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Beckett Hayes, hockey superstar and philanthropist…Nope. Too formal.Beckett Hayes, the heart and soul of the Ice Hawks…Ugh. Too cheesy.Beckett Hayes, a man who…A man who, who what?

I groan, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my temples. How do I sum up Beck? He’s not just another arrogant athlete with a pretty face. He’s kind. He’s generous. He’s great with Jake. And he has three cats who, despite being named after hockey terms, are apparently absurdly lovable.

And therein lies the problem. I’m supposed to be writing a professional, objective piece forSports Edge, not daydreaming about the man behind the jersey.

“Focus, Abby,” I mutter, sitting up straighter and shaking my head.

However, my mind refuses to cooperate. Instead, it takes me back to the way Beck’s eyes light up when Jake grins at him after catching that puck. Or how his hand brushes against mine during the tour, sending a jolt of awareness through me.

I’m in deep.

“Mom?” Jake’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s sprawled on the living room floor, building an elaborate Lego fortress while Spotty lies next to him, tail wagging lazily.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Are we going to Beck’s game on Saturday?” His eyes are hopeful, and I can already feel my resolve weakening.

“We’ll see,” I say carefully, trying to sound neutral.

Jake’s face falls slightly, but he doesn’t press the issue.

Oh, Abby. Who are you kidding?

I sigh, saving the disastrous draft and slamming my laptop shut. I need a break. And maybe… I need advice.

“He’s a walking contradiction, Quinn,” I say, pacing my tiny kitchen while my younger sister listens patiently on the other end of the phone. “He’s charming and thoughtful, but I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head.”

Quinn chuckles softly. “Sounds like someone’s falling for the guy.”

I stop mid-step, gripping the phone tighter. “I’m not falling for him.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” I sigh, leaning against the counter. “I can’t let myself go there. Jake’s already attached, and I…” My voice trails off.

“You’re scared,” Quinn finishes softly.

“Of getting hurt. Again.” I swallow hard. “What if Beck isn’t who I think he is? What if—”

“What if he is?” Quinn’s voice is gentle but pointed. “You deserve to be happy, Abby. And so does Jake.”

I blink back unexpected tears, my heart twisting at her words.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.”

Quinn doesn’t push any further, giving me the space I need to process. But her words linger long after we hang up. I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the wall while Spotty paces near my feet, his nose twitching as if he senses my inner turmoil.

“What do you think, Spotty?” I ask softly, running my fingers through his fur. “Is Beck too good to be true?”

Spotty tilts his head, his big brown eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“You’re no help,” I murmur with a weak smile, but the gentle wag of his tail tells me he disagrees.

***

The next day, I take Jake to the local ice rink where he practices on weekends. The familiar chill in the air hits me as soon as we step inside, stirring up memories I’m not ready to confront.