Page 100 of Goalie's Obsession

I hand Lucy the hardcover edition of her favorite romance novel. The one she’s re-read so many times the spine finally cracked in three places.

"Well, maybe you should have this now then?" I smile, loving the way her eyes light up at my gift. "A reminder that when the world gets too loud, love always wins."

She blinks down at it. "Connor…"

“It’s not much,” I say quickly, suddenly nervous. “Just figured you could use a reminder.”

Her eyes meet mine, glassy but fierce, and before I can say anything else, she surges forward and kisses me.

Hard.

Right there in the back of the SUV, with Ryder probably watching through the window and Blake making kissy noises two seats behind us.

I kiss her back anyway.

Because I know what’s waiting for her out there.

If I could take it off her shoulders and carry it myself, I would. But for now, all I can do is kiss her like I mean it and hope it’s enough to get her through the next few hours.

The SUV door slides open and there’s Emma, waving from the sidewalk. Before we can even move, Logan barrels out like we’re late for a penalty shootout, shoving right past me with a grin.

“Emma!” he booms, catching her in his arms and spinning her like he's not the grumpiest bastard on the entire NHL roster.

Lucy and I both freeze.

She lifts a brow. “Did Logan just—?”

“Smile? Yep,” I mutter. “He did.”

We’re still watching as he grabs Lucy’s bag out of the trunk, chucks it into the back of Emma’s car, then turns around and claps his hands like he’s calling a team huddle.

“Let’s move, Daniels. You've got two hours of emotional support before she's all mine for the night.”

Lucy turns to me with wide eyes, and I don’t even think. I grab her waist, kiss her fierce and deep and full of everything I’m not sure I’ll get to say today.

She pulls back, breathless. “I’ll call you.”

“You’d better.”

Then she’s gone—sliding into the passenger seat while Logan beams an odd twisted looking smile that looks so fucking weird on his face.

I head back to my apartment solo, tossing my gear in the trunk and cranking the radio like it might drown out the ache settling in my chest.

Iron Ridge looks the same as when we left. Fresh white snow melting at the edges of sidewalks, mountains steady in the distance, that crisp mountain air still slapping you in the lungs like a pregame wake-up call.

But without Lucy beside me?

Everything feels off. Too quiet. Like someone turned down the volume on the world.

The second I walk through my front door, I let out a groan, kick off my sneakers, and toss my bag somewhere near the coat rack with the kind of aim I usually save for the ice.

I head for the kitchen, crack open a Gatorade, and then catch sight of the state of my apartment.

A jacket draped over the back of the couch. One boot kicked halfway beneath the coffee table. An empty ramen bowl with the fork still hanging over the edge like it didn’t even make it to the sink. My place looks lived-in.

But not by me.

I take a step deeper into the apartment, and everything starts to click into place.

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