Page 27 of The Pucks We Freeze
“… and then he just looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him upright. Like if he didn’t kiss me right then, he’d fall apart completely.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“You can’t just say stuff like that and expect me to function.”
I laughed softly into the phone. “Youdidask.”
“I asked for details, not emotional whiplash. I need to lie down. Or scream into a pillow. Maybe both.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “This isn’t one of your romance novels, Everly.”
She gasped. “Wow. Rude. Listen, real life tells better stories anyway. You’re in the slow-burn phase. Just let it play out.”
I leaned into the armrest, her words settling deeper than I expected.
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe this is like fireworks. Bright and unforgettable, but only in that split second.”
Everly went quiet for a moment. Then her voice softened. “Even if it is, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”
I swallowed hard, eyes on the porch light flickering as the wind picked up. “It doesn’tfeeltemporary. That’s what scares me.”
“Then don’t overthink it,” she said. “See where it goes without trying to control the ending.”
I let the silence settle between us, a rare kind that didn’t feel heavy.
“Thanks,” I said finally.
“For what?”
“For not trying to fix it. Just… sitting in it with me.”
I could hear her smile. “That’s what roommates are for. Now go take a walk, breathe the mountain air, and maybe, just maybe, text him first for once.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t push it.”
“I’ll allow it,” she teased. “But only because I care.”
We hung up, and I stayed on the porch a moment longer, listening to the boards settle under my feet, heart caught somewhere between the past and whatever came next.
Not every story needs an ending right away. Sometimes it’s enough simply to keep moving forward.
Chapter Nine
Kade
Thursday night practice had a different kind of intensity.
Not the kind that came from full-speed hits or scrimmage drills that left your legs burning. This was quieter. Tighter. Focused.
Coach called it tuning the machine—refining every gear before we hit the ice tomorrow. Stickhandling drills. Passing lanes. Defensive rotations until they felt like second nature.
But I was having a hard time dialing in.
Not when every shift Gavin took sent my instincts into overdrive.
His stride was off again. Not just slow, but guarded. Tight in a way that said he was bracing for something. He winced as he made a line change, his hand gripping his knee instead of his ribs he claimed were bothering him earlier in the week.
Rowdy skated out of the crease, eyes narrowed. “Didn’t he say it was his ribs?”
