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Beck chuckles. “We haven’t introduced them yet, but I have a feeling Biscuit would put Spotty in his place.”

“My dog’s not scared of anything!” Jake declares proudly, and Spotty barks on cue, wagging his tail like he’s agreeing.

“I don’t know…” Beck smirks. “Biscuit’s been known to take down the best of them.”

“Wait…” I narrow my eyes playfully. “You’re telling me these cats have a reputation?”

Beck leans closer, his grin conspiratorial. “Let’s just say they’ve got their own Instagram account with a pretty loyal following.”

“Of course they do.” I laugh, shaking my head. But something about the way Beck talks about his pets… the affection in his voice, the softness in his expression… it’s enough to make my heart flutter.

As the tour winds down, Jake and Spotty find a stray puck and start an impromptu game of fetch near the rink. Jake’s laughter echoes around us, and Spotty’s playful barks fill the space.

Beck and I stand off to the side, watching the scene unfold, and sharing a few quiet moments.

“He’s really good with Spotty,” Beck murmurs, his voice warm. “Jake’s a natural.” I smile, but my heart feels a little too full as I watch them. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Beck’s eyes flick to mine, something unreadable swirling in their depths. “You’re doing a great job, Abby. Jake’s lucky to have you.”

The sincerity in his tone hits me harder than I expect. I glance away, my throat tightening. “Thanks.”

“So…” I glance at him, keeping my tone light. “What’s next for you, Beck? Beyond hockey, I mean.”

His smile falters for just a moment.

There it is. That hesitation.

Beck’s eyes shift and his jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair. “That’s… complicated.”

Complicated.

The word hangs between us, thick with unspoken meaning.

“For now…” Beck’s easy grin returns, but this time, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just focused on the game.”

But I’m not buying it. There’s more.

As Jake’s laughter echoes around us, I can’t shake the feeling that Beck’s hiding something, something bigger than just his future in hockey.

What is he not telling me?

And why do I suddenly care so much?

Chapter six

Beck

Itossmyphoneonto the kitchen counter and rub the back of my neck. I’ve been staring at the screen for the past five minutes, rereading Abby’s latest email about the interview. She thanked me for being open and promised to send over a draft for my approval soon. Her words were polite, professional, and exactly what I expected from her.

So why do I feel like I’ve been blindsided?I pace the length of my kitchen, my socks sliding slightly on the cool marble floor. Biscuit sits by the fridge, flicking her tail with mild irritation as she watches me go back and forth. Mitts sprawls on the counter, while Hat Trick stretches lazily by the window. My cats don’t seem concerned that I’m spiraling.

I open the fridge, stare blankly at the contents, and then close it again. Food isn’t going to fix what’s eating at me.

What did I do? I let my guard down with Abby today. More than I intended. That’s what I did.

When she asked about my past: how I got into hockey, what kept me grounded, I could’ve given her the usual rehearsed answers. I’ve done enough interviews over the years to know how to keep things at surface-level. But with Abby… I didn’t want to hide.

Her eyes, so full of genuine curiosity, made it impossible to deflect. And before I knew it, I was telling her about my childhood. The endless drives from one city to another for more and more hockey training were hard, especially on my parents. Hockey became my escape—my safe place when everything else was falling apart.