The Hockey Star's Holiday Heart

Fixing It

(Slade’s POV)

I stared at my phone for a long moment before dialing Mark.

He answered on the second ring. “You are calling to complain about practice.”

“I need you to find Aspen Hart and hire her,” I said.

Silence. Then a low chuckle. “You decided she wasn’t good enough, remember? Fix your own mistake.”

I gritted my teeth. “Mark.”

“No,” he said. “You were the one who wanted her gone. Now you want her back. What changed?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t have a good explanation. I didn’t want to say out loud that the girl from that interview kept showing up in my thoughts.

“She needs this,” I said finally.

Mark exhaled slowly. “Slade…”

“What?”

“The decision is your, they always are. But don’t get too invested. I liked Aspen in the interview, and I felt like she needed the job. But don’t do anything to mess up your own path, man.” Mark said.

“I’ve got it handled.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’ll call her.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll handle it.”

Mark hesitated but didn’t argue. “Good luck.”

The call ended.

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and leaned back in my car.

I had been sitting outside the shelter for almost two hours.

I opened the PI’s file again even though I knew every line by now. Aspen’s life was laid out in plain sentences. A mother who died last year. Two sisters to raise. A scholarship she had given up. Multiple jobs. No stability. No one to help.

I closed the file and stared through the windshield.

I knew what that weight felt like. I knew what it meant to carry more than anyone your age should have to carry.

The clock on the dashboard read 3:30.

Two hours of sitting here like a creep.

I ran a hand down my face and sighed.

I reached for the ignition.

That was when I saw her.

Aspen walked down the sidewalk with two girls beside her.

The younger one held her hand while talking excitedly. The older one walked close to her other side, protective in a way that reminded me too much of the way I used to stand beside Cory.

Winter and Holly. They looked like her.

Aspen smiled at something the youngest said. It wasn’t a big smile. Just a tired, gentle one.

The kind people gave when hope was all they had left.

Something tightened in my chest.

For a moment I saw Pippa again. I saw the way she used to look at Cory like he hung the moon.

Before I could think too hard about it, I grabbed my phone and called Jasper.

He answered with a yawn. “What’s up?”

“I’m sending you a number,” I said. “Call it. Offer Aspen Hart a job as a personal assistant. Tell her she starts tomorrow. Send her the address.”

“Done.”

He didn’t ask questions. That was why I trusted him.

I sent the number and watched Aspen help one of her sisters adjust her backpack.

Her phone rang.

She answered cautiously.

Then her face changed.

Confusion first.

Then disbelief.

She pressed a hand to her chest while listening. When the call ended, she turned to her sisters with wide eyes.

The youngest squealed.

The older one grabbed Aspen’s arms.

Then the three of them hugged tightly on the sidewalk.

Aspen laughed softly and held them both close.

I watched them for a long moment.

I couldn’t fix my own family.

I couldn’t change the past.

But this…

This I could do something about.

My phone buzzed.

A text from my father.

I’m in town. Meet me at Giovanni’s in an hour.

I sighed.

Family obligations never waited.

I’ll be there.

I started the car and pulled away from the curb.

I didn’t know why Aspen Hart mattered.

I just knew I needed her to be in my house tomorrow morning.

And she wouldn’t be going back to that shelter.

- - - - - - - -

(Aspen’s POV)

I checked the address on my phone again as I turned onto the street.

The neighborhood made my stomach twist. It was the richest area in San Diego.

Tall gates. Perfect lawns. Luxury cars parked along the curb.

My old sedan rattled as I drove past them.

My mother’s last gift to me.

And it didn’t belong here.

I slowed in front of a tall black gate and checked the address again.

It matched the one Mr. Jasper had texted me.

If this job was real… If the pay he mentioned was real…

I could get my sisters out of the shelter in a month and into a real apartment, with doors that locked.

I pressed the call button beside the gate.

“Hello?” I said nervously.

A woman answered through the speaker. “Yes?”

“My name is Aspen Hart. I’m here for the personal assistant position.”

The gate slid open.

“You can drive up. Park on the left.”

Relief flooded through me.

The driveway curved toward a massive stone house surrounded by trees and flower beds.

I parked and checked the clock.

Forty minutes early.

Of course.

I stepped out of the car and walked to the front door, trying not to stare at the size of the place.

I pressed the doorbell.

Nothing.

I waited a moment and pressed it again.

Still nothing.

Maybe this entire thing had been some cruel misunderstanding, and I would have to walk back to my car and explain to my sisters that it had all fallen apart again.

I turned to leave just as the door opened.

I jumped.

A man stood in the doorway wearing sweatpants and nothing else, rubbing a towel through his wet hair.

Water ran down his neck and across his chest.

My brain stopped working.

His stomach was flat with defined muscles.

I realized I was staring.

Heat rushed to my face.

“Come in,” he said flatly.

I didn’t move.

Then he lowered the towel.

Green eyes met mine.

Recognition hit instantly.

The man from the interview.

The one who had dismissed me without giving me a chance.

“You,” I whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“If you want the job, get inside.” His tone was cool.

I stepped inside before I could change my mind.

The house looked even bigger from the inside. Wide hallways, polished floors, expensive art lining the walls.

I clutched my bag and followed him down the hallway.

“I don’t understand,” I said quickly. “I thought you didn’t want me working for you.”

He grabbed a T-shirt from a chair and pulled it on.

“Are you always this early to a job?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to be late.” I answered.

“That wasn’t the question.”

My cheeks warmed. “Yes.”

We stepped into a large living room.

He finally turned to face me.

Up close he looked even more intimidating. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair still damp. Those sharp green eyes studying me carefully.

“You get one chance to answer,” he said.

My heart started racing.

“I’m offering you the job as my personal assistant. The pay, schedule, and expectations you were told all stand.”

I barely heard the words over the pounding in my ears.

“It won’t be easy,” he continued. “You’ll deal with my schedule, my temper, and everything that comes with my life.”

He didn’t sugarcoat anything.

He just watched me.

“Do you want the job or not?”