Page 47 of Falling for the Hockey Superstar

Jake’s thriving. His confidence has skyrocketed, and his constant smiles tell me everything I need to know.

It’s more than just happiness—it’s stability. Jake finally has something,someone, to look up to. Beck encourages him, pushes him to try harder, but always with the gentlest touch. Jake’s joy has shifted into something deeper, something I recognize as security.

I watch the way Jake lights up when Beck teaches him hockey tips in the driveway, how he hangs on every word when Beck talks about teamwork and perseverance.

And Spotty? He’s thriving too. Beck’s house has become his second home, and while he’s not exactly best friends with the cats, he’s learned to coexist with them. Well… sort of.

He likes curling up by the fireplace like he owns the place, as if he’s decided this is his domain now.

And me? I’m happy.

Happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.

But happiness this easy? It feels… dangerous.

Because I’ve been here before. I’ve known love that felt this right, this effortless—until life ripped it away.

My mind drifts back to those early days with Jake’s father—how we fell into a rhythm so quickly, how certain I was that it was forever.

And then…

Gone.

The ache never really goes away. It’s just… quieter now. But the fear?

That’s louder than ever.

***

It started subtly.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. The distant look in Beck’s eyes when he thought I wasn’t watching. The way his smile didn’t always reach those piercing blue eyes.

But now?

Now it’s impossible to ignore.

“Beck,” I murmur softly later that evening, as we sit curled up on the sofa, a worn fleece blanket draped over us. Spotty is sprawled out at our feet, snoring softly, while Mitts, Hat Trick and Biscuit are perch on the armrests, their judgmental gazes trained on the dog.

Beck’s arm is around me, his thumb lazily brushing along my shoulder. But his mind…

It’s somewhere else.

“Hmm?”

I tilt my head up, studying his profile. The firelight flickers across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the tiny crease between his brows.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, but the tightness in his jaw tells me otherwise.

“Beck…” I shift slightly, turning so I can look him in the eye. “You’ve been… distracted.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His gaze drifts toward the fireplace, his jaw clenched so tight I’m afraid he might crack a tooth.

“Just a lot on my mind,” he finally says, but the words are too careful, too measured.

Liar.

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