her the truth, before second-guessing myself. “I’ve missed you.”
“Lucas—“ she starts, uncertainty laced in her voice. Uncertainty I want to wipe away.
“I’m just being honest,” I press, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “We spent so much time together back home, we had a plan, things were good, and then—“
“They weren’t,” she says matter-of-factly. The finality in her voice stings more than I expected.
I search her eyes, desperate to know what’s going through her mind. But she avoids my gaze, as if more at ease with the silence between us than the truth of the past. She gently tugs my hand, guiding us forward as we continue to walk down the Strip. Then, without hesitation, she slips her other hand over ours—fingers laced, warm, steady—and rests her head against my arm.
Something settles inside me. Saying the words out loud, admitting how much I missed her, feels like releasing a breath I’ve been holding for years. But at the same time, it feels liketoo little—too small compared to the battle I’ve fought without her.
“I missed you too,” she says softly. Her words hit my heart, the vulnerability and sincerity in them marking me in a permanent way.
I look down at her, not just seeing the woman beside me now, but the girl who stole my heart the first time she walked into the tutor center. We were never in the same classes, she was in the honors and AP courses—a step ahead of everyone, including me. In fact my ego took a bit of a hit when I found out that she was actually a year younger than me, and still she was the one who had to tutor me so I could stay in the hockey program.
Her shy, demure demeanour had drawn me in instantly. But as I got to know her, I realized it was only the surface. Beneath the quiet exterior was a fiery personality, a strength I never expected, and a heart of gold that I came to rely on more than I ever wanted to admit.
God, how could you let me walk away?
How could You bring her back now, only to rip her away again?
