Finn sat back on his bar stool, looking out at the Crooked Angel’s dining room with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Although he’d spent most of the day helping with preparations for the fundraiser, seeing the place not just decked out according to theme, but jammed to the rafters with guests, firefighters, and the teammates he hadn’t seen for over a month was pretty freaking cool.

Seeing January’s face, all lit up and glowing with happiness at the smash-hit success of the event? Now that was priceless.

No, check that. It was everything.

Finn’s heart sucker punched his sternum before settling into a solid thump-thump-thump against his red and black Rage jersey. He might not have come back to Remington with the intention of doing anything other than tying up loose ends and leaving the place behind, but over the course of the last month, the exact opposite had happened. With each day he’d spent here, he’d grown more and more attached to the city he’d left. To the firefighters and paramedics at Station Seventeen, who had not only been Asher’s friends, but his family. To his buddies on the Rogues, who he’d fallen back into step with ease that had bordered on the ridiculous.

To the gorgeous blonde currently wearing his jersey and chatting up some guests across the bar, who had snuck up on him in the mother of all blindsides and stolen his goddamn heart.

“Hey, there’s the man of the night! We need to buy you a drink.”

The sound of Kellan’s voice yanked Finn right back to the bustle of the Crooked Angel, and he turned just in time to hear the guy’s lieutenant, Ian Gamble, add a gruff, “Yeah we do. This round’s on us.”

“You do know it’s an open bar, right?” Finn cracked a smile, which the two firefighters returned with ease as they settled over the bar stools. “Anyway, I’m definitely not the man of the night,” he added. “If you want to celebrate anyone for pulling this thing together, January’s your girl.”

Gamble lifted a black brow, grabbing three beers from a passing server who was doling them out from a concessions tray, just like teams did in the stands at their home games. “No, dude. January’s your girl. And she says this kickass party is all your fault. I’m not inclined to fuck with her.”

Coming from the six foot five tattoo-covered former Marine, that was definitely saying something. “Probably smart,” Finn agreed. “But she’s the one who made all of this happen.”

“I’ve gotta be honest,” Kellan said, spinning a gaze over the popcorn stand, the autograph signing booths, and the selfie stations where guests could put on assorted team jerseys or other hockey gear and pose for pictures. “January’s always been amazing at stuff like this, but she really outdid herself on this one. Cap just said the RFD is halfway to meeting its fundraising goal, and the event only started an hour ago. Between the rest of the night and the silent auction…”

“Looks like we’ll all be in safer gear this year,” Gamble finished, and Kellan lifted his beer in salute.

“Seriously. I don’t know what we’d do without that woman keeping our sorry asses in line at Seventeen.”

“Sorry, am I interrupting some weird manversation over here?” The wry question belonged to a pretty, dark-haired woman in jeans and a Rogues jersey, who didn’t make any bones about invading Kellan’s personal space for a more-than-friendly kiss.

“Hey, Isabella,” Finn said, thankful for the distraction from the sudden pang in his gut. “How’s it going? Are you having a good time?”

The detective nodded with enthusiasm. “I’m having a great time. I brought everyone from the Thirty-Third with me, including the sergeant—who, by the way, took a raft of crap from the entire intelligence unit for wearing the Rage jersey January sent over. Not that we don’t like you, Donnelly.” She paused for an apologetic grin. “But we’re pretty big on our hometown team.”

“Clearly,” Gamble added, gesturing to Isabella’s blue and white jersey.

Unable to help it, Finn laughed. “No worries. And sending over a Rage jersey for her old man sounds like something January would do.”

“Yeah, well proudly wearing it despite getting ribbed into next week is definitely something the sarge would do. He’s nothing if not devoted to his daughter’s happiness. Those two have always been thick as thieves,” Isabella joked, and just like that, the pang in Finn’s gut went for a double. The sensation went for broke when January made her way over to their group with a bunch of other firefighters and some of the detectives from the Thirty-Third, her ice-blue eyes bright with excitement and her cheeks flushed to match.

“Hey!” She broke into a smile as she looked at him, and Christ, with her blond hair tied into a ponytail on the crown of her head and his jersey and a pair of jeans shaping her dangerous curves, she was the single most exquisite thing Finn had ever seen.

“Hey,” he said, grateful for the length of his own jersey, because living down a public hard-on would be as fun as the fourth circle of hell—especially if any of his teammates happened to walk by. “This place is packed. You’ve got to have nearly everyone on the invite list in here.”

January nodded in agreement. “Ninety-two percent, according to Kennedy. Who’s keeping very close track at the door because—”

“Fire code,” Kellan and Gamble interrupted simultaneously.

“Exactly,” January finished with a laugh. Grabbing a beer and a huge soft pretzel from a passing server, she looked around the crowded dining room-slash-game day arena. “Everyone seems to be loving the more laid-back vibe. The new mayor even came over to tell me how much fun she’s having, and her press team tweeted the picture of the two of us with the fundraiser hashtag.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Gamble said. “You’re like a local celebrity.”

Finn tended to agree, but the assessment only made January laugh louder this time. “Hardly. It’s these hockey guys who are the huge draw. The silent auction is doing really well so far, too. There have been a ton of bids on the items donated by both the Rage and the Rogues.”

Finn nodded, following her gaze to the display of items set up hall-of-fame style, complete with plaques to describe each piece of memorabilia up for auction. “Good. I know Ford Callaghan was disappointed he couldn’t make it, but he’s got a lot of stuff going on in Chicago, where he’s from.” Finn definitely wasn’t the only guy on the Rage whose roots hadn’t started in New Orleans. “And of course, our left winger Cooper Banks isn’t here because he has the Cup right now. But I’m glad the sticks and jerseys he and Ford signed made it in time for the auction.”

Addison Hale, one of Isabella’s fellow detectives, arched a dark blond brow over her mischievous stare. “Speaking of your teammates, why don’t you give us the rundown, Finn? Some of them look yummy enough to eat with a spoon.”

Finn nearly choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken, especially when Shae and Quinn and—Jesus—every female in the group including January nodded in agreement.

“Deal,” Finn agreed slowly, after his beer and his windpipe had decided to play nicely together. After all, most of his teammates were single. While they’d probably way rather be called a bunch of big, brawling badasses, if any of them had a kink for being considered ‘yummy’, who was Finn to judge?

“Well, you guys have already met Flynn Kazakov and DC Washington,” he said, gesturing to the booths where the Rage’s goalie and their dark-haired defenseman—also Finn’s two closest friends on the team—sat signing autographs. “And the guy over there talking to January’s dad is our new head coach, Mason Courage.”

“The woman your coach is chatting up is pretty hot,” observed Dempsey from a few bar stools over. “Is she part of the organization too? Because I could get down with an introduction.”

Finn snorted. “You could give that a try, but I wouldn’t recommend it. That’s Juliette Courage. She’s a former beauty queen. And oh by the way, she’s also the coach’s wife.”

Dempsey lifted his hands in concession, and a ripple of laughter went through the group. “Okay,” Addison said after giving Dempsey a not-small amount of side-eye. “What about that guy over there with the knee brace? He’s pretty easy on the eyes. And by ‘pretty’, I mean ‘very’.”

“Who, Anders?” Oh hell, this was too good to be true. Not that Finn would tell Addison that there was a hundred and fifty thousand-dollar bounty on the poor guy’s virginity. “He’s one of our left wingers. He was injured in Game Six, but he’s healing up now. You want me to introduce you?”

“Do fish swim? Hell yes I want you to introduce me,” she said, and huh, suddenly Dempsey was returning the favor of that side-eye.

Finn turned to January, brushing a kiss over her lips. “I’m going to go hang out with the guys and do some meet and greet with the guests. See if we can’t convince more of these people to make a big, fat donation.”

She laughed, kissing him right back. “Go. Have fun.”

“I will,” he said, and making good on the promise wasn’t tough. He introduced Addison and Quinn to Anders and their right winger, Ransom Cox, and they traded just enough stories to make for decent laughs but not trouble. Wanting to follow through on his promise to encourage the guests to make donations to the RFD, Finn put on his PR face and worked the room, posing for pictures with Rogues fans as well as his buddies Alec and Trey. About halfway through his circuit around the jam-packed dining room, he caught sight of a man standing a few paces away with a wide-eyed little boy in a Rogues jersey, and after a whispered conversation between the two, the man tentatively approached.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m Rick Gerard, one of the firefighters over at Station Six.”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” Finn said, extending a hand toward the guy. “Finn Donnelly. I play center for the Rage.”

“Oh, we know.” Rick laughed a little, gesturing to the boy, who was shyly clinging to his hand. “We’re really big hockey fans. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for supporting the RFD. I’m sure you guys have tons of worthy organizations asking for help. On behalf of my firehouse, we’re really grateful you picked ours.”

Finn’s breath tightened. “It’s the least I can do. Believe me.” Tilting his head, he bent down to eye level with the boy, draping his forearms over his thighs. “So you’re a big hockey fan, huh?”

The little boy nodded. “Y-yes.”

Rick squeezed the kid’s hand. “This is my son, Jackson.”

“Hi Jackson. You must really like the Rogues,” Finn said, pointing to the kid’s jersey. He paused for a long second before eking out another shy nod, and Finn smiled. “I like the Rogues too.”

“You do?” Jackson asked, surprise covering his face.

“Sure. I mean, I play for the Rage, so I also like them a lot. But I’m from Remington, and I have a lot of friends who live here.” Finn’s eyes darted to the spot where January stood over by Captain Bridges and her father, and man, the words just felt right. “See that lady over there, with the blond hair? She’s my very best friend, and she planned this whole party. I wanted to help her, but I also want to help firefighters like your dad, who keep everyone in Remington safe.”

Jackson bit his lip and looked at Finn. “So it’s okay if I like the Rogues best?”

“Sure, buddy. In fact, have you met Alec Duchene and Trey Parkinson?”

Rick and Jackson traded twin looks of shock. “No,” Rick answered, and talk about the biggest no-brainer on the planet.

“Well.” Finn pushed to his feet and scanned the dining room, spotting his former teammates over by the selfie station. “Let’s fix that. I bet we can get a bunch of pictures and some trading cards for you, too. How does that sound?”

Finn walked them over to Alec and Trey, making introductions and snapping a bunch of photos with Rick’s iPhone. Jackson insisted that Finn be in some of the photos too, and saying no to the kid’s obvious excitement was a physical impossibility. He posed for selfies and signed fundraiser programs and greeted guests, finally covering the bar from end to end just as Captain Bridges took to the microphone over by the double doors by the Crooked Angel’s front entrance.

“May I have your attention please?” he asked, his voice instantly hushing the crowd. “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight, and for supporting the Remington Fire Department. It’s with great pleasure that I announce that as of this moment, we have officially exceeded our fundraising goal.”

A huge cheer went up from the crowd, and Finn added his in with a laugh. Not that he’d ever thought they wouldn’t raise the money, but damn, the news was good.

“Now,” Captain Bridges continued, settling the crowd back into relative quiet. “The truth is, we never would have made it to this point without some incredible hard work and dedication. With that, I’d like to recognize January Sinclair, who organized this event. Please give her a well-deserved round of applause.”

Finn’s heart pounded with pride as he watched January cross the room to stand by her boss, and Christ, she’d never looked more beautiful.

“Thank you,” she said, grinning into the microphone. “I’m thrilled to have exceeded our fundraising goal and know that the men and women of the RFD will be safer as they serve this community that I love so much.” A ripple of applause went up, and January waited it out before adding, “However, I can’t take all the thanks. The idea for this fundraiser, along with much of the planning, came from Finn Donnelly. Without him, we wouldn’t be here.”

January looked at him through the crowd, her blue eyes full of emotion, and even though they were surrounded by hundreds of people, Finn suddenly felt like there was no one else in the entire bar—or hell, maybe even the universe.

“Thank you for having my back,” she said.

And in that moment, with every eye in the entire house fixed firmly on him, Finn knew two things. One was that he was insanely, ridiculously, head-over-skates in love with January.

The second was that he was going to take the offer from the Rogues.

* * *

“This is insane,” Finn muttered, tiptoeing (as best a guy his size could, anyway) out of January’s bedroom and into her kitchen. They’d gotten back from the fundraiser way too late last night for him to call Marty, and even though the sun was barely coloring the sky with a palette of purple and orange, he couldn’t wait any longer.

Insane or not, he needed to make the call, even if it would change the career he’d worked his ass off for.

Flicking his iPad to life, Finn propped it on the counter at the breakfast bar, settling himself onto one of the bar stools there. The call was a big enough deal that he wanted to do it as close to face to face as possible, so he tapped the FaceTime icon, pulled up Marty’s smiling face from his list of contacts, adjusting the volume to its lowest feasible setting so he wouldn’t wake January as he initiated the call.

“Donnelly,” Marty answered on the second ring, and Christ, the guy really didn’t ever sleep. “How’s my fucking rock star hockey center?”

Finn laughed, albeit quietly. “The Rage strung me along for a goddamn month. I’m good, but I’m not so sure rock star applies.”

“I’m gonna have to call you out on that one,” Marty said, the cagey excitement in his voice snagging every last ounce of Finn’s attention. “Because I just got off the horn with a very contrite Michael Babineaux, and he made you the offer of a lifetime.”

Marty followed the news with some numbers so high that Finn actually considered getting dizzy. “Wait, what?” he asked, shock pinning him into place on his bar stool. “He’s been holding out forever. What the hell changed his mind?”

“You and that fundraiser, that’s what. Jesus, Donnelly, I know you said he’d come to his senses once you showed him some PR, but I have to admit, the whole thing was brilliant.”

“The whole thing,” Finn said slowly, his brain desperately trying to catch up to the fireworks going on in his rib cage.

“Yes, you sly son of a bitch! Social media practically blew up with pictures of that shindig last night. Some cute blonde wearing your jersey and schmoozing with the mayor, you hamming it up with those guys from the Rogues, and—my personal favorite—the picture with you and that kid. Babineaux couldn’t possibly say no to you now without looking like a schmuck and a half, and no way is he going to let you go to the Rogues. Christ, it was a PR coup. Of course he fucking called me with the offer.”

Finn opened his mouth to tell Marty he had everything dead wrong. Finn hadn’t helped January for his own gain. Hell, he’d been fully prepared to take a (far, far) lesser deal from the Rogues less than five minutes ago. But before he could loosen the words, realization slammed into him with all the force of a defenseman tearing over the blue line at full speed.

The Rage had made him the offer of a lifetime. The offer he’d wanted.

The offer he deserved.

“What about the Rogues?” Finn asked, and Marty laughed.

“And I thought I was the cutthroat one,” Marty joked. Something about Finn’s expression must have conveyed that he expected an answer, though, because he continued with, “After last night, they’ll probably scrape together all that they can to get you. Buddying up with their two star players was a nice touch, by the way. But there’s no way the Rogues will be able to touch the offer Babineaux just made.”

Finn’s pulse rushed, filling his ears with a roar despite the pin-drop quiet of the kitchen. Yes, Marty was misinterpreting his motivations, and yes again, Finn had spent an incredible month here in Remington. But the truth was, he hadn’t even expected to stay longer than a day or two. He’d spent the last three years with the Rage, pouring everything he had into being a part of the team there—of being someone worthy of a championship. He’d done that in New Orleans.

Not Remington.

“Kid?” Marty’s voice filtered over the line, his hand waving across the image on Finn’s iPad. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? What with Remington being your hometown and all?”

“No,” Finn said, resolve forming a cold, steely ball in his gut. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’ve wanted the deal with the Rage from the get. I don’t belong in Remington. I never have. Give me a couple hours to figure out a flight. I’ll be back in New Orleans by nightfall.”