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I told her about my dad working the night shift at the post office and mom working two jobs to keep me and my brother in skates. How they sacrificed everything to make sure we both had a shot. Well, actually I didn’t bring my brother up. That might be for another time, I’ll see.

I never talk about that stuff. Not to reporters. Not to anyone.

But with Abby, it felt… natural.

Too natural.

I lean against the counter, staring out the window at the city lights beyond. Elmwood looks peaceful from here, the distant glow of streetlights making the night seem calm and quiet. But inside me? It’s anything but.

“Why’d I tell her all that?” I murmur aloud, and Biscuit flicks her tail in response, clearly unimpressed.

“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, rubbing my face. “I’m an idiot.”

But it wasn’t just the things I said. It was how I felt saying them. Vulnerable. Exposed. Like I was giving Abby a piece of myself I wasn’t sure I could get back.

What happens if she sees the real me?

Not just the guy who grew up with nothing and clawed his way to the top. But the man who now has more money than he knows what to do with.

It’s not who I am. Not really.

The guy Abby met at the arena? That’s me. The hockey player. The guy who loves the game, who’s good with kids, and who enjoys teasing a seven-year-old about his dog’s antics.

But the Beck with multiple businesses, investments, and a portfolio that Forbes loves to analyze? I’m not sure if Abby—or anyone—could ever look past that.

What if she pulls away when she finds out?

I rub a hand down my face, frustration building in my chest. I’ve been down this road before. Women who see dollar signs instead of a person. Friends who suddenly have ‘business opportunities’ they want me to invest in.

Abby’s not like that. I know she isn’t.

But will she still look at me the same when she finds out?

I replay the interview in my mind, especially her smile when I talked about the Ice Hawks’ youth programs. How her expression softened when I mentioned how my folks’ sacrifices shaped who I became. She wasn’t faking that compassion. It was real.

And I…I’m already in too deep.

I push away from the counter and head to the living room, where I sink onto the couch. Hat Trick jumps up beside me, his rumbling purr filling the quiet space. I stroke his fur absently, my mind still tangled in thoughts of Abby.

“I like her,” I admit softly. Saying it out loud makes it feel more real—and more dangerous.

Because liking Abby means risking everything.

Jake’s already attached. He looks up to me. If I screw this up… if Abby pulls away… I’m not the only one who gets hurt.

“Why does this feel so complicated?” I whisper, more to myself than to the cats.

Hat Trick headbutts my hand in response, clearly demanding more attention.

“I know, buddy,” I murmur, giving him a scratch behind the ears. “I just don’t know what to do.”

I’m not sure if I’m ready to risk my heart. But honestly, I think I already have.

Chapter seven

Abby

Istareattheblinking cursor on my laptop, my fingers hovering over the keys, but my mind is nowhere near the article I’m supposed to be writing. I’ve rewritten the opening line three times, and each version sounds worse than the last.