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Jake zips past me, his little frame bundled up in his hockey gear, weaving through his teammates with growing confidence. His focus is laser sharp as he lines up for another shot, sending the puck sliding straight toward the net.

Clang! The puck smacks the post and ricochets wide, but Jake doesn’t miss a beat. He skates after it as his determination never wavers.

“Good hustle, buddy!” I cheer, warmth spreading through my chest.

Jake’s been practicing harder than ever since our nights at the Ice Hawks games. Meeting Beckett Hayes has left a lasting impression on him. It’s all he’s talked about for the past two weeks—reliving every moment of the games, the meet-and-greet, and the locker room tour like it was a fairy tale come to life.

And honestly? It kind of was. For both of us.

“Nice work, Jake!” His coach gives him a thumbs-up, and Jake beams as he circles back toward the bench.

“Did you see that, Mom?” Skating over, breathless but grinning he says: “I almost nailed it!”

“I saw,” I say, matching his excitement. “You’re getting better every practice.”

Jake’s eyes sparkle. “Beck said I had a good wrist shot. I bet if he saw me now, he’d say I’m even better!”

My heart clenches at the mention of Beck’s name.

Jake hasn’t stopped talking about him. And if I’m being honest… I haven’t stopped thinking about him myself.

That evening I sit at the kitchen table; my laptop’s open but the blinking cursor on the blank document taunts me. My notes for the feature article on Beck sit neatly organized, but I’m no closer to figuring out how to approach this piece.

Professionally, it should be easy. I’ve interviewed countless athletes, coaches, and team owners. But Beck? Beck’s different.

My fingers hover over the keys as I stare at the questions I’ve prepared. They’re solid—direct, probing, and insightful. But none of them capture what I really want to ask.

What’s beneath the surface, Beck?

I rub my temples, sighing.

Jake’s admiration for Beck is understandable. But me? I should know better. I’m supposed to stay objective—keep my feelings out of my work. I cover multiple teams and players. Favoritism isn’t an option. And yet…

Beck Hayes is making it impossible.

His easy charm, his quiet kindness, and the way he genuinely connected with Jake that night—none of it felt forced. And that’s the problem.

It felt real.

Get a grip, Abby.I’m muttering to myself, but the words ring hollow. It’s obvious that I’m no closer to my interview plan than I was two hours ago. I’m staring at the screen hoping an idea will write itself, I think.

I’m in this silent inner debate when I hear: “Earth to Abby!”

I blink, startled out of my thoughts as my sister Quinn’s voice snaps me back to the present.

“Hmm?” I look up from my laptop to see my sister standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve been staring at that screen for ten minutes.” She steps closer, peering at my notes. “Oooh… I see. We’re back toMr. Hockey Superstar.”

“Quinn…” I groan, closing my laptop with a sigh. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m definitely starting.” She plops down across from me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, how’s the big article coming along? Or is it more likeThe Secret Diary of Abby Price and Her Hockey Crush?”

“Stop.” I laugh despite myself. “It’s just… complicated.”

Quinn leans back, her expression softening. “Abby. You know I’m just teasing. But… is it complicated because of Jake? Or because of you?”

My stomach twists. “Both,” I admit quietly. Quinn’s playful demeanor fades, replaced by that familiar protective sister vibe. “Talk to me, Abs.”