Page 61 of Snowed In With the PUCK

We step inside, shedding coats and boots in the entryway. The house is silent, and there’s a peacefulness here that feels different from anywhere else. I breathe it in, letting it settle inside me, and glance over at Eric, who’s taking it all in with that familiar look of quiet contemplation.

“Home sweet home,” I say, hanging up my coat and kicking off my boots.

He grins, that boyish charm breaking through. “It’s good to be back.”

The fireplace crackles in the corner, filling the space with warmth, and as we settle in, I grab a couple of mugs, pouring us both some tea. Eric sits beside me, the warmth of his body close, and I feel myself relax, the stress of the trip melting away.

“Hey, I know you’re uncertain about the contract,” I say, breaking the silence. “But I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’m here for you. And not just as…you know, someone you’re fake dating.” I stumble over the words, but I keep going. “I mean, I’m here for the long haul, whatever that means for us.”

He looks at me, something vulnerable in his gaze. “You mean that?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I don’t care where you play or what happens with your career. I just care about you. And I know Colorado would be lucky to have you.”

Eric’s fingers tighten around mine, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something important, something that could change everything. But he just leans in, brushing a kiss to my forehead, then my cheek, and finally my lips, his touch gentle but filled with meaning.

“Jessica,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You make me want to stay. Not because of the team or the city, but because you’re here.”

His words hit me like a rush of warmth, filling me with a mix of happiness and relief.

We sit there in the quiet of the living room, the snow falling softly outside, and for the first time, I feel like we’re not just skirting around something. We’re facing it head-on, together, and it feels like we’re both finally ready to embrace whatever comes next.

But then he leans back, his gaze contemplative. “Jessica, if I stay, if I really stay, it’s going to mean letting go of all that baggage I’ve been carrying from Nashville.” He chuckles humorlessly. “It seems that’s all I’ve done since moving here, letting go of old beliefs with my mom and my grandparents, and now needing to let go of my doubts about trusting this team.”

“You’ll have to let go eventually,” I say gently. “And maybe staying here is a part of that.”

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You’re probably right. I just don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. You know?”

“I don’t want you to, either,” I reassure him. “Just being open to the possibility of staying is enough for now.”

He smiles, that spark of mischief returning to his eyes. “You’re kind of smart, you know that?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” I tease, poking him in the ribs.

Eric laughs, pulling me into his arms, and I settle against him, the world outside fading away. I’m here with him, and it feels like this could be the beginning of something lasting. Sure, we’re still in a fake relationship and it’s fragile most of the time, but it’s a start. It’s not what I would want long term, but it works for now.

The rest of the evening passes quietly, and as the hours slip by, I find myself feeling more at home with him than ever before. We don’t need the noise, the excitement of Vegas, or the flashiness of the city. We don’t need parties and a big penthouse to be happy. Heck, we don’t even need a huge following on social media looking into our personal lives, much to Allison’s chagrin. We just need each other. It’s simple. And it’s pure.

As we head to bed in his room, he turns to me, his gaze serious once again. “I want you to know, I really am thinking about it. About signing with the Avalanche.”

“Good,” I say, feeling peace settle over me. I want to make sure I’m not pressuring him. It is his life and his right to decide, after all. I add, “Whatever you decide, I support you.”

He pulls me close, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that feels like a promise, one that lingers long after we finally fall asleep.

***

Two days later, I find myself pacing the length of the living room, stealing glances at my phone every few seconds, waiting for Eric to call or text. I haven’t heard from him since he left for the arena this morning, but with the game only hours away, I can’t expect him to be glued to his phone. Tonight’s game is huge, one of many that will determine if the Avalanche can make it into the playoffs. Since the season started up again after the holiday break, the stakes for every game have been high, and I can see how much it means to Eric. I want him to know that I’m here for him, no matter what.

To distract myself, I turn on the game’s pre-show coverage, where sports commentators discuss the Avalanche’s chances of making it to the playoffs. As they analyze Eric’s recent performances, I feel a surge of pride. This game is his chance to shine and leave everything behind—Nashville, the doubts, and the nagging fear of not belonging. I just wish I could be there toremind him of that. I should be working in the home office, but I’m too wound up.

But then, my phone buzzes on the coffee table, and my heart leaps, hoping it’s Eric with a quick “wish me luck.” Instead, the name flashing on my screen belongs to the PR lead from the Avalanche, Amanda. I groan. She’s been put on other projects lately, since my fake relationship with Eric is going so well. What does she want?

“Jessica, have you seen the front page ofThe Press?” Amanda’s voice is tight, skipping any pleasantries.

I pause, confused. “The front page? No, I haven’t—what’s going on?”

“It’s…it’s about Eric. Well, mostly his mom.” Her voice drops, softer now, as if she’s breaking bad news. “You need to tell Eric not to look at the headlines. Not until after the game. Oh, and he should skip any post-game interviews until we get a handle on this.” She ends the call, promising to call back with a strategy.

The pit in my stomach sinks even further as I swipe open a browser on my phone, typing inThe Press’s website, and there it is. Right on the front page, along with a black-and-white photo of Eric’s mother:NHL Star’s Mother Battled Addiction—Son Discovers Her Past in Vegas Rehab Center.Beneath the headline are details, grossly manipulated, of Linda’s history, Eric’s connection to her, and even quotes from “anonymous sources” who somehow saw their reunion.

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