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“Nice shot, buddy!” I call out, trying to shake off the weight sitting on my chest.

Jake beams at me, his face flushed with excitement. “I’ve been practicing my follow-through like you showed me!”

“You’re a natural.” I squeeze his shoulder as I crouch beside him. “Keep that up, and you’ll be leading the Ice Hawks in no time.”

Jake’s smile falters for just a second, and his eyes drop to the ice-blue puck he’s been using—the one I gave him after my last game.

“Beck?” His voice is quieter now, almost hesitant, as he walks over to the porch.

“Yeah, bud?”

He bites his lip, his eyes wide with something that makes my heart clench. “Are you… are you gonna leave us?”

The question hits me harder than any check I’ve ever taken.

I freeze, my throat tightening as I stare at him.

“Leave?” My voice cracks, and I force myself to stay calm. “What do you mean, buddy?”

Jake’s gaze stays glued to the puck, his little fingers tracing the edges. “If you go to Boston … will you still be here?”

Oh, Jake.

My heart shatters into a million pieces.

I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat refuses to budge. “Jake…” I gently lift his chin so he’s looking at me. His eyes are full of uncertainty—of fear.

“I don’t want you to go.” His voice is barely above a whisper now, and it’s all I can do to hold it together.

“Buddy…” My voice cracks as I pull him into my arms, holding him close as his little body trembles against mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not completely true.

Not yet.

But it’s enough to help Jake for the moment, and he runs back to Spotty challenging him to stop his puck one more time. Watching from afar I can see my life caring for him, watching over him, loving him. Swiping my eyes I turn away only to bump directly into Griff.

“Man, you look like heck.”

I glance up to see Griffin walking toward me, his usual smirk replaced with something that looks a lot like… concern?

“Thanks,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

Griffin steps closer, eyeing the pile of Jake’s hockey gear I’ve been mindlessly rearranging for the past hour. “Wanna talk about it, or should I start making jokes about you losing your touch?”

I try to smirk, but it falls flat.

Griff sighs and grabs a hockey stick from the rack, twirling it in his hands like it’s second nature.

“So… Boston, huh?”

I nod, my jaw clenched. “Three years. Big money. Big market. Chance at the Cup.”

“And the Ice Hawks?”

“One-year extension.” I pause, my throat tightening. “Then coaching or management.”

Griffin whistles low, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. “Sounds like a no-brainer.”