Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 81 - Chapitre 90

The last home game of November, the arena knows something is different.It's not subtle.The crowd is at capacity—every seat, every standing section—and the particular energy running through it has less to do with the Chicago Bears.It has more to do with the fact that everyone in the building has seen the statement, or the video, or both, and has come tonight partly to watch hockey and partly to see what happens when these two share a public space for the first time.Mia becomes aware of this approximately eight seconds after stepping out of the corridor and into the open air of the ice rink.She's in her team physio jacket, medical kit at her feet, doing the thing she always does before a game. But the weight of it tonight is different. She can feel the eyes from the stands without looking up.The particular quality of an arena that has already decided where the interesting thing is.Anderson appears beside her."Breathe," he says. Not looking at her. Looking at the ice, where the p

The arena empties in stages, the way water drains—first the crowd, then the outer corridors, then the internal channels.Ellie is practically vibrating with energy when she finally converges with Lisa and Mia near the player entrance."Did you see that hit? And that pass from Elias to Lucas? It was like they were sharing a brain!" Ellie gushes, her hands flying as she reenacts the play. "And the Jumbotron. I think the entire city of Toronto just collective gasped when they saw you two."Mia, who would have died of embarrassment a month ago, simply offers a serene, knowing smile. She's developed a certain immunity to the teasing."Honestly, Mia," Ellie teases, leaning in close with a devilish glint in her eyes. "If you two ever sit in the stands together, the cameraman is going to demand a public kiss just to keep the ratings up. You'll be the new royal couple of the NHL.""Ellie," Mia warns, though her voice lacks any real bite. "If I let you keep going, you'll have us married and reti

"Consider it a date then..."Nina's voice is a toxic cocktail of honey and gin, dripping with a drunken, melodic filth that Lisa can't ignore.Nina's fingers trace slow, suggestive circles over Tyler's chest. "Since the last time...I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. You were so dominant, Tyler. You filled me so completely, I could barely walk for a week."She stands on her tiptoes, her body a lithe, desperate curve against his. "My body is dying for you! Just for tonight...find a way to slip away from the party. Meet me at our old spot?"Lisa feels as though she's been dipped in liquid nitrogen.Tyler lets out a low, vibrant chuckle. "Nina, you're drunk," he says, his voice carrying that familiar, flirtatious lilt that Lisa once mistook for affection. "You know I have a girlfriend.""That little mouse?" Nina scoffs, her body pressing even closer, her chest molding against his arm. "She looks like she'd faint if you did half the things to her that you do to me. Does she eve

The cold gets into the wet patch on Mia's shoulder almost immediately—the place where Lisa had been crying. She grabs Ellie's arm and they move back toward the bar.Elias is already outside.He's standing at the entrance in just his sweater. He straightens when he sees her."Mia—""You came out without a jacket," she says, instead of hello. She puts her hand on his sleeve, cold, slightly damp from the air. "You didn't even bring mine.""I was going to, and then I saw the three of you and decided it wasn't the moment." He says. "Is she alright?""She will be." Mia takes his arm and steers them both back through the door, into the noise and warmth. "She went home."Elias doesn't push for more than that."You're not angry at the team," he says, quiet enough for just her. It's not quite a question.She considers it honestly. "I was, for about thirty seconds. Then I remembered that one person's choices aren't everyone's character." She pauses. "But your teammate has very poor judgment and

On a December evening, College Street is ablaze with light. A warm glow radiated from the restaurants, the smell of garlic and wine coming through every door that opens, the conversations in the street a mix of English and Italian that Mia walks through like a temperature change.She'd found this block in her second week in Toronto. She hasn't told anyone until now.Elias walks beside her."This one," she says, stopping in front of a door with a handwritten specials board and no reservation sign. "They make the pasta in-house. The owner is from Emilia-Romagna, so he has opinions about it.""What kind of opinions?""The correct kind," she says, and pushes the door open.The restaurant is small and warm. The owner seats them himself and brings a basket of bread without being asked.Elias picks up the bread, tears a piece, and reaches for the olive oil.Mia watches.He dips the bread in the oil. Lifts it. She says nothing, but something in her expression must communicate itself, because