Page 45 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

Later, after the rink empties and Jake is happily devouring a hot chocolate from the vending machine, Wes slides onto the bench beside me.

“I forgot how much I love this place,” he says, breath puffing in the cold air.

“You’re good with him.”

“I like him. He’s smart. Confident.”

“Stubborn,” I add.

He grins. “Wonder where he gets that.”

I nudge his shoulder. “It’s genetic. From his aunt.”

Wes laughs, but there’s a beat of silence that follows. One thick with unsaid things.

He stares out at the empty ice, then glances back at me. “Do you remember the night I taught you to skate backwards?”

I smile. “You mean the night I nearly dislocated your shoulder?”

He chuckles. “You were determined. And reckless.”

“And terrified.”

“But you did it. You always do.”

There’s something so familiar about this moment. Like we’ve circled all the way back to the beginning and still found each other standing here.

“I want to be part of your life again, Quinn,” he says. “Not just the easy parts.”

My chest tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know. But I’m here. And I’m staying. If you let me, I’ll prove that every day.”

I look at him. Really look. And for the first time, I believe him.

I slide my hand into his.

Not a promise.

But maybe the start of one.

***

Jake snores softly in the back seat as Wes and I drive him home. His hockey gear is a pile of crumpled effort beside him, and his cheeks are still pink from skating.

“You’d think he just played in the Stanley Cup,” Wes murmurs with a grin, glancing at Jake in the rearview mirror.

“He’ll be talking about this night for weeks,” I say. “You made his whole month.”

We pull into Abby and Beck’s driveway, the porch light casting a soft glow across the front lawn. As soon as I open the back door, Jake stirs awake, mumbling something incoherent before suddenly perking up.

“Is Violet still up?” he asks.

“She might be. Want to check?”

Jake is out of the car like a shot, dragging his hockey stick with him as he bolts up the porch steps. I follow, Wes just behind me.

Inside, the warmth of home wraps around us—the soft hum of the baby monitor, the faint smell of lavender lotion, and the quiet lull of wind brushing against the windows.

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