Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  They were lilies. January’s favorite. Identical to the ones she’d placed on Asher’s casket right after the firefighters from Station Seventeen had lowered him into the ground.

  Finn’s palms went slick against the base of the Cup, and he knelt down to place it in the grass before reaching for the flowers, the paper crinkling as he scooped them up for a closer inspection. The blooms were double-wrapped in tissue paper for added protection, the stems stuck into those plastic tubes of water that made the flowers last longer, and Finn’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.

  No one else would take such care with a simple bunch of flowers. But January had, just as she’d taken the time to care about Finn in high school even though he’d been an epic fuck-up, and oh hell.

  Asher wasn’t the only person he owed an apology to.

  Placing the lilies carefully at the foot of the gravestone in front of him, Finn steadied both his hands and his resolve. Finding his feet, he lifted the Cup, and by the time he reached the SUV, his plan was one hundred percent solid.

  “Where to now?” Edwin asked, arriving at Finn’s side.

  “Actually, I’d like to take the Cup someplace a little unconventional.” At Edwin’s look of sheer panic, Finn added, “Don’t worry, I promise not to do anything crazy.”

  At least, he wouldn’t do anything crazy with the Cup. As for the rest of his plan?

  That had surpassed crazy before he’d even pushed up from the grass.

  3

  January looked at the stacks of paperwork covering every last inch of her desk and wondered if it was too early to drink. But since the time stamp on her computer monitor read ten forty-six a.m. and the piles were only bound to get bigger as the day went on, drowning her sorrows (or in this case, her planning for the annual Remington Fire Department fundraiser) wasn’t really an option.

  Anyway, if she was going to raise a glass to try and forget something, it would be the sinful, sexy smile of a certain hockey player she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind for the last fourteen hours.

  Straight.

  “Oh, get to work,” January muttered, swiping an overstuffed folder off the tower of paperwork closest to her and propping it open. In a stroke of pure dumb luck, the thing held a week’s worth of incident reports that Captain Bridges, a.k.a. her boss and the man in charge of Station Seventeen’s entire A-shift, had just signed off on. Delivering the copies to Lieutenant Gamble on engine would take about thirty seconds, and more importantly, it would free up some exceedingly valuable real estate on her desk.

  Pushing out of her chair, January tucked the folder in the crook of her arm and headed down the corridor toward the bunk room and lieutenants’ offices, but the steady rhythm of her black patent leather heels clattered to a halt on the linoleum as she got halfway past the open entryway to the firehouse’s common room.

  And found herself staring at the most desired item in all of hockeydom.

  “Is that…?” January struggled to get a coherent thought past all the whaaaa? winging around in her gray matter. But truly, she was just as likely to breeze past a herd of purple spotted elephants as she was the freaking Cup. No way was she seeing properly.

  “Affirmative!” Kellan called out, waving her all the way past the threshold and into the crowded common room. “I know that filing system of yours keeps us all in line, but you’ve got to take a break to come see this. We have the Cup, right here in our firehouse! Isn’t it cool?”

  He flashed her a grin that spanned from ear to ear as he gestured to the spot where the Cup stood proudly on the dining table in the center of the room, surrounded by a throng of highly enthusiastic firefighters and paramedics and—good gravy, even Captain Bridges was standing beside the thing with a big ol’ smile on his face. Just as it occurred to January that Finn must certainly be somewhere in the horde of people, the piercing sound of the all-call sounded off on the overhead speakers, sending a hush over the room.

  “Engine Seventeen, Squad Six, Ambulance Twenty-Two, Battalion Seventeen, structure fire, forty-nine twelve Patterson Avenue, no reported entrapment. Requesting immediate response.”

  Instantly, the excitement vanished from the room, replaced by serious faces and clipped movements.

  “Alright, people. Let’s go.” Captain Bridges jerked his chin toward the set of double doors leading out to the engine bay. “January,” he said, his eyes landing on hers even though he was already in motion toward the exit. “Can you take care of our guests while we’re out on this call, please?”

  “Of course, Captain Bridges,” she said, her heart clenching the same way it did every single time the all-call went off. “Be safe.”

  “Copy that,” Bridges replied over his shoulder before disappearing briskly through the doors.

  January pulled in a breath, bracing herself to face the only person who could be left in the room. Of the hundreds of thousands of people who threw on jeans and a T-shirt every day, how come Finn had to be the freaking sexiest one in the batch?

  She didn’t even want to get started on what he’d look like throwing off those clothes. Corded shoulders. Hard, flat pecs. Muscle-packed abs leading down to lean hips leading even lower to—

  “That was a little intense,” he said, tilting his head in the firefighters’ wake, and the words brought January back to reality with a snap. Was she crazy? She’d promised Captain Bridges she’d be hospitable, not horny.

  She put on her most polite expression and paired it with a crisp nod, even though a twinge of residual heat still lingered between her legs. “Getting out the door on the fire calls always is. That’s what they’re trained for, though, and they’re very good at their jobs. They’ll be okay.” She had to believe that, because if she didn’t… “So what are you doing here, anyway?”

  One corner of Finn’s mouth lifted with the suggestion of a smile. “That’s the second time you’ve asked me that question in the last twenty-four hours, you know.”

  “This is the second time you’ve turned up in my path unexpectedly,” she pointed out, and his laughter in response rumbled a path up her spine.

  “Fair enough. Every player on the Cup-winning team gets to spend a day with it, and today’s my day. After hanging out with these guys last night, I thought maybe they’d get a kick out of me bringing the Cup here so they could see it up close.”

  Surprise mingled with something else January couldn’t quite pin with a name. “You didn’t want to stay in New Orleans with it?”

  “No, I…” Finn paused, but only for a breath before shaking his head. “No.”

  A throat cleared from behind her, and January whipped around, her pulse popping in her veins.

  “This is Edwin,” Finn said, gesturing to the bespectacled man belonging to the not-quite-subtle interruption. “He’s the keeper of the Cup. Here to make sure I don’t lose it in a poker game or let it get run over by a semi or stolen by a band of bitter Spartans fans. That sort of thing.”

  Her lips parted. “People have tried to bet the Cup in poker games?”

  Edwin answered before Finn could. “No. Of course not. Well, not since I’ve been the keeper, anyway. The Cup’s safety and integrity is my utmost priority.”

  “I see.” January shifted the folder she’d forgotten she was holding to the crook of her left arm in order to offer Edwin a handshake. “I’m January Sinclair, and I run the administrative side of the firehouse. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he said, although his stiff nod didn’t quite match the sentiment.

  Annnnd cue her exit. “Well, you’re both welcome to make yourselves at home here in the common room while you wait for the firefighters and paramedics to get back. There’s fresh coffee, and we’ve got a handful of photo albums on the bookshelf here of some of our more memorable calls. If I catch an ETA over the radio, I’ll be sure to update you.”

  But rather than stepping back to let her pass, Finn moved closer. “What about a tour?”

  Surprise pushed her brows al
l the way up. “You want to haul the Cup on a tour of the firehouse?”

  “No. I mean, not exactly. I’d like a tour of the firehouse, but Edwin can keep an eye on the Cup in here.”

  “Let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “You’ve got the Cup for one day and one day only, and you want to leave it here in the common room while I take you on a look-see through the station?”

  Edwin mirrored the doubtful frown January had worked up for the occasion, but Finn met both expressions with an unfaltering nod.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

  “Why?”

  Finn’s whiskey-brown eyes flickered with emotion for a split second before he turned to look at Edwin in a clear bid for privacy. The other man scowled slightly, although he obliged with a muttered, “Fine. I’ll just do a bit of reading, then,” taking one of the house scrapbooks off the bookshelf and moving across the room.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Finn said, “I want a tour because I didn’t just come here to see the firefighters and paramedics. I came here to see you. I was hoping we could talk.”

  “You’re a little late for a talk, don’t you think?”

  The words slipped out before January could check them, but he surprised her by nodding in agreement.

  “Actually, I do.” Finn looked at her, swiping a hand through his already-tousled dark brown hair before running his palm over the back of his neck. “I know this is way, way overdue, and if you want to tell me to fuck off, well, I can’t say I wouldn’t understand. But I owe you an apology. A really big one, in fact, and I…”

  He broke off, his gaze dropping to the floor. A thousand thoughts whipped through January’s mind, urging her to give them voice. But before she could choose between asking him why now, admitting how ridiculously much she’d missed him, and—okay, yeah—launching the ‘fuck off’ he really did deserve, Finn stepped toward the door.

  “You know what, this was a bad idea. I blindsided you at work, and that’s a really uncool thing to do, so I’m just going to—”

  “Was it a mistake?”

  “What?” He looked at her, absolutely stunned, which was great, because that made two of them. But despite her graceless delivery, January needed to know the truth.

  “You just said coming here was a bad idea”—she paused for a stabilizing breath before adding—“but bad ideas aren’t always the same as mistakes. So what I want to know is, do you think coming here was a mistake?”

  For the longest time, Finn did nothing but look at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher on a dare. Then, holding on to her gaze, he crossed the linoleum until they were separated by less than an arm’s length as he said, “I regret a lot of things, Calendar Girl, but coming here to apologize to you isn’t one of them.”

  January’s heart thrummed against her rib cage, and she hugged the folder to the front of her sheer white button-down in an effort to calm it, or at the very least, cover the stupid thing up. Finn had acted like a jackass, and no amount of apologizing could change that. He’d hurt her. He’d shut down their friendship without a word. Now here he was, standing in front of her with that light brown stare that could melt her like snow in a soft rain and the gruff, serious demeanor that had kept him tough all through high school, asking for the talk she’d wanted for the past seven years.

  And she had to decide whether or not to give it to him.

  A minute stretched into two, and January stood rooted to the floor tiles, until finally, she made up her mind all at once.

  “Thank you for your honesty, Finnegan.” Straightening her shoulders, she pivoted toward the door, covering more than half the distance to the exit before turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

  “Holy shit. I mean”—Finn cleared his throat, clearly shocked as hell that she’d said yes. Which sort of made two of them—“Yes. I’m…yes.”

  He swung a quick glance at Edwin, who—other than sitting close enough to the Cup that he might as well be surgically attached—seemed to be fairly well occupied with the photo album he’d picked up. Finn didn’t seem troubled in the least to leave the Cup in favor of talking to her, though, readily following her through the open entryway leading to Station Seventeen’s front lobby. Not really sure what to say now that she’d agreed to hear him out, January stuck to what she knew best.

  Hello, firehouse.

  “You’ve already seen the common room, obviously, which is really the main hub of the house,” she said. “There are two wings on either side. One has the engine bay, the equipment room, and the captain’s office”—she gestured down the hallway to the left—“and the other houses the bunks, the locker room, and a few small conference rooms. Any preference on where we go first?”

  “Nope. You?” Finn asked back, pointing to the folder full of paperwork in her grasp. “I don’t want to keep you from work. Not entirely, anyway.”

  January blinked. “Oh. Well, we have a pretty detailed filing system here, so I was going to drop this off with Lieutenant Gamble. He’s out on the call, obviously, but he and Lieutenant Hawkins on squad have small private bunks that double as offices.”

  “Great. That’s this way then, right?”

  Finn hooked a thumb to the right, starting to walk alongside her after she gave up a quick nod.

  “So you’re only in Remington for a few days,” she said, and even though she’d tried to paint the words as small talk, keeping the curiosity out of her voice was damn near impossible.

  “I’ve got a flight out early next week, yeah.” Finn quickened his pace just enough to reach the glass double doors in their path before January did, tugging one open to usher her through. The move gave her a brief but magnificent view of his ass, and sweet Lord in heaven, hockey had been so. Very. Good to him.

  “Right!” she exclaimed, wrestling her voice back down to normal-people levels before continuing with, “So this is a relatively quick trip, then.”

  Finn nodded, his boots thumping alongside her shiny black heels as he fell back into step beside her. “I only get the Cup for twenty-four hours; plus, I don’t really know anyone around here anymore.”

  January’s curiosity sparked back to life. “Not to be nosy, but why did you bring it to Remington then? Surely you’ve got a bajillion fans in New Orleans who would want a photo op with you and the Cup, not to mention a pack of teammates to celebrate with. What made you come all the way back here?”

  “Asher’s here.”

  Her heart went from zero to rapid-fire in two seconds flat. “You brought the Cup to Asher’s grave?”

  “This morning,” Finn admitted. He slowed to a stop in the middle of the empty hallway, leaving January no choice but to do the same. “Look, I know you probably think I don’t care about Asher, or that maybe I’ve forgotten him, but I haven’t. In fact, he’s the reason I ended up on the Rage. Without him, I never would’ve made that team, let alone won the Cup.”

  The shock in January’s chest quickly slid into confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”

  “It’s no secret I acted like an ass the night before I left town,” Finn said, blowing out a breath and rocking back on the heels of his thickly soled boots. “But I was young and mad and stupid, and after the dust settled, I didn’t know how to tell either one of you I knew I’d been a dick. Especially since you’d both been such good friends to me all through high school. My only friends.”

  “We were all young and stupid that night.” January paused to fiddle with the edge of the folder still tucked in against the crook of her elbow, but Finn didn’t budge as he looked her right in the eye.

  “We might have all done things we regret that night, but I was the only one who was wrong. At the time, it was easier to pretend I didn’t care than to admit I’d screwed up. Then enough time passed that I could pretend I didn’t give a shit. But then…”

  Realization trickled into her brain, and oh. Oh God. “Asher died.”

  “Asher died,” Finn
said, low and soft. “I had a thousand chances not to be an asshole. A million of them, maybe. But I was too dumb, too arrogant to know I wouldn’t always have the chance.”

  “Finn.” Emotion flickered through his whiskey-colored eyes, stealing her breath even farther. “No one could’ve known Asher was going to die in that house fire. He was doing his job. A job he loved.”

  “Yeah, but I shouldn’t have waited to apologize. I shouldn’t have treated either of you the way that I did. Asher always believed in me. Not in an after-school special kind of way,” he added, and here, she had to let go of a tiny smile.

  “No. You’d have never let him get away with that.”

  Finn’s exhale in reply fell just short of a puff of laughter. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. Asher always seemed to make the encouragement feel like the truth, though. And when he said I’d win the Cup one day, I believed him. I busted my ass to make him right, so he wouldn’t think he’d put his faith in a fuck-up.” Finn swallowed, shifting his weight over the linoleum. “When he died, I knew I had to do whatever it took to win the Cup. Not for me, but to be the person he thought I was before I let everything go to shit. So that’s why I came back to Remington with it. To finally give him the apology he deserved.”

  January looked at him, the pang in her rib cage at odds with the thread of divisiveness she was unable to keep out of her tone as she said, “Asher wasn’t the only person who believed in you, Finn.”

  “I know.” He stepped toward her until only a few feet of space separated them in the brightly lit hallway. “I wanted to say something to you at the funeral, but I was so blindsided by Asher’s death, none of it felt real. I knew you had your old man and everyone here at Seventeen to lean on, and I’d already hurt you.”

  Finn’s voice turned to gravel over his last two words, and as hard as she knew this had to be for him, she wasn’t about to sprinkle the truth with sugar just so she could call it candy, either. “You did hurt me.”

  “I guess I was grieving in my own screwed up way, and I didn’t want to make things worse. It’s not an excuse, but it is the truth. I’m really sorry I hurt you.”