The Hockey Star's Holiday Heart

New Walls

(Slade’s POV)

I stood by the window and watched the three of them walk into the guest house. Aspen held one backpack and a duffle bag. Her sisters carried the same. Three girls. Three tiny bags. Everything they owned.

They disappeared inside, the lights flicking on one by one.

Mrs. Bigley walked up beside me. She stood with her hands folded, watching the small house like she was already planning how to make it feel like home to them.

“She is like a scared kitten, Slade,” she murmured. “If you push her too hard, she will run.”

I glanced at her. She had been in my life since before I remembered having a life. She raised me more than my mother ever did. She held my brother when he cried. She visited me every week when I was sent away. When I moved to San Diego, she came without hesitation. I hired her husband Tom too. They held together whatever part of my world had not fallen apart.

“She needs to toughen up,” I said. “I have watched her cry three different times in the last few days.”

Mrs. Bigley hummed. “Gentle reminder, dear. Tough love does not work on everyone.”

“There is no love,” I muttered. “She lived in a shelter for a year. She isn’t weak. But being scared is dangerous in its own way.”

Mrs. Bigley smiled softly. “You were right to bring them here. Those girls have seen too much. And Aspen, my goodness. Nineteen years old with two children on her shoulders. I cannot imagine.”

“They are safe now,” I said quietly. “And Aspen will learn quickly.”

“I suppose I should go introduce myself to those angels,” she said, pushing the patio door open. “I cannot wait to spoil them.”

I smirked. She never had kids of her own. She was going to mother those girls like her life depended on it. I made a mental note to compensate her for all the extra work she would inevitably take on.

Then I stepped back from the window.

I needed distance. I needed my walls. Aspen was in my backyard now. She was an employee. Someone I was helping. That was all. The attraction needed to stay buried. No complications. No softness. No repeat of the past.

I told myself that as I walked away from the glass.

I repeated it again.

It still did not settle.

- - - - - - - - - -

(Aspen’s POV)

The moment we stepped inside, Winter and Holly ran down the hallway like they had been teleported into another world. They squealed when they saw their bedrooms. They pressed their hands to the walls as if checking if it was real. The heater hummed softly and warm air wrapped around us.

My throat tightened. I could not remember the last time I felt warm air like that.

I blinked fast, willing myself not to cry again.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Bigley let herself in. She carried a tray of dinner, a binder, and a thick envelope.

“Alright girls, let us get you settled,” she said cheerfully.

She spread school enrollment papers across the kitchen island. My heart sank when I saw the school’s name. A private school. One that was very expensive one.

“I can’t afford this,” I whispered.

“There is no choice my dear,” she replied. “Mr. Mercer insisted. And trust me, my darling, he can afford it.”

My stomach flipped. I did not know whether to be grateful or terrified.

She set a laptop on the counter next to a brand-new phone.

“These are for your job,” she said. “You will use this laptop to manage all of Mr. Mercer’s accounts and travel. The phone is your work line. And your sisters may use the computer in the study for homework.”

I stared at everything. None of this looked like it belonged to me. None of it felt real.

“If you need anything,” she added, “you come to me. Everything will be taken care of.”

Hope pressed into my chest. Hope and fear wrapped together so tightly I could barely breathe.

After dinner, Winter and Holly showered and tried on the fluffy robes sitting in their closets. They twirled in them like they were princesses. I stood in the doorway and watched them. I felt relief, deep and aching.

Later, when the house grew quiet, and the girls finally grew tired enough to go to bed, I opened the laptop and typed his name.

Slade Mercer.

The search results exploded. Articles. Interviews. Videos. Pages of headlines. Slade Mercer scores winning goal. Slade Mercer breaks another record. Slade Mercer, the prodigy of San Diego. Fans screaming. Reporters praising. Analysts losing their minds over him.

My heart pounded.

I was working for a hockey star. Vera had told me, but it still didn’t feel true.

A man who lived in a world so far above mine that it should have felt impossible.

I closed the laptop with trembling fingers.

Outside, the backyard lights clicked on. I stood up and walked to the window.

That was when I saw him.

Slade was crossing the yard, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His skin caught the glow of the outdoor lights. His shoulders were broad and defined. His hair was damp like he had just come from the gym.

He looked tired. And strong. And alone.

I froze.

He slowed. Turned his head.

His eyes found mine through the window.

A small jolt went through me.

He did not look away.

I couldn’t either.

I didn’t know how long we stood there, staring at each other across the dark yard, but the moment stretched tight enough to snap.

Heat rushed up my neck.

What was I doing?

I blinked hard and stepped back so fast my heel hit the edge of the rug. My breath stuttered out in a quiet gasp. I tore my gaze from the window and pressed a hand to my burning face.

“Oh my god, Aspen,” I whispered under my breath. “Get it together.”

I turned away from the glass completely, pacing once toward the kitchenette and back, trying to chase off the flutter in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to be staring at my boss. I definitely wasn’t supposed to be staring at that.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

This was exactly the kind of stupidity I couldn’t afford.

“He’s your employer,” I muttered softly. “You have a job to do. You have two sisters to take care of. You do not go weak in the knees over a man with abs.”

But even as I said it, I could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on my skin, like a phantom touch I couldn’t shake.

I inhaled sharply and forced myself to move away from the window entirely, putting space between me and the temptation of looking again.

“Control yourself,” I whispered. “Please.”

I busied myself by straightening the papers on the counter, pretending my heart wasn’t still racing, pretending the world hadn’t shifted just slightly in a way I didn’t understand and wasn’t ready to face, not yet.