Page 7 of Knot Sharing the Ice

Mom hands me a mug, and I wrap my hands around it, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. "Well, don't let me interrupt," she says, but there's a knowing look in her eye that makes me squirm. "I'm just happy to have my babies home for the holidays."

As she walks away to distribute the rest of the cocoa, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. I know I don't visit as often as I should, but my training schedule is demanding, and every time I come home, I feel the weight of expectations pressing down on me.

"You know," Taylor says softly, "it's okay to want both."

I turn to her, confused. "Both what?"

She gestures vaguely at the scene before us—Dad at the grill, flipping what I'm sure are the traditional (and traditionally awful) Cornish game hens, Mom fussing over the kids, aunts and uncles and cousins all mingling and laughing. "This. A family, a pack. And your career."

I snort, taking a sip of my cocoa to avoid responding right away. The rich chocolate coats my tongue, a comforting taste of childhood that does nothing to soothe the ache in my chest.

"It's not that simple," I finally say. "You don't understand what it's like out there, Tay. The competition, the pressure. I can't afford distractions."

"Is that what a family would be to you? A distraction?"

Her words hit a little too close to home, and I find myself staring into the flames, watching the embers dance and flicker.Is that what I really think? That love, companionship, the warmth of a pack—that it's all just a distraction from my goals?

I didn't used to. Not until Jake made me feel like it was all a zero-sum game and I had to pick and choose.

"I don't know," I admit quietly. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not cut out for it. Maybe I'm not the kind of person who gets to have both."

Taylor's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "Em, you're one of the most driven, talented people I know. If anyone could make it work, it's you."

I want to believe her. God, do I want to believe her. But as I look around at my family—at the life I left behind to chase my dreams—I can't shake the feeling that I'm standing on the edge of two worlds, unable to fully inhabit either.

"I'd rather be alone forever than give up my dreams," I say, and it's the truth. As hurt as I was when Jake made that ultimatum, there was a part of me that felt… relief. But is that really the only option? Being alone, or sacrificing everything at the altar of a one-sided relationship?

Taylor doesn't push, and for that, I'm grateful. We sit in companionable silence, sipping our cocoa and watching the fire. The laughter of the kids rings out, punctuated by the sizzle of meat on the grill and the low murmur of adult conversation.

And despite myself, despite all my protests and walls and carefully constructed reasons, I find myself wondering. What would it be like to have all this—the family, the love, the sense of belonging—and still keep my passion, my drive, my dreams on the ice?

The image of four frustratingly handsome alphas flashes through my mind, unbidden. I push it away, but not before a treacherous part of me whispers, What if?

I shake my head, banishing the thought. No. I made my choice. I'm here for a week, to see my family and practice for my competition.

That's it.

No distractions, no complications, and certainly no packs of attractive, arrogant hockey players.

Chapter

Four

CARTER

The puck slams into my stick, jarring my arm. I barely manage to deflect it, sending it skittering across the ice. Jayce curses, skating after it with more force than necessary. We're all off our game today, distracted and tense.

I glance at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time. Two hours since the rink opened, and still no sign of Ember. The guys won't admit it, but I know they're as disappointed as I am. We didn't even have to discuss showing up early in case she did.

We all just did it.

"Alright, let's take five," Adder calls out, his voice echoing in the empty rink.

I take off my helmet, running a hand through my sweat-damp hair. "I'm gonna grab some coffee," I mutter, not meeting anyone's eyes. I need a moment away from their restless energy, from the constant reminders of what—who—we're missing.

The breakroom is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos on the ice. I'm about to head for the ancient coffee maker when I spot Frank, the rink's owner, staring out the window with a furrowed brow.

"Everything okay, Frank?" I ask, moving to stand beside him.

---