Page 73 of Stick Break
I gasp, playfully scandalized. “Ripley Hart, that’s accessory to a crime.”
He chuckles. “Thank God we didn’t get caught. Otherwise…”
I press a finger to his chest, right over his heart. “Otherwise, it could’ve jeopardized your future.”
The humor fades from his face, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He releases a breath. “Right,” he says softly.
I blink up at him, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want anything to jeopardize your future.” He nods, and I exhale slowly, before admitting, “I’m not sure what my future holds. But I do know I can’t go running back to my parents’ house. I can’t sleep in my childhood bedroom like I’ve pressed pause on my life and gone backward.”
A beat passes.
Then he says it, almost too casually, like he’s testing the words in his mouth before committing to them. “You… you could always come back to Boston with me.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Boston. With him.
I glance up, caught off guard, and I see the way he straightens—his shoulders squaring, his posture shifting like he’s stepped into something real and doesn’t know how it’s going to land.
“Roman,” he says after a breath. “My buddy, the one I told you about?”
“The one who’s going to be your best man at our wedding in Italy?” I tease, trying to slow the pounding of my heart with humor.
He grins, relaxing a little. “Yeah, him. Last year… he helped out an old friend. She went back to Boston with him to get her life in order.”
I tilt my head. “This old friend… was it the runaway bride?”
His grin spreads wider, pure warmth. “Yep. That’s her. Gabby. She designs clothes now. For NHL families.”
He grabs his phone, scrolling quickly, then holds it out. “Look.”
The screen is filled with tiny jerseys, glittering team logos on baby onesies and booties.
“These are adorable,” I say, but the words catch in my throat.
He’s not just showing me clothes. He’s showing me a piece of the life he thought he’d have with Lyra. Marriage. Family. Stability. And I can see it, etched in the softness of his expression, in the way his thumb lingers on the edge of the screen, that he still wants that.
“I love them,” I tell him, gently. “So this is Gabby, the runaway bride you had to find clothes for? She and Roman ended up together?”
“Married,” he confirms, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I married them, actually. As in… officiated.” He gives a crooked smile, then quickly adds, his voice rushed and a little flustered, “I’m not offering marriage, obviously. Just… a place to stay. I have a two-bedroom place. It’s not much, but it’s safe. No pressure. We could come up with new rules. Like… you know… not sleeping together. If that makes things easier.”
I let out a laugh that’s half breath, half ache. “I don’t think not sleeping together makes anything easier.” But still, I get it.
He’s trying to give me something solid without putting weight on it. Trying to offer safety without strings. But we both know the strings are already there. And then I say the thing I shouldn’t, the thing that’s been haunting the edges of this whole conversation.
“I know when you get back to real life, when we’re outside of this bubble, you’ll want to see other women.” I try to keep my voice light, teasing even, but my stomach knots at the thought.
Of him with someone else. Of me watching from the other side of a shared apartment wall, pretending I don’t care.
The silence between us thickens.
“Take your time to think about it,” he says quietly.
I nod, but my mind is already spinning. Is he really offering me a place to stay? A safe space to figure out who I want to be? Or is this just the next version of hiding?
And if I say yes...
What happens when the bubble bursts? When he finds out who I really am? When he sees the video? Will he believe it was fake, or will he look at me differently? Will he see me as the girl the internet says I am—just another fame-chasing, sex-tape-selling scandal? Even if none of it’s true, that doesn’t mean it won’t ruin everything.
I swallow the knot forming in my throat as Rip lightly trails his fingers up and down my arm. “I’m just saying, Char,” he murmurs, voice soft, “You could use a friend or two. I know you and Gabby would really hit it off.”
