Page 73 of Falling for the Hockey Superstar

Jake, however, is not done as he claps his hands and shouts. “And Beck asked me something too!”Silence. Every head swivels his way.“He asked if he could adopt me! And I said YES!”This time it’s not shrieks—it’s stunned silence, glistening eyes, wide grins, and the kind of hush that feels sacred.Wes clears his throat. “Kid… that’s the best news I’ve heard all year.”Jane wipes her eyes. Even Griffin looks a little glassy-eyed. “Welcome to the team, Jake.”Quinn sniffs and throws an arm around Jake. “You hit the jackpot, buddy.”He beams. “I know.”Later, when the noise dies down a bit, I sneak outside to call my folks. Dad picks up on the first ring. “Well, look who finally decided to check in. We figured you either got traded or abducted by aliens.”“Neither.” I say, grinning like an idiot. “Got engaged.”

Silence. Then to Mom in the background he shouts: “MARY, GET THE CHAMPAGNE!”Dad lets out a low whistle. “You’re serious?”“Dead serious.”“And Jake?”“Asked him if I could adopt him and he said yes.” And now my own tears come.Dad’s quiet for a beat. Then he says, rough and proud, “That boy’s gonna change your life, Beckett. In all the best ways. And our lives too!”“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”Mom gets on the line, giddy and emotional all at once. “Tell Abby we love her already. And tell Jake he’s stuck with us now, whether he likes it or not.”“Pretty sure he’ll love that.”Back inside, all the girls are texting furiously. Abby catches my eye and grins. “We’re getting so many heart emojis I might combust.”Jake’s flopped across my lap, already listing everything he wants to change his name on.“My backpack. My lunchbox. My hockey jersey. My library card. My—”“Slow down, bud,” I laugh. “One step at a time.”But my heart? My heart’s already there.

And just as I think things might settle down… “Mrow.”

The sound is barely a warning before Biscuit launches himself out the front door, his eyes locked on Spotty like a heat-seeking missile.

“Oh no,” I mutter, but it’s too late.

“Spotty,no—”

Yep, too late.

Spotty, clearly thinking this is a new game, takes off across the yard like a bolt of lightning, with Biscuit hot on his heels.

“Here we go.” Wes’s voice is laced with amusement as Mitts and Hat Trick decide they don’t want to be left out and join the chase.

“Why is this our life?” Abby groans, but there’s laughter in her voice as she watches the chaos unfold.

“Because it’sperfect,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple.

And it is.

Chapter twenty-four

Abby

Weddingshaveafunnyway of showing you what—and who—really matter.

Case in point? I’m currently standing in Beck’s farmhouse kitchen while Quinn and Jane argue over cupcake frosting colors. Spotty is trying to eat a stray ribbon, and Jake is using a measuring tape to figure out if Biscuit the cat is longer than Spotty’s tail. (Verdict: barely.)

Me? I’m staring at my closed wedding planner like it holds the answers to life’s biggest mysteries. Except I know better.

Because the one thing gnawing at me isn’t flowers or frosting or seating charts.

It’s Greg. Beck’s brother.

He’s the missing piece to me. I believe that having Greg back with the family will make a huge difference to Beck and his folks, and for our wedding.

“You okay over there, Abby?” Quinn asks, holding up a cupcake with what can only be described as neon blue icing.

“Uh huh,” I mumble.

Jane gives me a knowing look over the rim of her tea mug. “You’re thinking about Greg again, aren’t you?”

I sigh, dropping my pen. “Is it that obvious?”

Quinn snorts. “Girl, you’ve got ‘journalist-on-a-mission’ face written all over you.”

She’s not wrong.

Beck doesn’t talk about Greg much. But that night out on his deck he opened up in a way I’ll never forget. “Had a brother. Still alive. But gone from us.”

And the ache in his voice? That sticks with me, Jane. It’s like a story I’m not done chasing.

***

Later that night, after Jake’s in bed and Spotty is finally worn out, I curl up next to Beck on the sofa. With his arm draped around me, thumb tracing lazy circles on my shoulder, I whisper: “Tell me about Greg.”

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