Page 3 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

“Hey.”

I glance up and see Beckett standing by the hallway, just beyond the tunnel, hands in the pockets of his fitted jacket. He’s not smiling, but there’s a softness in his eyes that tells me he’s already read my mind.

The jacket catches me off guard. Beckett’s usually in uniform—whether it’s game night or just practice, he never misses a chance to rep the team. Tonight, though, he’s in street clothes. It takes me a second to realize why.

He’s not playing either.

Of course. He’s been out with that rib injury from the last road game. I remember Abby mentioning it when she stopped by the clinic. Nothing serious, just enough to bench him for a few days. Still, it’s strange seeing him this way—watching from the sidelines instead of leading the charge.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say too fast. “Shoulder dislocation. We’ve seen worse.”

He raises a brow. “I meantyou, Quinn.”

I press my lips together and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m always okay. You know that.”

He tilts his head slightly. “No one’salwaysokay.”

I let out a long breath, trying not to let my emotions show. Not here. Not at work. Not when Wes could still be watching.

Beckett leans against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “Just figured I’d give you a heads-up. Wes is staying in town for a while.”

My heart lurches. “Great,” I say flatly. The word tastes like rust.

“He’ll be at the dinner tonight. Team’s doing a little welcome-back thing. Abby’s making her famous lasagna.”

Of course she is. Abby can’t resist playing matchmaker—even when it involves emotional wreckage and zero consent from the parties involved.

“I’m working late,” I say quickly, voice a little too sharp.

Beckett raises his eyebrows, all innocent. “Abby already asked the ER director. You’re off by six.”

I narrow my eyes. “You planned this.”

He holds up his hands. “Not me. Your sister. I’m just the messenger.”

“I don’t want to see him.”

“You don’t have to talk to him. Just... show up. Eat lasagna. Smile for the kids. No one’s asking for miracles.”

“I can’t do this again,” I murmur.

He’s quiet for a beat. “I know. But he came back. That has to mean something.”

I shoulder my med bag and start walking toward the hallway, boots echoing off the concrete floor. My steps slow as I pass under the fluorescent lights, the scent of popcorn and cherry ice still clinging to the corridor air. A couple of fans wave as I pass. I nod back, keeping my head down.

Beckett calls after me. “You can’t avoid him forever, Quinn.”

I don’t answer. My throat’s too tight.

But he’s right.

Because tonight, I’ll have to face the man who left me without a goodbye.

And whether I’m ready or not, Wes Archer just skated back into my life.

Chapter two

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