“The world doesn’t revolve around your schedule, Harper,” he teased, motioning for me to turn down another hallway. This place was massive, even by NHL standards. I expected nothing less from my larger-than-life brother. “Do I need you to sign a gag order or can I trust you?”
I halted in my tracks, gaping at him. “You’re not serious, are you?”
He smirked.
I rolled my eyes, continuing to follow him.
“I can’t risk having any players leaked,” he said. “He’s already inside, and we’re not announcing yet.”
“And yet it was crucial, imperative even, that I come to the facility to fit this player today. What is it, Asher? A massive scheduling conflict?”
“Something like that, yes.” He stopped at the end of the last hallway. “Fourth door on the right.”
I pointed toward the end of the hall. “You’re not coming with me?”
He glanced at his watch. “I have things to do, Harper. I trust you can handle this on your own, correct? I mean, after all, this will be your line in everything but name.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “That’s right. Why aren’t we calling it the Harper 6000x line?”
He scrunched his nose. “Because that sounds ludicrous.”
“And your middle name doesn’t?”
He straightened his already immaculate suit jacket. “Silas sounds extremely dignified.”
I snorted. “Fine,” I said, ushering him on. “Go make another billion or two. I’m contemplating asking you to buy Netflix for my birthday.”
“You want me to buy Netflix?”
I laughed. “Why not? Then I could visit the set of Stranger Things.”
“You’re impossible,” he said as I turned to walk toward the door he’d indicated. I waved him off, my hand on the knob, tilting my head as he waited to watch me go inside.
Weirdo.
I shut the door behind me, not bothering to fully look up before I started to speak. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Harper Thompson, and I’ll be fitting—”
My words died on my tongue.
Because the man waiting for me in the room was not just another random NHL player.
He was my NHL player.
Or had been.
“Nathan.” And I was crying. “Damn it.” I stomped my foot and wiped at the traitorous tears on my cheeks.
He stepped into my space, looking down at me but not touching me. The kind of visit I’d feared might happen as each day passed that he didn’t text or call. One where he came to finish breaking what was left of my heart.
“I never cry,” I said, sucking in a sharp breath. “And lately all I do is cry. Cry and watch Netflix. I’m everything I said I’d never be. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. Not without your face in my mind. Not without your scent in my nose. Though that is probably because I only wear your green sweater around the house. Asher’s house…” And I was full-on fucking rambling. Brilliant. “Sorry. Stopping. How are you feeling?” I trailed the length of his body, studying the way he stood, the way his eyes were clear and alert.
“Butterfly,” he said, and a choked sob broke my lips as he reached for my cheek, wiping away a tear there. “Can you forgive me?”
I gaped at him. “Forgive you? For what? I’m the one who cost you everything. Your contract. Almost your life—”
“You saved my life,” he cut me off. “And fuck my contract.”
I jolted at that.
“I meant,” he continued. “For not calling.”
“I understood,” I said, leaning into his touch, unable to stop my hands from reaching for his chest and settling there. “Nixon…he…he told me if you wanted to deal with me you would.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed, the motion so much like his brother’s it was unreal. “I had words with Nixon. I hope you don’t hate him. He was—”
“Protecting you,” I cut him off. “I get it.” Light flickered behind his eyes. “I would never hate him.” I shifted my head. “I wanted to throat punch him, but I don’t hate him.”
Nathan laughed. “That’s good,” he said. “That will make this easier.”
He pushed something into my hand. Something small, hard, and cold.
I opened my palm and gasped.
A platinum band with a single sapphire stone in the middle. My eyes bolted up to him, and he dropped to his knees. Both of them, not just one.
“Harper,” he said, and the breath froze in my lungs as he glanced around the room. “This is not a grand romantic gesture. This is me knowing, in the very depths of my soul, that I want you in my life for as long as you’ll let me have you. This is me telling you…that when I woke up, and you weren’t there, my world was empty. I thought I was going to leave you here alone—though I know you would’ve recovered, I know you’d never stop blaming yourself. And I couldn’t have that. When I woke up…all I wanted was you. You’re all I want.” He reached up, taking the ring from my hand and eying me in question. I nodded, and he slid it onto my left-hand ring finger. “This can mean whatever you want it to mean. I know you’re not traditional. I know you don’t believe in marriage. And that is fine with me. I just want you. Every day.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me be your anchor?”