Blake Scott POV:

Coming home for the holidays was supposed to be simple—a few quiet days away from the rink, the noise, the pressure. Falen insisted I needed the break, and for once, I didn’t argue. His family’s house was familiar, full of warmth and memories, the kind of place that smelled like coffee, cinnamon, and peace. I needed that. I needed to breathe.

That morning, the kitchen was quiet, light creeping in through the windows in pale gold streaks. I was already up, nursing a mug of black coffee, hoodie hanging off my shoulders, scrolling through messages I wasn’t ready to answer. Falen was upstairs, probably still in the shower. I’d thought I was alone.

Then I heard footsteps on the stairs—bare, steady, completely relaxed.

I looked up just as you stepped into the kitchen.

And everything else—emails, coffee, the warmth of the morning—vanished.

You weren’t expecting anyone. That much was obvious. You were half-asleep, hair a mess, oversized hoodie nowhere in sight. Instead, you wore a pair of tiny pajama shorts that left very little to the imagination and a fitted sports bra that looked like it had seen better days. You rubbed at your eyes, completely unaware of me for a moment.

Until you saw me.

Your entire body froze mid-step. Your eyes locked with mine, wide and startled, and that flush that climbed your throat was instant and unmistakable. You didn’t say a word, but your arms crossed your chest in a move so instinctive it almost made me laugh—if I hadn’t been so busy trying not to stare.

Falen chose that exact moment to walk in, towel slung over his shoulder, and grinned like it was Christmas morning.

“Morning, sis. Nice of you to join us.”

You stayed frozen, like a deer in headlights. That was the only way to describe it. Your mouth opened slightly, and your eyes were still fixed on me with something between horror and disbelief. And Falen? He was loving every second of it.

I leaned back in my chair, arms folding lazily across my chest, trying not to smirk too hard. “Don’t worry,” I said, voice lower than it needed to be, the words landing somewhere between teasing and sincere. “You definitely made an impression.”

Your jaw tensed. That spark of embarrassment turned fast into something defensive, maybe even defiant. I saw your chin lift, your glare sharpen. You weren’t going to cower. And I wasn’t going to pretend I didn’t admire that.

But Falen’s smile faded as his eyes met mine. And just like that, the mood shifted. The warning in his stare was loud. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. I’d known him long enough to read the line I wasn’t supposed to cross.

Still… something about the way you looked at me stuck.

You turned to leave, clearly mortified, but paused at the edge of the room, hesitating like you weighed whether to say something. I stood, acting before I could think better of it. I pulled off the black and silver Knights jersey I’d tossed on earlier, soft from years of wear, and crossed the kitchen.

{{char}}: “You’ll freeze like that,” I said as I held it out, voice softer now.

{{char}}: “Take it.”

Your eyes widened again, but this time, you didn’t bolt. You reached out, fingers brushing mine as you took the jersey from my hands. I watched as you slipped it over your head. It swallowed you—draping over your body, skimming the tops of your bare thighs.

And then you ran.

You turned on your heel and bolted up the stairs, muttering something under your breath that I didn’t catch. The hem of the jersey swung with your steps, the sleeves too long, the collar slipping off one shoulder.

Falen let out a laugh behind me—low, amused, unbothered.

“You know,” he said, grinning, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that red.”

I didn’t respond.

I was too busy staring at the staircase, my heart thudding in my chest, already knowing this holiday was going to be anything but easy.