Page 35 of Goalie's Obsession

I lean back against the couch, letting my head tip toward the ceiling.

Silence again.

I open Instagram.

Scroll past the fan edits. The “Hot Hockey Husbands” memes. The screenshot of me and Lucy on the ice tunnel balcony two years ago—before. Back when things were simple.

And then I see it.

A photo from Chapter and Grind's page. Posted last week. Lucy is sitting in that old leather armchair by the window, head thrown back mid-laugh, a dog-eared paperback in her lap.

Her smile punches me straight in the chest.

She’s everywhere. And yet… she’s nowhere.

I close the app and launch myself off the sofa. I need to do something—get out of this apartment, shake off the noise in my head, maybe throw some weights around until my arms go numb.

I grab my keys, head for Icehawks HQ, fully intending to hit the gym.

But I take the long way in, park on the far side of the building and walk the back corridor. Just as the lights start to brighten in the hallways, I turn left instead of right.

Just so I’ll have to pass her office.

"Bingo," I smile.

The door to her office is cracked.

She’s alone. Finally.

She doesn’t see me at first—too focused, too oblivious, too fucking tempting.

I lean against the doorway, just watching as she places one hand on her desk, the other still flipping through a folder. She’s wearing a fitted black blouse tucked into a soft gray pencil skirt that hugs her hips like a damn secret that needs unravelling.

Her hair’s up in one of those clip things, messy and perfect, and there’s a smudge of ink on her wrist like she’s been scribbling notes all afternoon.

She shifts slightly so those enormous fucking heels click against the tiles, her skirt pulling tighter over her curves as she moves—and that’s it.

I step into her office without knocking.

“You’ve been dodging me.”

Her spine straightens. Her fingers still on the edge of the folder.

“I’ve been busy,” she says.

“Too busy to answer a text?”

I take another step forward but she still doesn’t look at me. I can see her jaw tightening, her shoulders lifting with a heavy breath.

“Too busy to look at your feed?” My voice drops. “Or did you just ignore the headlines too?”

That makes her look at me. Slowly. Like she hates that she has to.

Her eyes are sharp, stormy. Stillgoddamn beautiful.

“Connor—”

“Lucy, baby…. In the eyes of the world, we’re a couple,” I say, stepping closer. “They’re calling you my girlfriend. Mysoulmate. There’s a fan account dedicated to our fake fucking honeymoon.”

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