Chapter 23 - Return

The storm arrives without warning on the morning they leave.

The airport terminal is a chaotic sea of frustration, the air thick with the smell of burnt coffee and the low hum of disgruntled travelers.

Both groups end up stranded at the airport together, the departures board flickering with delays, rain coming sideways against the terminal windows and erasing the runway entirely.

Six hours, they're told. Minimum.

"We're on AC1113. What about you guys?" Ellie asks.

She looks over at Lucas, who is currently fighting with his luggage.

"AC1901. We're scheduled three hours after you," Lucas grunts, gesturing toward Rick, who is huddled in a corner frantically tapping at his phone. "Rick's trying to work his magic on a rebooking. Coach Danny is breathing down our necks. He wants us back and on the ice for morning practice, no excuses."

Away from the noise, Mia sits by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the world is a blurred, grey smudge of torrential rain.

To Mia, the storm feels like a physical barrier, keeping her trapped in a dream. This holiday has been a fever dream of salt, neon blue tides, and the terrifyingly solid weight of a man she shouldn't want.

Part of her—the part that still feels the phantom heat of his hands on her waist—doesn't want to wake up.

Fast, she thinks. It always goes fast when it shouldn't.

Suddenly, the seat beside her dips.

Elias passes her two paper cups, still warm.

Hot chocolate, she discovers—unsweetened, just the dark clean taste of it, nothing added.

"I didn't think you'd want it too rich," he says, settling into the seat beside her.

She wraps both hands around the cup. "You were right."

Their fingers had touched in the handoff. She'd pulled back first, he'd held steady. Neither of them mentions it.

He returns to the rest of the group, ignoring the gauntlet of smirks and raised eyebrows from his teammates.

Ellie watches the exchange, then scoots closer to Mia, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Looks like someone had a very interesting end to their trip," she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mia gives her a look. "Didn't you?"

Ellie opens her mouth. Closes it. The tips of her ears go pink in a way Mia has never seen before.

"Thanks to you," she says finally, which could mean the hot chocolate or something else entirely.

Neither of them clarifies.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while. Then Ellie points at the window.

The rain has stopped. A full rainbow arcs over the runway, its reflection spreading across the wet tarmac in wavering colour.

"Che bello," Mia says quietly.

The boarding announcement comes before either of them can say anything else. Ellie grabs her arm. "Let's go!"

Goodbyes happen fast and loud, everyone talking over everyone else.

The sun comes through the glass and catches the corner of Mia's smile, and it looks—she doesn't know this—exactly like the photograph in someone's wallet.

She boards. She doesn't look back.

Maybe, she thinks, somewhere over the Rockies. Just maybe.

***

Toronto receives them with grey skies and the particular efficiency of a city that didn't pause while they were gone.

Life resumes.

Schedules, research blocks, treatment rosters. But something has shifted in the peripheral details.

Ellie is on her phone more, laughing at things she doesn't explain, and Mia finds herself checking her messages with a frequency that is, clinically speaking, new.

The next day, she's barely set her bag down at the medical center when Lisa materializes at full speed.

"Welcome back," Lisa announces, phone already raised. "Did you have a wonderful time during the break? Sweetie."

"It's good to see you too," Mia says warmly. "We had a wonderful time. We even ran into the Raiders, actually—"

Lisa's forward momentum pauses for exactly one beat. Then she keeps walking, perfectly smooth. "What a coincidence."

"I'll show you photos later—Elias took some that are genuinely good, my parents were impressed, which is high praise—"

"Oh, absolutely! I am more than ready to see some bikini shots of a certain gorgeous doctor," Lisa chirps, her voice dripping with mischief. "But before we get to your private collection..."

She whips out her phone, holding the glowing screen inches from Mia's face. "Remember when I told you I had news that would literally shake your entire world? Well, babe, buckle up. Look!"

Mia blinks, her mind a complete blank. She squints at the screen, but before she can even process the image, Lisa is already narrating the chaos.

"Trending at number three! The hashtag is literally #HandsOffWestonsPecs," Lisa exclaims, her thumb hovering over the screen.

Lisa shrugs, a devious smirk playing on her lips. "I bet you thought your little 'private' sessions were strictly confidential, didn't you? No, no, no!"

She taps a link, and the screen explodes into a high-definition video. Mia's heart stops.

There she is.

The video is from the treatment room. Mia watches herself work—her hands moving along his shoulder blade, oil-warmed fingertips pressing into the muscle with measured, rolling pressure. His muscle responds under her hands, tense and then giving, and her fingers are precise and unhurried and the whole thing, with the ambient music someone has added, looks—

"You're the main character," Lisa says, with great satisfaction.

"Oh.My.God," Mia says under her breath.

Lisa's finger begins to scroll, dragging a tidal wave of comments into view.

"Is the engagement really this insane?" Mia gasps, her voice failing her.

"Mia, babe, don't ever underestimate the power of the name Elias Weston," Lisa says, patting Mia's shoulder with mock solemnity. "In this country, that man isn't just a hockey player. He's a religion."

"I suppose..." Mia murmurs, her expression tightening as she tries to process her sudden, unwanted stardom.

But as her eyes settle on the actual content of the comments, her composure begins to fracture. Her facial muscles twitch with a mix of cringe and rising heat as she reads the digital frenzy.

@WestCoastQueen: Oh my god, did she just touch his bicep?

@DonutJuice: She looks so professional, but the way he's looking at her? Elias Weston doesn't 'relax.' Ever. And yet, he hasn't flinched once. My jaw is on the floor.

@LoveOnIce: I am officially shipping this! The gorgeous, mysterious doctor x the untouchable Ice King? The tension is literally melting my screen!

Mia's breath hitches, but it's the last few comments that truly make the blood turn to ice in her veins.

@HeroBeaver: Internal source here: Word is he's been finishing his individual drills early every single day just to get to the treatment room. He was spotted waiting outside for 28 minutes just so SHE could be the one to do his cool-down.

@ShineShot: Actually, @HeroBeaver, it was 32 minutes! I saw it with my own eyes. He sat there staring at the door like a hungry wolf. He doesn't wait for the owners, but he'll wait for her? We're all doomed.

Mia's face has been doing something complicated for the last thirty seconds. She hands the phone back.

"There's more," Lisa offers.

"There really doesn't need to be."

Today is, as the schedule has known for two weeks, her next session with Elias. She'd been fine about it until approximately ninety seconds ago.

She takes a breath, picks up her kit, and walks toward the treatment room with the composed expression of a woman who is a trained medical professional and is absolutely not thinking about 32 minutes.