Page 19 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

I smile. “Only if you say that while holding a metal pole.”

Thunder rumbles in the distance, low and lazy. The kind that’s not quite here yet but definitely coming. A moment later, the first drops splatter the pavement in slow, deliberate thuds.

Quinn watches them fall like she’s tracking constellations in the sky. “It’s not just the rain. I like the quiet before. Like the world pauses and says, ‘Buckle up.’”

I nod. “Yeah. The calm before the chaos.”

She meets my eyes for a second longer than necessary. Then the downpour starts in earnest.

“Quinn,” I say, already unzipping my hoodie.

She holds up a hand. “Don’t you dare do something noble—”

I hold it out anyway. “It’s just water.”

“It’s always ‘just’ something with you,” she mutters.

But she still takes it.

The jacket swallows her. It still smells like the old me. Hockey tape. Coffee. Maybe a little hope.

She zips it halfway and pulls the hood up. The wind tosses loose strands of her hair across her cheek.

She tucks one strand behind her ear. “You know I still have one of your hoodies, right? The one from the Flyers game. Smells like old popcorn and terrible decisions.”

I laugh. “I thought I lost that one during the bonfire night.”

“You did. I rescued it. It was half-soaked and covered in marshmallow, but it smelled like you. I wasn’t ready to let it go.”

The air between us tightens again. My chest constricts in a way that’s part hope, part ache.

She suddenly laughs. “Remember the time you got ambushed by the sprinklers at the outdoor rink?”

“Hey, I was trying to be a hero and save a stray puck!”

“You slipped and landed flat on your back. You tried to play it off like it was a new stretching technique.”

“It was highly advanced core training.”

She chuckles softly, and the sound hits me right in the ribs.

We duck under the overhang as thunder cracks louder overhead. Rain hits the rink’s metal roof like a drumline. Steady. Relentless.

Inside, the kids shout over each other, safe and rowdy and blessedly distracted.

Outside, it’s just the two of us. And a storm that’s more than just weather.

“It’s funny,” I say. “You used to wear my jackets all the time. Back then, I didn’t think twice about it.”

Quinn crosses her arms. “Back then, you didn’t think twice about much.”

I nod. “You’re right. I didn’t. And I should have.”

She doesn’t respond. But she doesn’t leave either.

The silence stretches.

Rain pools around our shoes, and I’m suddenly aware of just how close we’re standing. A breath away. One heartbeat. Maybe less.

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