Page 50 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

My finger hovers over the last item. In progress. Not checked, not unchecked. Because this one isn’t a single moment or action. It’s every day, every choice, every time he has to decide whether to retreat behind walls or stay exposed.

Without thinking, I press my fingertip to the paper, imagining a checkmark. As if I could confirm for him: Yes, you’re doing this. Yes, I see you trying. Yes, I’m letting you love me, too.

Another tear falls, and I don’t wipe this one away, letting it soak into the paper. Evidence that his methodical approach to loving me has cracked something open inside my chest. Something I’ve kept guarded since I was old enough to understand that people leave.

Drew isn’t people. Drew is the guy who makes lists to make sure he doesn’t miss anything important. Who strategizes loving me like it’s a game plan he can perfect with enough practice and dedication.

I fold the paper carefully along its original creases, smoothing each edge with my thumb.

This wasn’t meant for me to find. Not yet.

Maybe not ever. This was his private roadmap, his way of holding himself accountable when loving someone doesn’t come as naturally as hockey statistics or training schedules.

The realization sends a pang of empathy to my chest. Drew is trying just as hard to trust me as I am to trust him. He’s just more organized about it.

I press the folded paper to my chest, directly over my heart, as if I could absorb his intentions through skin and bone.

The paper crinkles slightly. I close my eyes and let myself feel the fear, the hope, the tentative belief that maybe, just maybe, we’ve both found someone who won’t walk away when things get hard.

When I open my eyes again, they’re still damp, but I’m smiling. Leave it to Drew Klaas to make me cry with a checklist.

The door creaks open behind me, and I freeze, list still pressed against my chest like evidence.

Drew appears in the doorway, balancing a tray with two more steaming coffees and what looks like breakfast from the campus café—those maple bacon breakfast sandwiches I mentioned once loving.

His hair is damp at the temples, like he rushed to get back.

When his eyes land on the paper in my hands, he stills completely, a deer caught in unexpected headlights.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” he says, voice pitched lower than usual. A faint blush creeps up his neck. Drew Klaas, blushing. The same guy who body-checked opponents twice his size is flushing over a piece of paper.

I should feel guilty for invading his privacy. Instead, something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest.

“You weren’t supposed to make me fall harder for you either,” I respond, not bothering to hide the emotion crackling in my voice. “Yet here we are.”

His shoulders relax slightly, but uncertainty lingers in his eyes. He crosses to his desk, sets down the breakfast tray, and turns to face me. He’s wearing sweatpants, a plain gray T-shirt, and that look of intense concentration usually reserved for analyzing game footage.

“I got your favorite. The maple bacon thing.” He gestures toward the food, clearly attempting to change subjects.

I hold up the list. “So this is what methodical groveling looks like, huh?” I tease, though the words come out softer than intended. “You actually scheduled your emotional growth in bullet points?”

Drew rubs the back of his neck, a rare gesture of unfiltered embarrassment. “The list was Easton’s idea, actually. After I talked to your uncle.”

“Easton’s? Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not. He said I needed concrete steps. That I’d just overthink everything otherwise.” Drew attempts a small smile. “He wasn’t wrong.”

I glance down at the meticulous check marks, the carefully planned items. “So your grand romantic gestures were pre-planned committee decisions?”

“The PA announcement was all me,” he says quickly, a hint of defensive pride in his voice. “Blake tried to talk me out of it. Said I was committing career suicide in front of scouts.”

My fingers trace the edges of the paper. “But you did it anyway.”

“I did it anyway.”

The simplicity of his answer sends another wave of emotion through me. I stand, still clutching the sheet to my chest, sheet wrapped awkwardly around my body.

“Drew Klaas, who knew you were such a romantic beneath all that hockey robot programming?”

His mouth quirks up at one corner, that half-smile that always makes my stomach flip. But then his expression turns serious.

“I didn’t write it to impress you, Jade.” He steps closer. “I wrote it because I can’t afford to forget how to show up for you. Even once. Even when it’s hard.”

My attempt at humor evaporates. The sheet slips a little, and I clutch it tighter around me with one hand, still holding the list with the other.

“I keep track of everything that matters,” he continues, voice steady but vulnerable. “Training schedules. Nutrition. Game statistics. But this”—he touches the corner of the paper, fingers brushing mine—“this matters more. I couldn’t risk screwing it up because I forgot something important.”

A lump forms in my throat. I’ve always known Drew’s obsession with control, with perfection. But I never considered that he might apply that same determination to loving me better. To becoming someone who stays.

“What about your skates? They’re unfixable.” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. I can check it off though.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm, the only thing I need is right here.” His fingers brush my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I lean into his touch, unable to stop myself. “And the painting thing? You tensed up when I mentioned it before.”

“Because sitting still, letting someone study me that closely”—he shakes his head—“terrifies me. But I want to do it. For you.”

The breakfast sits forgotten on the desk as Drew moves behind me, carefully wrapping his arms around my waist. His chin rests on my shoulder, his chest warm against my back. I lean into him, feeling his heartbeat, steady and strong.

“I make lists because I’m scared,” he admits quietly, breath warm against my ear. “Scared I’ll miss something. Scared I’ll revert to the guy who runs when things get complicated. The list keeps me honest.”

I close my eyes, absorbing the weight of his confession. The list isn’t just a plan. It’s a promise to himself as much as to me. Evidence of his determination to change patterns built over a lifetime.

“So what’s next on the list?” I ask softly, turning the folded paper over in my hands.

His arms tighten slightly around my waist, secure but not confining. “Whatever you want,” he answers. “I’m done deciding things for us.”

The statement hangs between us, profound in its simplicity. I press my back more firmly against his chest, head tilting to rest against his.

“I wasn’t crying because you made a list,” I tell him. “I was crying because the last item isn’t something you can check off. It’s ongoing. It’s brave.”

His hand covers mine where it holds the list. “I’m not brave,” he murmurs. “I’m just tired of missing you even when you’re right here.”

I turn in his arms, the sheet slipping further but neither of us caring. Standing chest to chest, I press the folded paper against his chest.

“Keep the list,” I say. “But maybe we can work on it together.”

The smile that spreads across his face is nothing like his media smile, nothing like his polite smile, nothing like the tight grin he gives teammates after a good play. This smile reaches his eyes, crinkles the corners, transforms his entire face into something open and unguarded.

“Together,” he agrees, the word carrying the weight of his entire list in a single breath.

I rise onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his. The kiss tastes like promises, like possibility, like two people who’ve spent too long guarding their hearts finally laying down their defenses.

When we break apart, I smile up at him. “But I’m totally adding to your list. You missed some important items.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of the old Drew peeking through. “Like what?”

“Like ‘Make Jade breakfast in bed instead of leaving to get it,’” I tease, nodding toward the now-cooling food on his desk.

His laugh vibrates through his chest and into mine, where our bodies press together. “Noted. Next time, I won’t leave.”

Something in his eyes tells me he’s not just talking about breakfast. And for once, I believe him completely.