Storm Warning

Kacie

The roar of the Sacramento crowd vibrated through the Golden 1 Center as I gripped my camera bag like a shield. I hadn’t touched hockey in five years—not since senior year, when every game became less about the sport and more about the boy flying across the ice in a Storm jersey. I used to love it. Now I avoided it like a bad habit. Even though I was a damn good sports photographer, I’d built my entire career steering clear of anything with blades and pucks.

Coming here tonight wasn’t part of the plan. Not until Lacy landed in the hospital with pneumonia and begged me to cover her freelance gig for this charity event. The Sacramento Storm were hosting a special night for the Troubled Teens program—players would sign prints of the best action shots at the end. Good cause, solid paycheck. Still, my stomach twisted the second I stepped inside.

“Oh God, you must be the fill-in?” A frazzled woman with a clipboard and wild jet-black curls hurried toward me. “Natalia. We’ve got extra lenses, full walk-around access, whatever you need.”

“Kacie Young,” I said, forcing a smile. “Action shots tonight, right? Players sign them later?”

“Exactly. Coach wants to review the photos at the end too—might lead to more paid work. Follow me.”

I nodded tightly and let her lead me down toward the ice-level positions. The Sacramento Storm. Everyone was buzzing that this expansion team had a real shot at the playoffs, maybe even the Cup, thanks to their breakout rookie. My eyes scanned the fresh sheet of ice as I pulled out my camera. Then I saw it—number 62 on the back of a jersey as a player stepped off for a quick breather during warm-ups.

Astor.

My breath caught. Alexander Astor. The boy who once swore I was his future, despite his wealthy family’s constant attempts to tear us apart. The same boy who ultimately left anyway when the pressure became too much. Five years later, and he was the NHL’s shiny new rookie, living the dream I’d once imagined cheering for from the stands.

I never planned on seeing him again. Certainly not through a camera lens.

The announcers’ voices boomed overhead. I shoved my earbuds in, cranking the music loud enough to drown out the crowd and the names I refused to hear. If I had to do this, I was doing it detached. Professional. Numb.

Puck drop came fast. My camera flew on instinct—sharp angles, flying spray, brutal checks. I deliberately stayed away from number 62. By the end of the second period, I’d captured solid shots. Then, in the final minutes, Alexander slammed an opponent hard into the plexiglass right in front of my position. I didn’t flinch. I raised the camera and fired.

The frame was perfect. Pure dominance etched across his face—the same intense look I remembered far too well.

He pushed off the glass, and for one frozen second, his eyes locked directly onto mine.

My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. Chaos erupted on the ice as the other player swung a wild right hook, sending Alexander staggering back. But the real chaos was exploding inside my chest.

Because after five long years, Alexander Astor had just seen me.

I yanked the camera away from my face, pulse hammering. No. There was no fucking way I could stay here now. It had been fine when I was invisible—just another face behind a lens. But he had to slam that player into the glass right in front of me. Typical. Even now, Alexander still had a talent for ruining whatever fragile peace I’d managed to build.

The final buzzer sounded. I pulled out my earbuds, the roar of the crowd crashing back in. The Sacramento Storm had won. I glared at the scoreboard like it had personally betrayed me and watched the players begin skating off the ice.

Alexander was in the middle of the pack, but his head snapped around, scanning the area where I’d been standing. His eyes locked onto mine almost instantly. My stomach dropped. He shoved past a teammate with single-minded precision and headed straight for the swinging door near the photo pit.

“Kacie.”

His voice hit me like a slapshot—low, rough, and far too familiar. He pushed through the door still in full gear, helmet already off, dark hair damp with sweat. Up close he looked even bigger than he had on the ice. Broader. Harder. Twenty-five years old and every inch the NHL rookie making headlines.

“You look good,” he said, breathing hard.

I glared up at him, refusing to let my eyes linger on the way his jersey clung to his shoulders. “Probably not as good as whatever puck bunny you’re taking home tonight.”

He let out a low groan. “Kacie…”

I stepped past him, jaw tight. “I’m here for work. One-time thing. That’s it.”

“It’s been five years,” he called after me, falling into step. “Come on. Let’s catch up.”

A humorless laugh escaped me. “No.”

His eyes searched mine, something raw flickering in them. “I’ve tried calling you—”

“Your number’s blocked,” I hissed over my shoulder. “And it’s staying that way. I’m sure there are ten other girls upstairs happy to let you fuck them and disappear in the morning. Go find one of them. Leave me the hell alone.”

Alexander flinched like I’d slapped him.

“You know it was never like that with us,” he said, voice softening. “You look like you’re doing really well.”

“Great.” I stopped walking and turned on him. “Where’s your coach?”

He reached out, his gloved hand brushing my lower back. I jerked away and smacked his hand down hard. “Don’t touch me. Just point and leave, Alexander.”

He exhaled sharply and gestured toward an older man in a suit standing near the tunnel. “Can we please just talk? I never thought I’d see you again.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I raised my hand and flipped him off as I walked away. Petty? Absolutely. But I was only twenty-two. I’d earned the right to be petty when it came to the man who hadn’t just broken my heart—he’d shattered everything.

He broke the seventeen-year-old girl who finally believed someone had chosen her. After years bouncing between foster homes, watching other kids get picked while I stayed behind, Alexander had felt like home. He was nineteen, already living on his own, and for three years he made me believe I was his family too. That I was enough.

Until his wealthy family pushed hard enough and he walked away.

I took a steadying breath as I approached the coach, forcing my voice into something professional. “Excuse me. I have the action shots from tonight. Lacy will send the files over tomorrow so the players can sign them. She’s happy to discuss future work—she has a strong portfolio.”

The coach raised an eyebrow, nodding toward my camera. “You’re the one who took these?”

I hesitated, then handed it over with a sigh.

He scrolled through the images, humming quietly. “These are excellent. You unwilling to take a paid offer yourself?”

I clenched my jaw. Lacy would kill me if I turned this down. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t usually photograph hockey.”

The coach almost rolled his eyes before handing the camera back. “Well, you’re going to have to get used to it. The person who took these photos is the one I want behind the lens. Non-negotiable.”

Before I even saw him, I felt him.

Alexander stood a few feet away, still in half his hockey gear, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw was set in a hard line, eyes locked on me and the coach. He should’ve been heading to the showers, but instead he waited like he had all the time in the world. The second our gazes met, the air crackled—raw tension burning hot enough to scorch.

“You two know each other?” the coach asked.

I opened my mouth, but Alexander beat me to it, his voice low, steady, and far too confident.

“Yeah,” he said, never breaking eye contact. “We do.” A slow, cocky smile curved his lips. “Looks like I’ll be seeing a lot more of you, Kacie.”

The fucker winked.

Any shred of professionalism I had left vanished. “No, you won’t,” I snapped. “Lacy will follow up with you about the charity event. I don’t photograph hockey. That’s not changing.”

I slung my camera strap over my neck, turned on my heel, and walked away like the arena was on fire. I needed distance—fast, desperate distance—from Alexander Astor and the way he still made my heart riot in my chest after all these years.

Authors Note: This is a work in progress but I've got multiple chapters written. We're going to start with one chapter a day for updates. Let me know what you think! (: