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

26. Blaze

26

Blaze

I push open the door to my cottage, letting it swing shut behind me as I toss my keys onto the table.

The place smells like cedar and leather, just the way I like it—rugged, simple, no fuss. My couch, worn in from years of good use, sits across from the stone fireplace, and the walls are a mix of hockey memorabilia and a few family photos Aubrey insisted I frame.

It’s my space, no one else’s, and it feels good to be home.

I shrug off my jacket, drop it on the back of a chair, and kick off my boots. My mind’s still stuck in Vegas. Savannah. That damn dress. The way she laughed as we walked the Strip, l like the world was hers. And that kiss—soft and teasing at first, then all fire and heat, like she wanted to burn through me.

Yeah, she’s in my head, and for once, I don’t mind.

I grab my phone off the table and type a text, grinning to myself.

Still thinking about you in that dress… and out of it.

Her reply comes fast.

Careful, Ice. You’ll melt.

I laugh, leaning back against the couch. She’s good. No, she’s better than good—she’s got me hooked. And she knows it. I type back.

You’re good, Hart. But I’m better.

In your dreams ;)

She’s always quick on the draw, and it drives me crazy in the best way. I set my phone on my chest and stare up at the ceiling, a grin plastered on my face. She’s got this way of cutting through all the crap, keeping me sharp. No one else does that—not like she does. And damn, I like it more than I should.

I grab my phone again, an idea forming.

Lunch tomorrow? Something different. Wear comfy shoes.

Her reply is just what I expect.

I swear, if this involves hiking in cowboy boots…

I laugh out loud, shaking my head. God, she’s impossible.

You’re safe this time. Trust me.

I fire off a quick message to the ranch cook, asking for a picnic basket—nothing half-assed. She’ll see it first thing tomorrow. I want it done right: gourmet sandwiches, fresh strawberries, champagne, the works. It’s not about showing off.

Okay, maybe a little.

But mostly, I want Savannah to feel like she’s the center of the world, because she damn well has become the center of my world.

I toss my phone onto the couch and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Taking a swig, I glance out the window. The ranch sprawls out, golden in the setting sun, all quiet and steady. It’s the kind of place that keeps you grounded. I love Denver, love the game, but this? This is home.

I picture Savannah out there on the porch, leaning against the railing with her hair catching the sunlight. She’s a city girl through and through, but I wonder if she’d let herself fall for the quiet rhythm of this place.

Hell, I wonder if she’d let herself fall for me.

The thought makes me grin like an idiot as I head to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be good. I’ve got plans, and Savannah Hart has no idea what’s coming. But she will. And when she does? She won’t forget it.

***

The lake is picture-perfect, framed by towering oak trees that cast dappled sunlight onto the ground. Wildflowers sway gently in the breeze, and the picnic spot I’ve chosen looks like something out of a romance movie.

Mace, the cook, didn’t hold back—there’s a basket filled with gourmet sandwiches, fresh strawberries, and chocolate truffles, plus a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. I lean against the oak tree, waiting, and then I hear her.

Savannah steps onto the scene, her hair catching the light, her confident stride making my heart kick into overdrive. She’s wearing a casual sundress with sneakers—practical but still somehow stunning. She stops a few feet away, hands on her hips, her eyebrows raised.

“All this for lunch? What happened to peanut butter and jelly?”

I grin, holding up the champagne bottle. “This is how I do PB&J.”

She laughs, shaking her head as she walks over and sinks onto the blanket. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“Not when it matters,” I say, popping the champagne with a flourish. The cork flies, landing somewhere in the grass. “You impressed yet?”

“Mostly at how good you are at showing off,” she teases, taking the glass I hand her.

“Stick around, Hart. I’ve got more tricks up my sleeve.”

We dig into the meal, and the conversation flows effortlessly. She tells me about a PR campaign she ran for a big company in New York, and I can see the pride in her eyes as she recounts how she turned their image around. I lean back, watching her talk, and I can’t help but admire the way she lights up when she’s in her element. Savannah Hart doesn’t just walk into a room—she owns it.

“You’re staring,” she says, catching me off guard.

“Can’t help it,” I admit. “You’re something else, Savannah.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, pretending to focus on her strawberries. “Careful, Ice. You’re getting mushy.”

After lunch, I suggest rowing on the lake. She narrows her eyes. “Is this one of those sneaky cowboy things where I end up doing all the work?”

“I’ll row,” I say, holding up my hands. “You can just sit there and enjoy the view.”

“And if I fall in?”

“I’ll fish you out.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”

The boat glides smoothly across the water, the oars slicing through the surface as I row us away from the shore. Savannah leans over the side, trailing her fingers in the water. She looks peaceful, her usual sharp wit softened by the tranquility around us.

“Are you close to your family?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She smiles, her gaze distant. “My sister, Sabrina. She’s amazing. She’s with Doctors Without Borders right now , volunteering as a physical therapist in South America. We don’t talk as much as I’d like—life gets in the way—but I miss her like crazy.”

“You should call her,” I say. “Family’s important.”

She nods, her smile fading. “I know. I try. My mom’s great, too. We make it work.”

“And your dad?”

Her expression shifts, the lightness replaced by something heavier. She hesitates, then says, “He left us. For another woman. A homewrecker.”

Her voice wavers, and I let the oars rest in the water. Moving closer, I take her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry, Sav.”

She shrugs, but her eyes are glassy. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. It’s just… I can’t stand the thought of being someone who wrecks a family. It’s a line I’d never cross.”

“You’re not that person,” I say firmly. “You couldn’t be, even if you tried.”

She looks at me, searching my face, and for a moment, the walls she’s built around herself seem to crumble. I’d do anything to keep that look in her eyes, to be the one who makes her feel safe.

I share a little of my own truth. “I love hockey. Playing with the Destroyers has been a dream. But sometimes, I miss being here. At the ranch. Near my family. This place grounds me, you know?”

Savannah nods. “I get it. Balancing both must be tough.”

“You make it easier,” I say, my voice low.

Her eyes widen slightly, and before I can overthink it, I lean in. Her lips meet mine, soft and warm, and the world narrows to just the two of us. The kiss is slow, building with a passion that takes my breath away. When we finally pull back, she’s flushed, her eyes sparkling.

“You’re not so bad, Ice,” she says. “For a hockey player.”

“And you’re not so bad,” I reply, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “For a city girl.”

We row back to shore. Hand in hand, we head toward the ranch, laughter and stolen glances keeping the moment light. Everything feels perfect—until we hear the car.

The screech of tires pulls both of us out of our bubble. A sleek sedan jerks to a halt in front of the ranch, and a woman steps out. She’s tall, striking, and unmistakably pregnant. My heart stops.

“Blaze!” she calls, rushing toward me. Her arms wrap around me before I can react. “I’ve missed you so much! Aren’t you happy I’m back? And with your baby?”

My body stiffens, my mind racing to catch up. “Delaney?”

Behind me, Savannah’s hand slips from mine. “Your… what?” Her voice shakes, barely above a whisper.

“Savannah, wait—” But she’s already turning, walking quickly toward the house.

I watch helplessly as she disappears inside, the sound of her door slamming echoing in the distance. My chest tightens as I stand there, frozen, Delaney clinging to me like she’s never been gone. I’ve never felt more out of control.

And just like that, the perfect day crumbles around me.