Page 36 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“Yeah, except I don’t want people talking,” I snap, more harshly than I intended. The agent’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on that same fake grin she’s been wearing all day.

“Well,” she says, a little more cautiously, “if you need a day or two to think it over, I’m sure this place will still be available. It’s a great investment.”

I nod, not really paying attention to what she’s saying. I just need to get out of here, away from all of this. Away from the pressure, the expectations, the constant need to perform—both on and off the ice.

“Thanks for showing me the properties,” I say, already heading toward the door. “But I’ve got to go.”

The agent looks like she wants to protest, but she doesn’t. “Of course,” she says with a forced smile. “Just let me know if you have any questions.”

I barely acknowledge her as I step out into the cold, the wind whipping at my face again. My breath fogs up the air as I exhale, trying to clear my head. But it’s no use. The weight of everything is pressing down on me, and I don’t know how to handle any of it.

I should call Jessica. Explain. Tell her that the house hunting thing doesn’t mean what it looks like, that I’m not planning on moving out right away or leaving her behind. But the truth is, I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know if I can fix things between us, or if they’re even worth fixing.

I walk down the street, pulling my jacket tighter around me as I head back toward my teammate’s place. It’s not far from here, just a few blocks away. I’ve been crashing on his couch for the past few days, telling myself it’s just temporary, that I’ll figure things out soon. But “soon” keeps turning into “later,” and I keep running away from the problem instead of facing it.

The problem is, I don’t know how to face it.

By the time I get back to the penthouse, I am more unsettled than I should be. My teammate, Ryan, is out for the day, probably at some charity event or meeting with sponsors. He’s good at that kind of stuff—handling the media, playing the part of the perfect athlete. I envy him for that. For how easy it all seems to come to him.

I toss my jacket onto the couch and collapse onto it, staring up at the ceiling. My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it this time. I don’t want to talk to Allison, or Kip, or anyone from the team. I don’t want to deal with the mess I’ve made.

The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about Jessica. About the way things ended between us, about how I walked away when things got hard. I never should have let it get this far, but now that it has, I don’t know how to fix it.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, staring at the screen. No messages from Jessica. She’s probably seen the post by now—hell, the whole world’s probably seen it. And if she hasn’t, she’ll hear about it soon enough.

I swipe through my notifications just in case, half-expecting to see something from her, but there’s nothing. Just more texts from Allison, a missed call from Kip, and a few random messages from teammates.

I scroll through social media, finding the post the kid put up earlier. It’s already got hundreds of likes, comments fromfans guessing about what I’m doing, why I’m house hunting in Denver, if I’m moving out. Some of them are even asking about Jessica, wondering if we’ve broken up, if the relationship was all for show.

It’s funny, in a twisted way, because they don’t even know how close they are to the truth.

I throw my phone onto the coffee table and rub my face with my hands, frustrated.

After a few minutes, I grab my phone again, hesitating for a moment before opening Jessica’s number. I start to type a message, but I stop. What am I even supposed to say? That I’m sorry? That I screwed up? That I don’t know how to fix this?

I delete the message before I even finish it and toss the phone aside again.

I lean back against the couch, closing my eyes and letting out a long breath. The tension in my chest isn’t going away, and the silence in the penthouse feels suffocating.

I don’t know how long I sit there, lost in my thoughts, but at some point, I hear the sound of the door unlocking. Ryan walks in, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, looking as polished as ever.

“Hey, man,” he says, glancing at me as he kicks off his shoes. “Rough day?”

I let out a dry laugh. “You could say that.”

Ryan doesn’t push for details. He’s good like that. He knows when to ask questions and when to just leave me alone. Instead, he grabs a beer from the fridge and tosses me one, sitting down in the armchair across from me.

“Things with Jessica still messed up?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of the beer. “And now the whole world thinks I’m house hunting because I’m moving out and breaking up with her or something. It’s a mess.”

Ryan nods, taking a sip of his own drink. “You know, man, sometimes it’s easier to just face things head-on. You can’t keep running from that girl forever. Just talk to her. Let the chips fall where they may.”

I shoot him a look. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just saying it might be worth talking to her before things get even more out of hand.”

I know he’s right. I know I can’t keep avoiding this. I can’t keep crashing here with Ryan.

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