Page 9 of Puck Me for Christmas

My hair came next. I loosened the pins and rubbed at the scalp with my fingers until the strands fell in soft waves around my shoulders. I stared at myself, raw and unvarnished, and felt… lighter. Not perfect. Not beautiful. Me.

After undressing and wrapping myself in the plush robe provided by the lodge, I pushed my feet into the pair of white terrycloth slippers waiting in my closet and padded over to the window. Snow drifted past in a serene hush, the blizzard wrapping the world in its muffled cocoon. It felt like a sign, this stillness. An invitation to step outside the image I’d been clinging to.

My gaze fell on the spa’s outdoor hot tub, steaming against the snowy backdrop. The rules forbade use at this hour, but tonight, I needed to reclaim some part of myself. No one would care if I bent the rules, not here, not now.

Tightening the robe around me, I left my room. The corridors were dimly lit, and the quiet felt almost reverent. My heart pounded, not from fear but from anticipation. I wasn’t sure what I expected, only that I needed to feel alive—to feel like Emberleigh Quinn, not the polished on-air persona.

The spa doors opened to the deck, and I stepped outside. The snow glowed beneath the moonlight, cold air biting at my skin. I shivered, my breath misting as I slipped off the robe andslippers, leaving myself completely bare. The shock of the cold made me gasp, but it was freeing, exhilarating. I eased into the hot tub, hissing as the warmth enveloped me. Steam rose around me, mingling with the snowflakes that melted on my shoulders.

Under the starry sky, I closed my eyes and exhaled. Here, without makeup, without curated clothes, I was just me and I could allow myself to feel the jumble of emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface ever since Logan’s eyes connected with mine again. The sensations he sparked in me scared, but also thrilled me. Maybe letting go of my usual defenses would give me space to finally sort out what I was feeling.

Suddenly, the soft scrape of the door opening jolted me. My eyes flew open, and I ducked lower in the water until only my shoulders and collarbones were visible. Logan stepped onto the deck, wrapped in a towel, his breath pluming in the cold. He froze when he saw me, then his gaze softened, a mixture of surprise and…admiration?

“I didn’t think anyone would be out here,” he said, his voice low.

“Neither did I.” My words were soft, unsteady. For a moment, I thought about covering my face, making an excuse, or running, but something stopped me. I met his gaze head-on, letting him see me—bare and vulnerable.

His steps faltered. “I…I’ll go if you want me to.”

“You can stay,” I whispered. The words surprised me as much as they seemed to surprise him. But they felt right. This was honesty, not weakness.

Logan set his towel on a nearby chair and slipped into the water. The sight of his naked body—broad shoulders, toned chest, bulging biceps—made my breath hitch. He moved closer,the distance between us shrinking until I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“You’re different,” he said, his voice reverent. “I like you this way, without all the makeup. Talk to me, Emberleigh. Please.”

The vulnerability in his tone undid me. I found myself speaking in hushed tones, confessing how his disappearance had hurt me, how I’d built walls to protect myself. He listened, his eyes never leaving mine, and when he spoke, his words were raw and unguarded. He told me about his injury, the shame of failing his family, his fear of showing me the broken parts of himself. He spoke of his younger sister Starla, her brilliance on the ice as a competitive figure skater, and how it reminded him of what he’d lost. How he’d run because it was easier than staying and being vulnerable.

“I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I didn’t deserve you, Emberleigh. But I’ve thought about you every day since.”

“Tell me,” I said, the words barely louder than a breath. “What was it like, walking away from everything?”

He sighed, the sound heavy with emotion. “It was hell. At first, I told myself it was what I had to do. That I was sparing everyone—you, my family, my teammates. I thought if I just disappeared, no one would have to deal with the wreck I’d become. But it didn’t work. The shame followed me everywhere. Seeing Starla compete, watching her win…it should’ve made me proud. And it did, in a way. But it also reminded me of what I’d thrown away.”

“You didn’t throw it away,” I said gently. “You were injured. That wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw tightened. “Try telling that to my parents. You know who they are,whatthey were—Dad a former renowned hockey coach at the best prep school in Denver, and Mom a retired competitive downhill skier. Growing up, holidays meant traveling to tournaments, early morning ice rink practices, and countless motivational speeches about striving for greatness. When both Starla and I began gaining attention for our efforts on the ice, we were basically marked as the shining stars of our family legacy. So when my playing days ended prematurely, I felt not only personal disappointment but also that I’d failed to uphold the family standard.My dad…I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me. I felt like a total failure, and to be honest, I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”

I reached out, my fingers brushing his arm under the water. “You’re not a failure, Logan. Not then, not ever.”

His gaze met mine, the intensity in his eyes making my chest ache. “Hearing you say that…it means more than you know. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Emberleigh. You didn’t deserve that.”

His fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed gently. I nodded, too overcome by emotion just then to speak.

He continued, his voice low. “Over time, I realized that I truly loved the sport of hockey, not just because I’d grown up with it, but because it became a part of me. I thought maybe I could still contribute—just not as a player. When the Warlords offered me an assistant coaching position, I’d resisted at first, but then mentoring the younger players, helping them avoid my mistakes—well, I remembered what I’d missed. I learned to appreciate the game from a new perspective, one centered on teaching and nurturing talent, building a different kind of legacy than my dad’s, beyond just the goals scored.”

I smiled, touched by everything he’d been through and how much he’d grown. “Your approach has definitely worked well for you. I’m really happy for you, Logan. As the new head coach of the Warlords I know you’ll do a lot to inspire the younger generation.”

“I hope so,” he replied. “The owners of the North Star Chalet are passionate about supporting youth sports and seasonal retreats. I was supposed to meet with them about hosting off-season hockey clinics—programs for aspiring young players, underprivileged kids who might not have top-tier facilities in the city, and even a summer training camp for professional athletes needing a quiet place to recover and refocus. I want to create a space where players at any stage—amateur, pro, injured, or just starting out—can rediscover their love for the game, like I did. The partnership with the lodge owners would fund scholarships for kids who can’t afford hockey gear, invite guest coaches, and host weekend family tournaments that celebrate the sport’s community spirit, that kind of thing.”

“Wow,” I said with a gasp of amazement at the scope of his vision.

“I’d planned to finalize details with the lodge owners after the charity game,” Logan continued. “But the meeting never happened due to the storm. I’m going to wait it out, hoping to seal the deal before the New Year.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Logan,” I said sincerely, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Thank you for that,” he said.

The words hung heavy in the air between us as we gazed into each other’s eyes with newfound understanding. Then he reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from my cheek.The gentle contact sent a jolt through me, and I leaned in. Our mouths met slowly, almost reverently. The kiss deepened, his hands gliding over my shoulders and back as I wrapped my arms around his neck. The world faded, leaving only us, skin to skin, breaths mingling, the steam curling around us.

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