Page 81 of Hooked On Them

Me: You don’t have to do that. I can swing by yours.

Nora: Nope. Not happening, Collins. I’m coming to you. Address or I’ll get it from the team directory.

Me: Fine. But lower your expectations. Like... way down.

Nora: *Santa emoji*

I sent her my address, tossed my phone onto the couch, and looked around my apartment like I was seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t messy—I’d never been one for clutter—but it felt... impersonal. Like a place someone lived in out of necessity, not choice.

The walls were still that bland beige they came with when I moved in last year. I’d told myself I’d paint. Hang more art. Make it feel like home. But back then, I’d been waiting and hoping that my girlfriend at the time would move in with me. That we’d pick colors together. Fill the place with our stuff. Our life.

She’d broken things off a month later.

I’d stayed and didn’t change a thing. Just kept living around the emptiness.

The only personal touch was the shelf in the corner lined with Lego sets I’d built. Tiny pieces clicked into place when the rest of my life didn’t.

For the next few hours, I busied myself with cleaning and arranging and rearranging the few personal items I had on display. A framed photo of my parents on their thirtieth anniversary. A puck from my first NHL goal. A picture of my sister Amy on her wedding day.

My chest tightened as I looked at the photo of Amy, radiant in her wedding dress. She used to need me. When we were kids and our parents were working extra to pay for my hockey, I was the one who walked her to school, who helped with her homework, who made sure she had what she needed.

And now? She was spending Christmas with her in-laws in Colorado, starting new traditions with her new family. My parents were somewhere sipping drinks with tiny umbrellas.

And where did that leave me? In an apartment that felt more like a waiting room than a home.

But what was I waiting for?

I finished cleaning and sat down on my couch, beer in hand. The TV droned on with some highlight reel from last season that I wasn’t really watching until Dominic’s face flashed on screen, celebrating a goal against the Bruins. My stomach twisted in a way that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

I was happy for him. I really was. The moment in the ultrasound room when he’d whispered “Baby Wilson,” I was relieved. Genuinely relieved. After weeks of watching him try to find his footing, seeing him finally step up had lifted a weight off my shoulders.

But apparently that weight had moved somewhere else inside me. Because now there was this hollow ache spreading behind my ribs when I thought about what came next.

If Dominic was showing up now, then of course Nora would choose him. That’s what people did, right? They chose the father of their child. They made it work and built a family. And maybe that’s exactly what Nora should do.

I’d been raised by two parents who loved each other, even if they worked so much I’d barely seen them. The baby deserved that chance too.

But the thought of stepping aside, of going back to being just Nora’s... what? Former fake boyfriend? Placeholder? It left me hollowed out in a way I hadn’t expected.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to get my shit together before Nora arrived. What was wrong with me? I’d known from the beginning this was temporary. A favor for a friend. A way to protect them both.

So why did it feel like I was the one who needed protection now?

The buzz of the intercom made me jump.

I set my beer down so quickly it sloshed over the rim, darkening a spot on the coffee table. For a second, I stared at it, watching the liquid spread like I wasn’t the one responsible for cleaning it up.

The intercom buzzed again.

“Coming!” I called, wiping up the spill with the sleeve of my sweatshirt before crossing to the door. I pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Nora’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Let me in, it’s freezing out here.”

I buzzed her up, pulse racing a little too fast. A minute later, she knocked. I opened the door to find her bundled in a red parka, cheeks pink from the cold, a gift bag in one hand and a larger paper sack in the other. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, catching the light like something out of a dream I wasn’t supposed to have.

I stepped back, and she crossed the threshold and paused for a second, looking at me.

“Hi,” she said softly, like the word carried more weight than usual.

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