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My eyes narrow. “I don’t know what youthinkyou saw…”

She lets that hang in the air, then dials up the concern, all wide eyes and feigned innocence. “I just—look, I get it. Joely’s fun. She’s sweet. But you’ve got a lot riding on this season. Your contract. Your reputation. If you’re serious about your career, you need to think about who’s really on your side.”

I force a swallow, fighting the urge to bolt. “Joely wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. You don’t know her.”

Lucinda sighs, shaking her head with that pitying look that says she knows better. “Babe, sometimes the people we trust the most are the ones who mess us up the worst. If she cared about your career, would she really hold back how much she believes in you? Or does she want you to fail so that she can live out some childish crush she’s had since grade school?”

I want to argue, to tell her she’s full of shit, but the doubt’s already sinking in, cold and heavy. Joely’s face flashes in my mind—the shy smile, the way she said my name last night, the way she looked at me like I was the only guy in the room. But Lucinda’s words worm in, nasty and sharp. If Joely cared about my game, wouldn’t she do anything to help me?

Lucinda presses on, relentless. “I’m just saying, Brogan. You deserve someone who wants you to win, not just someone who wants to be seen with you. You need someone who puts your career first. Someone who’s actually got your back.”

She squeezes my arm, her nails digging in just enough to let me know it’s not really comfort at all. “I’ve always looked out for you. Just think about it. I’ll see you again at karaoke tomorrow night.”

She leans back, finally letting the tension break. I’m left with my heart in my throat and my stomach twisted up in knots. Shep finally looks up, oblivious. “Dude, you want some more coffee? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I can’t even answer. All I can do is stare at the empty plate in front of me, the world suddenly tilted, every good thing I thought I had with Joely now tangled up in shadows and doubt.

With a wave, Lucinda finally slips away, her perfume trailing behind like the world’s most toxic aroma. She doesn’t say goodbye. She doesn’t have to. The bomb’s already dropped, and I’m still sitting in the shrapnel, picking pieces out of my skin.

I stare after her, feeling like I just lost a game I didn’t even know I was playing.

Shep’s halfway through his third pancake and finally notices I haven’t moved. “Dude. Seriously. You look like you just ate bad shrimp. You okay?”

I force a shrug, but it feels brittle. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

Shep eyes me. “You sure? I mean, Lucinda’s always had it out for JoJo. You know she’s—” He makes a swirling motion by his temple, classic Shep. “—not playing with a full roster despite her full rack. Don’t let her get in your head, man.”

But that’s exactly what’s happening. The words loop and spiral, louder than any locker room chirp. I start replaying last night—every touch, every laugh, every damn thing Joely ever did for me. It was her, right? The coasters, the rock, the water tower.That look in her eyes. But now all I can see are Lucinda’s perfect nails, her perfect memory for stats, her voice in my ear: If she cared about your game…

My appetite’s gone. I push my plate away, stare down at the scratched Formica, and try to breathe through the ache clawing up my chest. The café feels smaller, the air heavier, like everyone’s suddenly looking at me, wondering if the golden boy’s about to blow it—on the ice, off the ice, everywhere.

Shep nudges my arm, his voice softening. “Listen, Brogan. I know you. You get in your head, you start second-guessing, and then you spiral. Don’t let some drama queen rewrite your whole story, okay? JoJo’s always been your girl. You know that. Not only does she have your back, she doesn’t need to be showy about it.”

I want to believe him. God, I do. But I keep replaying Lucinda’s words—her certainty, her smug little smile, the way she made it sound like Joely’s love was a problem, not a gift. What if she’s right? What if I’m just a distraction for Joely, just another hockey guy in her endless parade of regulars? What if all this hope I’ve been holding onto is just me seeing what I want, not what’s really there?

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Joely.

JoJo:You going to be at karaoke?

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, unsure how to answer. She’s the only person who’s ever made me feel like more than just a stat on a sheet, more than just a Foster brother, or a Slammer forward. But what if it’s not real? What if I’m just another dumbass falling for a story that was never mine?

My thumb hovers a few seconds, but then I type out a reply.Me:I’ll be there.

Shep throws a couple bills on the table and stands. “Come on, man. Let’s go shoot pucks or something. Or you can just stand there and look pretty while I hit you with snowballs.”

I manage a half-hearted grin, but inside I’m a mess. “Yeah. Sure.”

As we step out into the cold, I know I can’t just let this sit. I have to talk to Joely. I have to know the truth—even if it guts me. Because right now, I’m not sure what’s worse: losing her or realizing she was never really mine in the first place.

Chapter Sixteen

Joely

Karaoke nights at Power Play are somewhat like must see TV. The regulars come early to stake out their seats, the Slammers show up with enough ego to drown out the sound system, and even the fryers seem to run hotter, like they know something special’s about to go down. Secrets don’t last long, not with Beth behind the bar and Virgil eavesdropping from his corner booth. If two people start making eyes at each other, half the town’s already betting on how long it’ll take before they’re caught sneaking off to the supply closet. Again. On a night like this, hope hangs in the air right alongside the smell of burnt mozzarella sticks and spilled whiskey—and everybody’s waiting to see who’ll finally be brave.

Playlist: Brave by Sara Bareilles

The bar is quiet when I walk in, pre-shift. But I know that won’t last long. Beth’s prepping the fryers, humming somethingsuspiciously likeCherry Pieunder her breath. I slide behind the counter, already trying to look natural, like I didn’t just have life-altering supply closet sex with her son less than twenty-four hours ago.