Page 35 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“Happy?” I say, my voice rising. “You expect me to be happy that you’re marrying some girl who’s closer to my age than yours? You’ve lost your mind.”

The tension in the room is suffocating now, and I can feel my blood boiling. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t look at them.

“Just leave,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

My father opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t give him the chance. “Just. Leave.”

He hesitates for a moment, then nods, standing up and guiding Trixie toward the door. “We’ll talk later,” he says, his voice cold now.

I don’t respond. I just sit there, staring at the door after they leave, my heart pounding in my chest. Everything feels wrong. My career, my personal life—everything. And now, the one person I thought I could at least count on, my own father, has turned my world upside down.

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. There’s no time to fall apart. Not when I still have a job to do, and not when the world expects me to keep it together.

But deep down, I know I’m unraveling. And I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.

Chapter seventeen

Eric

Ishould be backat the house, sorting things out. Facing Jessica. Doing something, anything, to make things less messy. But instead, I’m out here in the freezing Denver cold, wandering through ritzy townhomes and penthouses, trying to distract myself from the disaster that is my life.

The real estate agent—a blonde in her twenties with way too much energy for this early in the day—has been talking nonstop since we left the first property. She’s enthusiastic, I’ll give her that. A little too enthusiastic, though, since she hasn’t quite figured out that I’m not interested in the flirting that’s oozing from every word she says.

“This next place is amazing, Eric,” she gushes, flashing me a smile that’s probably supposed to be seductive, but mostly just makes me want to roll my eyes. “It’s right in the heart of downtown, top floor, great views of the city… you’ll love it.”

I nod, shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket as we walk toward the entrance. The cold bites at my skin, the December wind whipping through the streets of Denver, making me wish I were anywhere but here. I barely slept last night—actually, I haven’t slept well for days. Crashing at a teammate’s penthouse isn’t exactly my idea of peace and quiet. But it’s better than staying at the Stanton house, avoiding Jessica every time I hear her footsteps in the hallway.

Things between us have gotten weird. Awkward. So, I did what I always do—I ran. And now, I’m stuck in limbo, unsure of what the hell to do next.

“Eric?”

I snap back to the present, realizing I’ve been lost in thought while the real estate agent—what’s her name again? Christy? Caitlin?—is looking at me expectantly. We’re standing in front of the last property of the day, and she’s waiting for me to follow her inside.

“Right,” I mutter, forcing a smile that feels as fake as this entire day. “Let’s check it out.”

As we step inside, I glance around. The place is nice—nicer than anything I’d ever need, but that’s kind of the point. Big windows, high ceilings, sleek modern design. It screams “professional athlete with money to burn.” It also screams “not me.” I’m not looking for something like this—I’m just looking for a way to stop feeling like everything is out of control.

“Beautiful, right?” the agent says, her voice sugary sweet. “I can totally see you living here.”

I nod absently, wandering toward the windows that overlook the Denver skyline. It is beautiful. The city stretches out before me, the mountains in the distance, the snow covering everything in a white blanket. But no matter how impressive the view is, I can’t stop thinking that I’m not supposed to be here. This just isn’t where I’m supposed to be right now.

The agent is still talking, walking me through the features of the place, but I’m not really listening. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, glancing at the screen. Another message from Allison. She’s been texting me nonstop ever since the cafe incident and photos, trying to smooth things over. Trying to get me to play along with the narrative that the media is running with—that everything between Jessica and me is fine, that there’s nothing going on with her, and that the pictures of me and Allison were just a misunderstanding.

But I’m tired of pretending. Tired of trying to keep up with the lies.

I swipe the message away, shoving the phone back in my pocket.

“Hey, look at this!” the agent says suddenly, her voice bright with excitement. “You’ve been tagged in a social media post with me and that teenager from earlier. How fun!”

I frown, turning toward her. “What?”

She holds up her phone, and sure enough, there it is—a picture of me and the kid from earlier. We ran into him outside one of the buildings, a local teenager who recognized me and asked for a quick photo. I didn’t think much of it at the time—just a fan who wanted a picture. But now it’s all over social media, with the caption:“Just ran into Eric ‘Gator’ Warren! Looks like he’s house hunting in Denver!”

I groan inwardly. This is the last thing I need. The world is already watching every move I make because of my trade mid-season and then the situation with Jessica and then Allison, and nowthis? Now people are going to think I’m moving out, that I’m done with her, that I’m moving on. The headlines will write themselves.

“Great,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Just great.”

The agent looks at me with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What’s the problem? You’re a celebrity, Eric. People are going to talk. It’s good publicity.”

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