victoria
“Thank you so much for letting me stay at your place,” I say, stepping into Sloan and Jaz’s cozy house. It’s a charming two-story named “Rose & Thorn” because of the rose bushes in the backyard, complete with a big front porch and wood floors with a patina that only comes from age. When I texted Sloan to see if she knew anyone willing to take in an extra guest for a few nights, I didn’t expect her to offer her own place.
“It’s no problem at all,” Sloan says, grabbing my pink suitcases and tucking them behind a door in the hall. Both she and Jaz are sporting matching red aprons for tonight’s New Year’s Eve party—the unofficial holiday gathering for the Crushers, since most of the players have been off celebrating with their families. Even though I was invited, I can’t help feeling like I forced myself on them.
They motion for me to follow them into the kitchen. I glance at the counters, already loaded with cookies, dips, and enough dough to start a bakery.
“I feel terrible crashing at your place when you’re hosting a party,” I say. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
“Nonsense! The more, the merrier,” Jaz says, her baby bump peeking from behind her apron.
“We’re used to a full house,” Sloan adds, picking up a rolling pin. “Besides, Rourke asked if you were coming and I told him to invite you, which made Leo furious.” She grins at me as she rolls out a batch of dough. “Maybe those two need a good old fistfight to work out their feelings.”
“Wait, Leo asked about me?” I lean against the counter, trying not to act too interested, but I’m dying to know if he ever mentions me. Is he really jealous of Rourke asking about me, or is this just some leftover feelings from when we used to date?
“Oh, Rourke just wanted your phone number so he could text you,” Sloan says. “But Leo isn’t aware that Rourke actually invited you tonight.”
I wince. “Maybe I’ll just stay in the opposite corner of the house, minding my own business.”
Jaz and Sloan give each other a look before Jaz says, “Leo will make youhisbusiness. That’s just how he is. When he cares about something, he’s relentless.”
Relentless, huh?Doesn’t mean he has the right to interfere when one of his hockey buddies invites me to a party. I have a hard enough time making friends as it is—being an introvert doesn’t exactly make me the most approachable person—so the last thing I need is him scaring them off. I want friendships as much as anyone else, even if that means navigating the rough-and-tumble world of professional hockey players.
The irony isn’t lost on me—growing up, hockey was my dad’s job, not a hobby or social activity. Despite my father coaching his way through the leagues, it was always just part of our lives, like background noise. Then I became a skater, and had time for little else. Hockey was my dad’s world, but it was never part ofmine—until I met Leo. I was coming off the ice after a grueling skating practice, flushed and sweaty, when I spotted him lacing up his skates for the university hockey team. Something caught my attention—that serious, broody look he gave me when our eyes met, his hair falling over one side of his forehead. Distracted by his blue eyes, I failed to notice the hockey stick lying across the ground. One spectacularly graceless stumble later, I nearly kissed the ground before Leo sprang off the bench to help me up.
“You okay?” he asked, taking my hand, his gaze locking on to mine.
“Yeah, I think so.” Maybe it was the near face-plant, or seeing those eyes close up—an impossible shade of blue, like moonlight spilling over a field of cornflowers. I couldn’t stop staring.
“I’ve seen you on the ice before,” he said. “You’re really good.”
“You’ve noticed my skating before?” The hockey team usually arrived as we were wrapping up, but I’d never seen anyone paying much attention to me.
“Watching you is like watching magic happen,” he said. “You don’t just skate. You made me forget the world existed.”
Then he did it—he smiled—and not just any smile. His serious face turned charming, and it was like he knew exactly how to get to me in an instant. My heart swan-dived into the lava pit of my chest, and I’ve been trying to climb out ever since.
After that, I spent every spare second with Leo. I’d cheer for him at his games, wearing his jersey, proud to be his girlfriend. Practices became secondary to lazy afternoons and stolen kisses. He made me feel alive in a way skating never had.
Unfortunately, my parents didn’t share my enthusiasm when they found out six months later. Their ultimatum was swift: break up with Leo, or they’d make sure his hockey career ended before it began.
With my dad already coaching professionally, I knew he could follow through. All it would take was a word that Leo was “difficult” to work with, and his dreams would be over. I had no choice. I broke up with Leo via text because I couldn’t lie to his face. So I did the only thing I thought I could—I cut him off cold turkey, walking away from the only guy I’d ever cared about, so he could have the future he deserved. I told myself I was doing the right thing. That I’d move on and our paths would never cross again. Someday, he might eventhankme.
Instead, here I am, back in the same small town, with my dad coaching Leo’s team. Thanks to my partner’s unfortunate injury, I’m now stuck in this ridiculous arrangement. If I’d known this was my future, I might’ve relocated to the other side of the earth to avoid it—even if the free rink rentals here were hard to resist.
“Make yourself at home,” Jaz says, pulling me back into the moment.
At least while I’m here, I’ll be able to forget about Leo.
“Can I help with something?” I ask, looking around at the full counter of homemade baked goods. “I’m not exactly a gourmet chef, but I can follow directions.”
“We’ll never turn down extra help,” Jaz says, setting a mixing bowl on the counter. “How do you feel about cutting bread dough?”
“My mom was more into takeout than home-cooked meals,” I admit.
Jaz’s eyes widen. “You never learned?”
“Not really,” I say sheepishly. “I was always at the rink. Cooking lessons didn’t make the schedule.”
