Page 11 of Falling for the Hockey Superstar

I’ve already let her see the real me: the guy who jokes around with Jake and trips over a rambunctious Dalmatian. The guy who loves hockey more than anything and who wants—no, needs—something real in his life.

But if Abby finds out about the rest… the money?

“I should’ve told her from the start.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the weight of the truth pressing down on me. “But now… it feels too late.”

“Too late?” Wes’s eyebrows draw together.

“Yeah.” I lift my gaze, meeting his. “The longer I wait, the harder it’s going to be. She trusts me now. If I tell her the truth… she’ll wonder why I kept it from her. And I can’t…” I pause, swallowing hard. “I can’t lose that.”

I can’t lose her.

“Beck,” Wes says gently, but I already know what he’s thinking.

“If I tell her now,” I continue, my voice rough, “she’s going to think I was lying before. That I was hiding who I really am on purpose.” I shake my head, frustration burning in my chest because that’s just what I have been doing. “She won’t trust me after that.”

“And if you don’t tell her?” Griffin asks quietly.

The weight in my chest grows heavier. “Then I’m lying by omission. And when she eventually finds out—and she will—it’ll hurt her even more.”

Griffin leans back, crossing his arms. “So… you’re darned if you do, darned if you don’t.”

“Pretty much,” I murmur.

The silence that follows feels suffocating. I know I’m running out of time. Every moment I spend with Abby and Jake, I’m falling deeper. And if I don’t figure out how to tell her the truth soon…

I’m going to lose them before I ever really have them.

Chapter five

Abby

“Whoa,thisplaceishuge!” Jake’s voice echoes through the spacious corridor as we step inside the Irondale Ice Hawks’ training facility. His eyes are wide with awe, taking in every detail like he’s just entered hockey heaven.

Spotty trots beside him, tail wagging furiously as he sniffs every corner.

“Welcome to where the magic happens,” Beck says with an easy grin, walking ahead of us. He’s dressed casually—well, as casually as Beckett Hayes can look. Fitted jeans, a trendy soft gray collarless shirt that hugs his broad shoulders a little too perfectly, and loafers. It all says “effortless confidence” and makes it impossible not to notice him.

Focus, Abby.

I remind myself that I’m here to gather information for my article, not to gawk at Beck’s biceps.

“Check this out.” Beck gestures toward the rows of gear lined up against the wall—sticks, helmets, pads, and jerseys neatly organized. Jake practically vibrates with excitement.

“Can I…?” Jake points at one of the sticks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Go ahead, buddy,” Beck says with a grin. He reaches for one of his personal sticks, handing it to Jake. “That one’s a little heavier than what you’re used to but give it a try.”

Jake’s eyes go wide as he grips the stick. “Whoa… this is awesome!”

Beck kneels down next to him, adjusting Jake’s grip with practiced ease. “Feel that balance? This one’s custom-made. Perfect weight, curve, and grip for my shot.”

Custom-made.The detail slips past me, barely registering at first. Of course, Beck would have custom gear. He’s a professional athlete. But something about the way he says it…

“Custom, huh?” I murmur, trying to sound casual.

Beck’s eyes flick to mine, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths. “Yeah. I’ve got a guy who designs them specifically for my shooting style. Makes a difference when the game’s on the line.”

Of course he does.

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