Page 53 of Falling for the Hockey Superstar

Whoa. That one hits hard.

I’ve spent my entire adult life beingBeckett Hayes, the hockey star. Captain. Enforcer. MVP. The guy with a wicked slapshot and a highlight reel that got replayed in every season recap. But if I take off the jersey and stop lacing up those skates, who am I then? Just Beck? Just a guy with a lot of money, some business ventures, and a quiet house?

But, no, it’s a house that doesn’t feel quiet anymore. Not when Abby and Jake are around. Not with Spotty thundering down the hallway, or Jake leaving his action figures under my couch cushions, or Abby brewing coffee in the mornings like she belongs there.

Do I want tomatter? Doesn’t everyone? But maybe mattering doesn’t mean being seen by thousands every night. Maybe it’s about being seen by people whoreallyknow me. The people who notice when I’m quiet, who stay when I’m tired, who light up just because I walk through the door.

Fifteen million dollars won’t change who I am. But walking away from Abby and Jake just might.

The more I think about it, the more absurd my indecision seems. Trading that cupcake memory on my phone, that honest kind of joy, for a busier arena in a city where no one knows me yet? Trading bedtime stories for road trips and hotel rooms? Tradingusfor… one more shot at what? A trophy I’ll have to polish by myself.

What am I really trying to prove?

And who am I trying to prove it to?

I walk into the arena and slip into the back row of the stands, letting the quiet settle in. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to crave this stillness, the calm after the storm of a game, the hum of the refrigeration units, and the echo of my own breathing.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my gallery, stopping at a photo Quinn had snapped last weekend. Abby, Jake, Spotty, and me at the rink’s charity event. Jake’s front teeth are missing in his grin. Abby’s cheeks are flushed from laughter. I’m holding a pink frosted cupcake Jake had smashed into my hand. It wasn’t posed; it wasn’t perfect. But it feels like something real.

A decade ago, I wouldn’t have looked twice at that moment. Now, I can’t stop looking.

I let the memories wash over me. Early morning practices in junior league. My dad driving me to the rink in the dark. The first time I laced up my skates, the first fight I got into, and the first game I won. I lived for the glory, for the stats, for the roar of the fans.

But the things I remember most vividly lately? The way Jake runs to me with Spotty at his heels. The softness in Abby’s voice when she says my name. The sound of laughter echoing through my house after we hosted our first cookout together.

I hear the door swing open at the far end of the hall, followed by quick footsteps and a familiar voice.

“Beck? Are you still around?”

It’s Tess, the team’s nurse practitioner. She waves when she spots me.

“Abby’s finishing up with her notes,” she says. “She told me to tell you thanks again for the coffee and for keeping Jake entertained while she talked to Dr. Winslow.”

I know him well since he’s our team doctor, basically the surgeon on call who’s present at all games. He’s a good guy and I know for a fact that he has his eye on Tess. And who wouldn’t? She’s not only beautiful, but so kind-hearted. I think Tess has a sense of it; she’s not blind. And what a great match they would be—the medical power team!Oops, what did she just say?Oh, get your head back in the game, Beck.

“No problem.” I smile faintly. “Jake keeps me entertained.”

Tess gives me a long look. “You look like a guy with something big on his mind.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Whatever it is,” her voice gentler now, “Abby’s not the only one who believes in you. That kid adores you, Beck. Don’t take that lightly.”

I don’t.

When she leaves, I make my way back to the locker room, dragging my fingers along the cool wall as I walk. I feel like a man on the edge of something—of change, of clarity, of finally choosing not what would make me famous, but what would make me whole.

As I turn the corner, I hear the muffled sound of small feet shuffling.

Jake sits outside the locker room; his oversized hockey hoodie bunched at the sleeves. Spotty is curled beside him, head resting on Jake’s knee like a guardian angel with spots.

“Hey Beck!” Jake calls out, grinning.

“Hey, buddy.” I crouch beside him. “Was it fun watching the practice?”

“Sure was. Now Mom’s talking to Tess, so Spotty and I are waiting.”

Spotty gave me a low woof and licked Jake’s hand. I scratch behind his ear… the dog’s ear, not Jake’s.

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