Page 44 of Second Chance Faceoff

His gaze dropped to the counter, fingers tightening slightly around the cup. He let out another breath. "You don’t know how much I wanted this to be different. I just... I never say the right thing. I’m always a beat too slow or a word too sharp."

I put my coffee down. "Then just work at getting better at it. Think it through. Say what you mean. And that starts with being honest with yourself. What do you really want, Colton? Not just out of this mess. Long-term. Big picture."

He hesitated.

"I want to be someone who shows up. For the team, for the town. I want my teammates to respect me, not because I hit hard or skate fast, but because they trust me. I want to give back to the people who gave me another chance."

He didn’t make promises. He didn’t swear he’d never screw up again. I watched him for another moment, the curve of his shoulders, the way his thumb tapped lightly against the side of the coffee cup like he didn’t know if it would come together for him.

He swallowed hard. "And someday... I want to be someone who knows how to be a good husband. A good dad. I didn’t grow up with great examples, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn."

Husband. Dad. Whoa. I hadn’t expected that.

I reached out and slid my fingers into his. I noticed how much bigger his hands were compared to mine. "Then let’s make it happen"

I should’ve been scared. Maybe I was.

But I was also sure of something else.

I was betting on him.

And this time, I was all in.

Chapter fourteen

Colton: Stay or Go

Isat on the bench outside the locker room, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. The rink was dark, just the soft blue glow of the emergency lights against the boards. No music. No skate blades. Just me and the hum of the vending machine down the hall.

My gloves were still in my lap. I wasn’t sure why I grabbed them—I wasn’t planning to skate. Wasn’t even planning to sit here. But after the gym, I just started walking. Ended up here like I always do when I need to think.

I press my thumb against the seam of my gloves, working at the frayed edge.

She said we’d figure it out. That she’d help me learn.

"What if I can't get it right?"

The words bounced off the rafters and came back at me like a puck off the boards.

I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about anything.

Maybe she’d be better off if I weren’t part of this.

I tighten my grip on my gloves, fingers pressing against the worn leather.

I’ve messed up more in the last year than most people manage in a lifetime. I tanked my career. Trashed my image. Dragged her rescue into the spotlight—and she’s still here. Still standing.

Me? I’m just trying not to screw things up worse.

So maybe it’s time I stopped trying to make things right here. Maybe the better move is just… leave. Get traded. Start fresh somewhere else before I drag anyone else down with me.

I exhale hard and lean back, spine hitting the cinder block wall with a dull thud. The cold bleeds through my shirt and settles into my skin.

There’s a playbook for hockey. You make a bad read, you reset, shift your lines, run the drill again. You fix it.

There’s no playbook for this. Not for her. Not for… whatever this is.

“I should ask for a trade.”

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