Leaving this rink. Leaving this team.
Leaving Riley.
I swallowed, shifting my grip on my gloves, trying to make sense of the collision between what I had wanted for so long and the reality of it arriving like a freight train.
“They need someone fresh, and they see how well you've been doing here. They want you back for the end of the season."
Long-distance relationships. Other guys do it. I can do it.
"You’ve got plane tickets for tomorrow morning. Pack up."
I blinked, pulse slamming in my ears.
Tomorrow morning?
Chapter twenty-one
Riley: Enough?
Iturned onto Colton’s street, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel, the warmth of the coffee cup pressing against my palm.
This wasn’t planned—I’d just realized his place was on the way, and stopping made sense. Logical. Just me… checking in.
Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit of me finding an excuse.
I adjusted the bag in the passenger seat, the paper crinkling around the single cinnamon donut inside. One to share. We had never officially established that tradition, but it felt right.
My mind kept circling back to the rink—to the moment I asked him to stay. That kiss.
I could still feel it. Not just the pressure of his lips. But the way every part of me had leaned in, like the universe had suddenly decided we belonged together.
I saw it in his eye. He wasn’t just considering staying. He knew it was the right choice.
So, I was here to find out. What did the coaches say when he told them?
I pulled into a spot in front of his place, grabbing the coffee and stepping out. A solid, normal, casual girlfriend moment. No overthinking. No expectations—just checking in.
Who am I kidding? I want to know if he was still choosing me.
Then I saw his front door.
It was ajar.
My pulse ticked up. That wasn’t normal. I hesitated, stepping closer, pressing my palm against the wood and pushing it open just a little more.
“Colton?”
The mess of hockey gear kicked against the wall.
But there was something else.
Boxes.
With new writing, scribbled over old writing.
Freshly packed boxes.
The donut bag crinkled in my grip as I stared at them, my brain catching up to what my eyes were seeing.
