Offside Hearts (Love and Hockey Book 1)

A week later, the Denver Aces have another away game, and I travel with them to Dallas. Unlike Ted, who normally doesn’t travel with the team, it’s been decided that I’ll go to as many away games as I can, so that I can document the team’s travels and get more candid footage.

I didn’t get as much work done last week as I wanted to since I had to take Friday off, so I’m still playing catch up. I consider showing up late to the game, because I still have a lot of editing to do on the next few videos I plan to post. But then I remember Ted mentioning that the team the Aces will be playing tonight are really tough competition, and that the Aces lost to them three games in a row last season.

So I put on a jersey—the one with Noah’s number on it—and go to show my support for my favorite team.

Sitting in the stands, I’m on the edge of my seat for practically the entire game. This is the first game I’ve attended where I can really feel the tension in the air, and it’s echoed inside my own body. While I’ve always rooted for the Aces to win ever since I got hired, it wasn’t until tonight that I really understood what it’s like to be a true fan. To be this worried about the outcome of the event.

I clap and jump to my feet every time the Aces make a good play, and go wild every time they score a goal.

By the third period, when the game is tied up and there are only a few minutes left on the clock, my voice is nearly gone from all my screaming and cheering. I keep messing with the hem of my jersey as the seconds go by, secretly hoping that by wearing Noah’s number, I can send him some good luck. I haven’t worn this jersey to a game yet, because I was afraid of what sort of message it might send. I’m the social media manager for the whole team, so I can’t appear to be playing favorites or anything.

But now I’m wearing it proudly, and on some level… I want Noah to notice.

Maybe it’ll help him play better.

Just as I have that thought, a player from the other team gets possession of the puck and then skates down the ice as fast as he can. There’s nobody there to block him, and he gets a clean shot at the goal. The puck goes flying past Grant, hitting the net, and the majority of the crowd stands up and cheers. We are in their territory, and there are only a handful of Denver Aces fans in the stands tonight.

I’m one of them, and I feel the collective disappointment as we all have the realization that it’s over.

The game is called two minutes later, and the Denver Aces have lost.

There’s a tight feeling in my chest as people start to rise from their seats and shuffle toward the exits, and I’m a little surprised by how much this is affecting me. I can’t even imagine how the team is feeling.

Noah and I don’t sit near each other on the bus, which is probably for the best, but it means I don’t get a chance to say anything to him about their loss tonight.

Back in my hotel room, as I’m getting ready for bed, I send him a text just to make sure he’s doing okay.

ME: Sorry about the game. I wore your jersey, hoping it would bring you good luck, but I guess it didn’t work.

NOAH: No way. You could never be anything but good luck to me, Sunflower. Even though we lost, we played our hearts out, and that’s a win in my book. You wearing my jersey is *definitely* lucky, so never stop.

I smile, my heart pounding a little faster.

Noah and I have been texting on and off throughout the past week. He kept checking up on me as I recovered from the root canal, and from there, the conversation just kept flowing. I made a few efforts to cut it off, to try to step back and keep things totally professional, but he always found a way to draw me in again. He’s flirted a lot over text, and even though I know going on like this is risky, I can’t seem to hold myself back any longer.

It’s not like I’ve been aggressively flirting back or anything… but I haven’t been shutting him down either.

I’ve stayed more or less neutral, and he’s clearly taken that as a sign that something has shifted between us.

He isn’t wrong.

Tonight, however, I have this feeling in my gut that I need to tread lightly. His hotel room is only a couple of doors down from mine, and since I know we’re both tired and emotional, I’m not sure I trust either of us to make smart decisions. I leave my phone to charge in the bathroom and turn on the TV, and after a short while, I doze off with a sitcom marathon playing in the background.

I’m probably a minute or two away from falling into a deep REM sleep when a crack of thunder rips me back into the waking world, and I snap up in bed. My heart is racing, and one glance out my window tells me we’re in the middle of a full-blown storm. The rain is coming down hard, and lightning illuminates the sky every couple of seconds, followed very quickly by the booming, rattling sounds of thunder.

Fuck.

My pulse is already racing from being jerked awake, and a cold rush of fear shoots through my limbs. Ever since I was a kid, big storms like this have always freaked me out, and tonight is no different. I pull the covers all the way to my chin and try to drown out the sound of the thunder by turning the volume on the TV up louder. There’s a bright light, and this time, it seems as if the lightning has struck literally right outside my window.

“Shit!” I yelp, then clap my hand over my mouth, trying to suck in air through my nose to calm myself down.

The thunder shakes the building, and I pull the covers all the way over my head, forgetting all about my attempt to distract myself by watching TV.

I try to remind myself that storms always pass eventually, and that the building is solid, but as the elements rage and the wind continues to howl, I can feel a panic attack coming on. I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms as I brace myself for the next loud crack, but instead, I hear the soft sound of someone knocking on the door to my hotel room.

Confused, I peer out from under the covers, then take my sweet time crawling out of bed. I’m half convinced that it’s going to be hotel personnel on the other side of the door, coming to warn me that the storm is getting too wild and we need to get into some kind of shelter. My palms begin to sweat as I shuffle across the floor, but thankfully, I have the good sense to look through the peephole before I open my door to a complete stranger.

Except… it’s not a stranger.

It’s Noah.

He’s wearing just sweat pants and no shirt, and his hair is messy, like he just got out of bed. I look down to make sure my sleep shorts and tank top are covering everything up properly, then open the door.

“Noah,” I say, my voice a little strained. “What are you doing here?”

Concern flashes across his face, his brows drawn low over his blue eyes. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you hate thunderstorms.”

I frown. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “That’s another thing you told me after I drove you back from your dental appointment.” He seems to consider something and looks a little embarrassed as he adds, “But a lot of what you said to me didn’t make much sense, so maybe you’re not actually afraid of thunderstorms.”

“No,” I say, my voice shaking a little. “I am. I hate them.”

The worried look returns to his expression, and his gaze drops to my arms. I’m sure he can see the goosebumps that have popped out all over my skin. “Can I come in?”

I should say no, but…

“Sure,” I whisper, stepping aside.

He walks into my little room, and as I close the door behind him, another huge clap of thunder breaks outside. I jump and let out a pathetic little shriek. Noah steps closer, his hands closing around my biceps just like they did that first day we met in the elevator.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling me into the warm, firm cradle of his arms. “I’m here. Just tell me what you need.”

“I—” A shiver wracks my body. “I don’t know.”

I can feel the movement of his head as he nods, and he keeps an arm around me as he leads me toward the bed. “Do you want to lie down?” He glances over at the TV, which I turned down a little before I answered the door. “We can watch some reruns until the storm passes.”

“Okay,” I breathe. My voice is shaky, just like the rest of my body, but when I crawl under the covers and Noah sits down on the edge of the mattress next to me, I feel a little better. I clear my throat and pat the other side of the bed. “You can lie down too if you want. I trust you.”

He raises a brow. “Yeah? I swear, I won’t try anything.”

That makes me laugh, although it’s more like a huff of air. “I know. Because if you do, I’ll throw you out into that storm.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile, and he goes around to the other side of the bed and crawls under the covers next to me. His body is warm, and he smells like he’s fresh out of the shower, his woodsy, spicy scent clinging to his skin. I shimmy down a little farther under the covers, and in the process, end up moving nearer to him.

When the thunder kicks up again, rain lashing the window, it makes me jump involuntarily.

Fuck it, I think, and then I move even closer to Noah.

Without saying anything, he moves his arm so that I can cuddle up next to him and rest my head in the crook of his shoulder. He and I watch TV like that for a while, curled up together in silence—or as much silence as possible in the middle of a thunderstorm. I breathe in and out a few times, trying to focus on the storyline of the sitcom playing out on the screen in front of me, but all I can really think about is the last time Noah and I were this close.

When we made the TikTok video, he held me high up in the air, then brought me down, our bodies pressed together and our eyes locked.

And the time before that…

I’d be lying if I said I don’t remember every single moment of being trapped in that elevator with him. I was freaking out, terrified, just like I was when he came to my room tonight. But that day, just like tonight, the feel of his arms around me settled something inside me. The strength of his body, the way his scent surrounded me as he held me close, the rumble of his voice against my ear?

It was perfect. Unforgettable.

And even though we were strangers who had barely even seen each other’s faces, in the darkness of the elevator everything else seemed to fall away, leaving just the pure, raw connection between us.

How much longer are you going to deny that’s what it was? a little voice whispers in my head. A connection.

I hold on to Noah a little tighter and close my eyes, and after a while, the thunder becomes quieter and the rain gets softer and softer. A bit more time passes, and it seems as if the worst of it has passed. The lightning is far enough away that I can barely see or hear it.

I wonder if Noah is still awake. If he is, he must’ve noticed that the storm is over. Is he about to get up and leave?

That would be the practical thing to do. That’s what I should be doing myself. I should be disentangling myself from his arms and telling him it’s time for him to go back to his room. But instead, I stay totally and completely still.

Noah reaches up and starts to run his fingers through my hair, and I let him.

“You’re not shaking anymore,” he murmurs. “That’s good.”

“I’m feeling a lot better,” I say softly. “Thanks.”

He exhales, and a few seconds pass before he speaks again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you so afraid of storms?”

My stomach tightens a little. “Oh. Well… that’s not really a happy story. It’s actually kind of a huge downer.”

“Tell me anyway.”

I take a moment to collect my thoughts. This isn’t something I talk about often, and I haven’t told anyone new about it in a while. The wound is old enough now that it doesn’t hurt the same way it used to, but the ache will always be there.

“My oldest brother, Sebastian, died when I was a kid,” I whisper. “He went out driving in bad weather and crashed his car. Now, every time there’s a storm, I just get this sickening feeling that something really bad is going to happen. I know it’s not rational, but every time I hear thunder or see lightning, I just feel like I’m a kid again. Like my mom is about to get the call from the police department, letting her know that they need her to come down and identify a body.”

Saying all of it out loud makes a lump well up in my throat, and Noah tightens his grip on me. He holds me close for a few seconds, and then we both let out a breath together.

He pulls away just far enough to look me in the eye, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear as he murmurs, “I’m so sorry, Margo.”

I nod silently, every nerve ending in my body attuned to the feel of his fingertips on my skin as they brush over my cheek.

The TV is still playing, but it’s basically white noise now. I’m barely aware of the sound of it as a bubble seems to grow around the two of us, blocking everything else out. We stare into each other’s eyes for a few charged moments, tension and possibility hanging in the air between us.

The reasons I’ve been telling myself for weeks why I shouldn’t do this, why it’s a bad idea to start anything with Noah, all seem so far away right now that I can’t even dredge them up.

Because it doesn’t feel like a bad idea at all right now.

It feels so fucking right.

And even if it’s wrong…

I think I’m past caring.