Scoring with the Wrong Twin (Ice Chronicles Hockey #2)

21. Savannah

21

Savannah

Cedar Creek’s Historic Town Square is alive with pre-brunch energy. Vendors are setting up tables adorned with fresh flowers, while servers glide between them, balancing trays of mimosas and pastries. The warm morning sun glints off the historic buildings, casting long shadows over the cobblestone street. Amid the bustle, Sean seems more interested in picking apart Blaze than focusing on his ambassador duties.

“You clean up well, Ice. Who knew you could look so civilized?” Sean teases, adjusting his tie as he glances Blaze up and down.

Blaze smirks, unfazed. “I could say the same about you, Ice, but I’m guessing Aubrey dressed you.”

Aubrey chuckles, brushing a speck of lint off Sean’s shoulder. “And doesn’t Savannah look like a PR goddess today?”

I roll my eyes but can’t hide my smile. “Thanks, Aub. I’ll make sure to channel that energy when I’m herding journalists later.”

Blaze’s gaze flicks to me, lingering for a second longer than necessary. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in the way he looks at me—like he’s impressed. I shove the thought aside. No time for distractions.

Sean clears his throat. “We’ve got a post-brunch meeting with the festival committee about sponsorship logistics. We should probably take two cars. Aubrey and I can head out first.”

Aubrey raises an eyebrow at Blaze. “Try not to traumatize Savannah on the way over.”

Blaze grins, giving a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

The drive to the brunch venue starts out simple enough. I kick off my heels, grateful for the reprieve, while Blaze keeps his eyes on the road.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Just mentally reviewing the guest list,” I reply, my tone brisk. “There are a lot of big names showing up, and I don’t want to miss anyone.”

“You’re good at this,” he says, his voice low but sincere. “Watching you work—it’s impressive.”

I glance at him, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks,” I say softly, then quickly add, “Just don’t forget your role today. Fiancé, doting, supportive, no snarky comments.”

He smirks. “You act like I’m a rookie at this. Don’t worry—I’ll play the part.”

The venue is stunning, with elegant floral arrangements and the soft hum of conversation filling the air. Blaze’s presence beside me is both a comfort and a distraction. He radiates confidence, effortlessly charming the crowd as I introduce him to sponsors, media personalities, and influencers.

“This is my fiancé, Blaze Ice,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. Each time, the words come out smoother, easier. And each time, Blaze smiles like he’s been waiting to hear it his whole life.

“When someone like Savannah Hart walks into your life, you don’t hesitate,” he says at one point, his hand warm against the small of my back. The journalist beams, clearly eating it up, while I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

As we mingle, I explain the festival’s highlights—the street hockey exhibition, the silent auction, the highlight reel celebrating the Ice family’s contributions to the sport.

Blaze jumps in with a playful comment, “I might have to challenge my brothers to a little street hockey myself. No promises they’ll win.”

His charm is disarming, and I find myself smiling more than I intended. When a journalist asks about celebrity attendees, Blaze grins and says, “Well, you already have Margot Robbie right here,” gesturing to me. The joke lands perfectly, and I shoot him a look that says, You’re lucky that worked.

The speeches go off without a hitch. Sean and Aubrey are heartfelt, their words underscoring the festival’s impact on the community. When it’s our turn, I focus on Pinnacle’s role, delivering a polished and confident presentation.

Blaze surprises me with an impromptu addition: “I’m proud to support this festival—and the amazing woman beside me.” The applause is warm and genuine, and for a moment, I forget that this is all pretend.

After Sean and Aubrey leave for their meeting, Blaze and I linger, finishing the rounds. By the time we’re done, I’m ready to collapse, but Blaze seems energized.

“You handled that like a pro,” he says as we walk to the car.

“Thanks,” I reply, kicking off my heels again once we’re on the road. “I was nervous, but it went better than I expected.”

“Better than expected?” he teases. “You crushed it, Savannah. Own it.”

I can’t help but smile. “Fine. I crushed it.”

The hum of the engine fills the space between us as Blaze drives, his hands steady on the wheel. I kick off my heels and prop my feet up on the dash, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

“Relax, Ice. It’s not like you wax this thing,” I tease, wiggling my toes for emphasis.

“Savannah, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t put your feet on a cowboy’s truck dashboard,” he says, his tone mock-serious.

“Noted,” I reply, smirking but leaving them where they are. “You’ll survive.”

Blaze chuckles softly, shaking his head. For a few miles, we stick to lighthearted comments about the brunch—how perfectly coordinated Aubrey and Sean are, the journalist who cornered Blaze to ask about his slap shot, and the food that was too fancy for either of us to pronounce.

Then the mood shifts. Blaze’s grip on the wheel tightens slightly, his jaw ticking as if he’s mulling something over. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more thoughtful.

“You ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s not enough?” he asks.

I glance over at him, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability. “I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Why?”

He exhales slowly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Blake and I… it’s always been like this competition that no one can win. Growing up, everything I did, he did better—or at least cleaner. I’d score the game-winning goal, but Blake would be the one everyone wanted to interview because he was the ‘good twin.’ The responsible one. I was just the screw-up with a temper.”

I stay quiet, sensing he needs to get this out.

“Even now,” he continues, his voice tinged with frustration, “I feel like I’m still trying to prove I’m not just the guy who got suspended for a stupid brawl or the guy who blows up at refs. But no matter how hard I try, it’s like I’m stuck in Blake’s shadow.”

“That’s a lot to carry,” I say softly. “But you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You showed up today, and you nailed it. No one watching you this morning thought you were a screw-up.”

He glances at me, a flicker of something like gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks. I guess it just… doesn’t always feel like enough, you know? Like I’m still trying to catch up to where everyone else already is.”

I lean back in my seat, nodding slowly. “I get that. In PR, it’s all about appearances, spinning the story, and making sure everything looks perfect from the outside. But sometimes, it feels like I’m just waiting for the cracks to show.”

Blaze frowns, his attention still on the road but focused on my words. “What do you mean?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I mean, I spend so much time making everyone else look good that I forget how to just… be me. It’s all strategy and control. If one thing goes wrong, it’s my fault. My reputation. My career. In this business, it’s a constant juggling act, trying to stay one step ahead without losing yourself in the process.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I feel the weight of his gaze on me. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but steady. “You make it look easy.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Trust me, it’s not. Half the time, I’m just winging it and hoping no one notices.”

“Well, you fooled me,” he says with a faint smile. “I’ve never met anyone who could command a room like you did today.”

The compliment catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. Finally, I settle on, “Thanks, Blaze. That means a lot.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “It’s true. You’ve got this way of making people listen, like you don’t need to yell or throw punches to get their attention. You just… own it.”

His words linger in the air, and for a moment, the tension between us feels heavier, more charged. I shift in my seat, trying to shake it off. “Well, not everyone can get away with throwing punches. That’s your department.”

Blaze laughs, the sound lighter than before. “Fair point. But maybe I could take a page from your playbook. Less fists, more finesse.”

“Don’t push it, Ice,” I tease, grinning. “Baby steps.”

His smile softens, and for a brief moment, I see something in his eyes that makes my chest tighten. Something raw and real, like he’s letting me in more than he intended.

I clear my throat, glancing back out the window. “So, what’s next on the agenda? More fiancé duties? Should I prep you for the silent auction?”

He chuckles. “Whatever it is, as long as you’re calling the shots, I’m in.”

“You make it look easy,” he says, glancing at me. “Like you’re untouchable.”

I laugh softly. “Trust me, I’m anything but.”

The tension between us builds, thick and electric. When Blaze suddenly pulls the truck over to a secluded spot along the back road, my heart starts racing.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He turns to me, his gaze intense. “Something I’ve been wanting to do since the first time you snapped at me.”

Before I can respond, he leans in and kisses me. It’s soft at first, tentative, but the moment I kiss him back, it ignites like wildfire. His hands cup my face, his thumb brushing against my jawline, while mine tangles in his hair.

His lips trail down my neck, and my breath catches as his hands glide over my body, mapping every curve with a confidence that makes my head spin.