Page 2 of Speed Crush
There’s something about witnessing your college roommate build a life like that—homegrown success, married to the love of his life, having a successful career comeback in NHL, and living in a postcard town like this.
Seeing them together, this solid partnership, spark a pang of something unfamiliar in me.
Not envy exactly, but a yearning for that kind of... rootedness. And a fierce, sudden protectiveness for them, for their happiness.
And suddenly, my own world of podiums and private jets feels a little... hollow. Shiny on the surface, but nothing solid underneath, especially with no one to share it with.
Which brings me here. At Sugar Mill Lofts, where I’ll be crashing for the next few weeks while I play coach for the town’s first winter go-kart camp during my precious off-season.
Coaching kids how to take corners in a kart instead of apexes in a Formula One car. It's a downgrade in horsepower, sure—but Levi's my guy, and I owed him one.
Plus, who doesn’t want to spend their off-season in Cedar Falls? The air bites with a clean, pine-scented cold that sting your lungs good. Every breath frosts in the air, and the silence is so thick, you can almost taste the snow.
A town built inside a snow globe, alright. And I’m about to shake things up.
“Noah! You're here!” I see Lily’s head poking out of the second-floor window.
“I think I am.” I give her a big smile. “Are you spying on all your tenants, or just the hot ones?’
Her laugh echoes down the snowy street. “Please. You’re the only one who still thinks he’s hot in December.”
“Ouch.” I grin. “You wound me.”
She disappears from the window and reappears moments later at the front door, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Noah Verelli,” she says, grinning like she’s about to roast me alive. “The prodigal speedster.”
I drop my duffel and step into her hug. She smells like chocolate and feels twice as warm in this cold.
“You always answer the door this charming?” I murmur.
“Only for guests who arrive exactly thirty-one minutes late.”
“I had a situation.”
“Oh?”
“Jet lag. Ego bruising. Spontaneous snowfall. Pick one.”
She laughs and pulls back. “Come on. Levi’s in the kitchen, pretending he knows how to use a mandolin without losing a finger.”
I follow her through the door, past the shelves of glass jars and polished marble counters of Candy Jar’s back room.
“Wow, the place smells like caramel and ambition, Lily.”
She rolls her eyes at me and gives me a swat on the arm. “Welcome to my confectionery kingdom, where all the magic happens.”
Lily gestures around the room. “We upgraded everything last spring—double-deck ovens, floor-to-ceiling freezers, bigger mixers, new layout. Now we can handle both national output and custom creations—delivering sweetness without the drama of burnt toffee!"
We turn a corner and I see Levi’s over the stove, tossing something in a skillet with exaggerated confidence.
He’s wearing a black tee stretched across his shoulders, hockey-scarred knuckles gripping a wooden spoon like a weapon. I must say, he and Lily make a beautiful couple.
He looks up when he hears us. “Look what the jet dragged in.”
“Look who’s pretending he can cook,” I fire back, setting my coat on the counter.
“Excuse you, this Eggplant Parmigiana is going to be a legend.”
