Page 24 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

I take a breath trying to sort it all out in my head. “When I left last year, I thought I was doing the right thing. For you. For us. I didn’t want to drag you through the worst parts of my life … the travel, the injuries, the pressure. I told myself that letting you go was noble.”

Her eyebrows lift. “And you didn’t think I deserved a say?”

“That’s the part I got wrong.” I meet her eyes. “I was scared. Scared you’d wait for me and regret it. Scared I’d mess up and take you down with me.”

Her expression softens, just a little. “You think I haven’t made peace with chaos? I work in medicine. Chaos is the job.”

I smile faintly. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to be the reason you burned out.”

She sighs. “You weren’t. Not exactly.”

We fall in step again, a few pinecones crunching beneath our feet.

The last time I walked beside her like this it was late fall last year. We were heading back from a charity event, arms bumping, her laugh tucked under my skin. That was the night I knew I loved her. The night I knew I’d leave.

“I missed you,” I say. The words come out too fast. Too raw.

She swallows. “I missed you too. But I learned to stop waiting.”

I nod, taking that in. It hurts. But I earned that.

“There was this night,” I say, surprising myself. “At Beck and Abby’s engagement party. Remember? We danced to that dumb Ed Sheeran song. You were wearing that blue dress with the sleeves that kept falling off your shoulders.”

She glances at me, wary. But she remembers. I can tell by the way her mouth twitches.

“That night I wanted to tell you everything. About how I didn’t know how to keep you and keep the life I had. But I didn’t say a word. I just held you and thought ‘I hope she knows.’”

“I didn’t,” she says quietly. “I really didn’t.”

Before I can speak again, her phone buzzes. She checks it and shows me the screen: a group text from her sister.Bonfire at our place tonight. Bring marshmallows or your emotional baggage. Preferably both.

I laugh despite myself. “Classic Abby,”

Quinn reminds me that the last time Abby invited us to a bonfire she had convinced two couples to elope and scared a raccoon out of a cooler with a ladle. She bites back a smile, saying that Abs “doesn’t believe it subtlety.”

You thinking of going?” She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression. Curiosity? Temptation? “I’ll think about it,” is all I get. Which, in Quinn-speak is somewhere between anoand amaybeif the wind is blowing north.

She turns and I take a second to watch her – tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the breeze catching her sleeve. For a moment I think about saying more. About begging. But that wouldn’t be fair.

She turns back toward the rink, walking away before I can say more. I watch her go, my heart tight in my chest.

***

That evening, I drive around town with no real destination, the windows down and music low. I stop at the old outdoor rink,now used for community open skates and teen hangouts. I watch a couple of kids shoot pucks against a bent net. Their laughter echoes faintly in the cool air.

I used to be them. Hungry, full of fire, chasing a dream like it was the only thing that mattered. And it did, for a long time. Until I realized that dreams feel hollow without someone to share them with.

I ended up parked outside Quinn’s favorite diner for half an hour, debating whether to go in a grab a coffee-to-go. I picture her in that corner booth, laughing with Abby, biting the end of her straw like she does when she’s nervous. I don’t go in. Coward.

Eventually I head back to Beckett’s. He’s out back setting up the bonfire, dragging logs into a circle. I offer to help and he tosses me a lighter. “You bringing that face to the fire tonight?” he asks.

“This is just my brooding hockey star face” I say. “Very on brand.”

“Well, brood near the marshmallows so people won’t get suspicious.”

I watch the kindling slowly catch fire and flicker to life. It’s tentative at first, then bold and loud. It’s kind of like love, I think. Messy. Hungry. Worth the burn.

I stare into the fire as Beck cracks jokes and Abby threatens to micromanage the s’more production like she’s planning a five-course meal. Jake is tossing little sticks into the flames while Violet snoozes against Abby’s shoulder and Griff arrives and is somehow managing to toast five marshmallows at once without burning a single one.

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