Page 27 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

“I think I was wrong.”

I close my eyes. My head dips toward his chest before I even realize it.

Then someone stumbles into the firepit circle, shouting for marshmallows, and I pull back too quickly.

I trip.

Wes catches me.

Arms strong. Eyes wide. The fire behind him casts gold across his face.

We’re close. Too close.

I look up—and he’s already looking at me.

And for a breathless moment, everything else falls away.

His hand lingers at my waist. My palm presses against his chest.

We don’t move.

His face tilts down. Mine lifts slightly.

A heartbeat away.

Then a cheer erupts from the other side of the fire. Someone yells, “Get a room!” and the spell snaps.

I step back, breath hitching.

Wes lets me go.

“Sorry,” he says, voice hoarse.

But I’m not sure I am.

Neither of us says anything else.

I walk away, heart in my throat.

And behind me, the fire crackles.

Still burning.

Still waiting.

Still wanting.

Chapter ten

Wes

The crackle of the fire is still in my ears, but the weight of her in my arms is what I can’t shake. She was soft and solid all at once. And warm and real in a way that made the rest of the world blur. Her breath had caught just slightly when I caught her, and mine hasn't returned to normal since. Her hair brushed against my chin, and for a split second, I swore I could feel her heartbeat through the thin layers of our clothes.

Holding her again felt like exhaling after years of holding my breath. It wasn’t just muscle memory—it was emotional muscle too. Every laugh we shared, every silent fight, every near kiss that never happened, it all rushed back in one unbearable moment. I didn’t want to let go. But I did. Because I’m trying to do this right this time. Even if it’s killing me slowly.

Memories rush in—those late nights walking her home from shifts, the way she’d tease me for my terrible playlist choices, the way her hand used to find mine without thinking. I rememberthe first time she wore my hoodie and how I pretended not to care that she never gave it back.

The nervous energy in my chest feels like that night I sat outside her apartment with flowers, unsure if I was too late even then. The nerves now? Worse. Because this time I know exactly what I lost.

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