Harper sent both of her articles to Seraphina late Sunday night. Besides a couple of tweaks, the articles were published exactly as they were on the website late Monday night. She even had a couple of complimentary comments left the last time she checked. This was gelling and it felt good. She couldn't wait to bring it up to her grandmother when she checked in on her.

"So," Terrie Immings said, sitting across from Harper at her round kitchen table, her long fingers - fingers that used to play that old piano in the living room beautifully - tapping the surface. "How does the team look? I heard we got Zachary Ryan. How's he?"

Harper shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of fresh lemonade. It was Tuesday, early afternoon, and the sun was seeping through the open kitchen window, making the kitchen look both lighter and bigger than it really was.

"I haven't really seen him play, Grandma," Harper said once her mouth was clear. "But he'll be first line center, so he must be good. Cherney wouldn't put him there unless he wasn't."

Terrie snorted, rolling her blue eyes. "He was out there because Matt Peters left," she said. "He had a shitty season, let me tell you. I'm not sure if it was because of his relationship with Katella, or if it's because he had already mentally checked out after Brown’s death. Regardless, he was lucky to play for us and he gave us a half-assed season. I'm hoping Ryan turns it all around for us."

"Well, the guy has scored thirty goals since his rookie season," Harper pointed out. "That's eight seasons with thirty goals per season. Plus, the last four years, he's had fifty plus assists. He's a sixty percent average in the faceoff circle, which can be improved upon but is still really impressive, and last year, he was ranked a plus thirteen even though the Bangles didn't make the playoffs. He wasn't even first line with them."

"What is it, Harp?" she asked. "You sound skeptical."

Harper pressed her lips together, trying to think of the right thing to say. She knew how to write down her thoughts, no problem, but to organize her thoughts in a way where she could communicate them verbally... That was an entirely different story.

"On paper, he looks perfect," Harper said. "Besides his off-ice issues, the only problem I see is his attitude. He's top line material but he has over a hundred penalty minutes his last three seasons. He's a skilled player but he'll fight - which is respectable, but then he broke his hand during a fight and was out of the lineup for thirty games."

"And he still managed to score thirty goals?" Terrie pointed out, though she legitimately sounded intrigued.

"He doesn't wear a shield either," Harper added, "which, I know since the National Hockey League’s shield regulations were grandfathered in, he doesn't have to, but it screams reckless, arrogant behavior."

Terrie smirked. "Sounds like my kind of player," she said.

Harper rolled her eyes but a good-natured smile tugged at her lips. Her grandmother was a character, there was no denying that. She had been prim and proper, the perfect definition of a nineteen fifties housewife. It wasn’t until her children were out of the house did she start smoking cigars during the Stanley Cup playoffs and swearing when she was driving. Her personality began to emerge during the acquisition of more independence. When her husband died, she allowed herself two weeks to mourn the love of her life before she decided life was too short and threw herself into her passions.

“You should come with me to the practice," Harper said, teasing her grandmother with a wink. "I get to go into the locker rooms afterward and interview them without their shirts."

"You're getting paid to talk to naked men?" Terrie asked, her brow pushed up under her hairline. Her pale green eyes were clearly impressed. "Honey, I would have killed for your job."

Harper laughed. She loved spending time with her grandmother. It didn't even feel like a burden to take care of her by any means. In fact, Harper aspired to be more like her grandmother. She loved life and had no problem expressing who she was. She didn't care how people perceived her or what they said about her. She was who she was and was unapologetic about it. Harper was relatively the same except she did worry about what people thought about her. Which was stupid. Which was why she spent as much of her free time as she could with her.

"Go home, Harper," she said with a smile. "I can get myself into bed. You have a busy day tomorrow. Charity function, right? Do you have a dress? Let me give you some money to get a dress. Get a slutty one. You have a great set of tits, Harper. Use them to your advantage."

Harper started laughing. "My advantage?" she asked. "What am I using my boobs for?"

"You're going to marry a hockey player," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've got to catch their attention with your looks and make them fall in love with your personality."

Harper rolled her eyes but a smile still permeated her face. "Grams, you have quite an imagination," she said as she stood up and collected her keys.

"Of course I do," her grandmother replied. "Why else do you think your grandfather was so satisfied in life?"

* * *

It was dark by the time Harper returned to her apartment. The days were getting shorter with October fast approaching and there was a chill in the air that hadn't been there before. Harper didn't mind; she loved the cold.

She changed into a long sleeved thermal and blue plaid pajama bottoms, leaving her socks on and her hair down. She was just about to remove her bra and settle into bed with a good book when a knock interrupted her. She pressed her brows together. No one visited her after six at night. She only had a couple of friends who would stop by and they would only let her know ahead of time. Her only family was her grandmother and she didn't drive and she definitely wasn't dating anyone, which just begged the question - who was at the door?

She padded over the carpet living room to her door and rolled up to her toes to check out her peephole. Her heart skipped to her throat.

What the hell was Bryan doing on her doorstep?

She hesitated. Her teeth started gnawing the inside of her bottom lip. She didn't want to answer. She was compelled not to. They had a bad breakup several months ago and he was the last person she ever wanted to see again. That was why she broke up with him. Because he was a terrible, controlling person that teetered onto mental abuse. She spent a year and a half with the guy; she didn't want to spend another minute of it with him again.

"Harp?" he called, knocking on the door. "Come on, open the door. I know you're there."

Her heart seized up and skipped a beat. She hated his voice; it grated on her the way fingernails dragging on chalkboard did. She pressed her back against the door as gently as she could, keeping her position crouched, preventing herself from being seen. As if Bryan could see her through the peephole. She held her breath, willing him to go away. She wanted him to go away.

Her phone started vibrating against the wooden television stand. It sounded like a car horn on an empty street. It made her jump and nearly lose her balance.

"Come on, I can hear your phone. I know you don't go anywhere without your phone."

Harper pressed her hands against her mouth, ensuring she didn't make any telling noise. She didn't care if he thought she was gone. All she cared about was getting him off her doorstep. She had no idea why he was here. It wasn't like he had any of her stuff and she definitely didn't have any of his. There was no reason for him to be here. She didn't want him to be here.

Her phone stopped vibrating. The light went off. She held her breath, waiting. Waiting.

Then: "I just wanted to congratulate you on your position with the Gulls. I know how much you love hockey and you're such a talented writer, you completely deserve it. Your article on Zachary Ryan was superb. Great job. I look forward to your next one. That's it. That's all I wanted to say."

More silence. Then footsteps walking away.

She let out a sigh of relief. She could finally catch her breath. The tension still hadn't left her body. It probably wouldn't until she was tucked into bed and Bryan was far from her mind. Far, but not forgotten.

Harper hated her body's reaction whenever Bryan was involved, even if one of her friends brought him up casually, even if her grandmother made a disparaging comment about him in an off-handed way. Her palms would start to sweat, her stomach would clench up, and her entire body would completely freeze. Her heartbeat would start to get harder and faster and she could feel her pulse gently slice a corner in her neck. She felt out of control, losing her grip, and she had no idea how to calm herself down. Her instinct was to curl up in a ball and shelter herself from the outside world until Bryan was gone from her mind and she could breathe again.

She didn't love him anymore but she wasn't over him. He still controlled her in this way and she wanted to end it, she wanted to get her life back so if she saw him on the street, she could walk past him with her shoulders back, her head held high, and not even blink.

Harper let out a shaky breath and forced herself to stand. She wanted to change this about herself. She didn't know how to overcome this but she would. Somehow. Especially with Bryan knowing where she lived and forcing his way back into her life.

For now, she would focus on her new job. Hockey. Her grandmother. Bryan wouldn't even enter her thoughts at all.

Before she went to her bedroom, Harper checked the door and the windows one last time to ensure Bryan couldn't get to her in any way possible.