Page 35 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

Not because I don’t believe him.

But because, for the first time, I think he means it.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

Chapter thirteen

Quinn

I don’t know what I expected when I agreed to meet Wes halfway on this community skate day, but it wasn’t… this.

This cautious calm. This steady, unexpected partnership.

He’s not pushing. Not smirking. Not charming his way past my boundaries. He’s just… there. Helping. Patient. Attentive with the kids. Kind to the parents. Doing the work without fanfare.

And me? I’m trying not to stare like an idiot every time he laughs. Or ties a skate. Or smiles at a five-year-old like they’re the most important person in the world.

We’re sorting cones when a volunteer coach knocks over a bin, scattering plastic pucks across the rink. Wes bends to help, and I kneel beside him instinctively.

Our foreheads bump.

“Sorry,” he mutters, the ghost of a grin on his lips.

“It’s fine.” I don’t look at him.

Not until he says, quietly, “You’re different here.”

I glance up. “Different how?”

“Lighter,” he says. “Happier. Like this place brings out the best in you.”

I straighten. “It’s not the place. It’s the people. The kids.”

He nods. “You’re good with them.”

“I’ve always liked the chaos. It’s honest.”

He chuckles. “That’s one word for it.”

We finish sorting the gear and scramble for all the wayward pucks. Then, to my surprise, he follows me to the breakroom where volunteers are unwinding with cocoa and leftover donuts. He lingers near the door until I wave him in.

Small steps. That’s all this is. Still… I don’t stop him when he sits beside me.

“Do you ever think about what it might’ve been like,” he says, voice low, “if I hadn’t left?”

It takes me a moment to answer. “All the time.”

His breath catches.

“But then I remember that you did leave,” I add quietly. “And whatever future I imagined got erased the second you walked away.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I regret it every day.”

We sit in silence. Not cold. Not hostile. Just tired. Like maybe we’ve both been carrying too much for too long.

One of the younger kids runs up with a thank-you card covered in crayon. “Miss Quinn! Coach Wes!”

We both blink.

---