Page 11

Chapter eleven

Abby

I should’ve known better than to let Jake talk me into coming to another Ice Hawks practice. I swear, that kid has a sixth sense when it comes to sniffing out potential emotional landmines. But the way his face lit up when Beck invited us back? How was I supposed to say no?

For two weeks the VIP Kids’ Day is all Jake has talked about. It’s like I’d given him high caffeine drinks for every meal. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been feeling the same. Being a part of Beck’s world, seeing him immersed with the kids, knowing that this is the real Beck …it’s planting seeds that are growing in my heart.

Moment broken. "Spotty, sit!" I whisper-hiss, but the spotted menace is way too busy trying to sneak closer to the stray hockey puck Jake is batting around near the benches. His tail wags like a propeller, and he’s inching forward like a Dalmatian ninja.

"Spotty, no ! That’s not a chew toy!"

Jake snickers, glancing over his shoulder at me. "He just wants to practice his stickhandling, Mom."

"Stickhandling my foot," I mutter, eyeing the poor puck that’s about to meet its slobbery doom.

“Hey, I think he’s got a future in the NHL,” Beck’s voice teases from behind me.

I whirl around, catching Beck mid-grin as he approaches, still in full gear, looking way too good for a guy who just finished an intense practice. His hair’s damp and pushed back, a few stubborn strands curling at the edges. He smells like fresh ice and minty shampoo, and it’s downright unfair.

"Spotty’s aiming to be a power forward," Beck adds with a wink. "I can see it now. Sir Lotsaspots, taking the NHL by storm."

Jake bursts into giggles, and I can’t help but chuckle myself.

“Maybe he’ll outscore you, Beck,” Jake jokes, puffing out his chest like a tiny hockey analyst.

Beck crouches beside Jake, his eyes twinkling. "I don’t know, buddy. I’ve been on a bit of a streak lately. Think Spotty can keep up with that?"

“Easy,” Jake says with supreme confidence. “He’s got speed and teeth. You don’t stand a chance.”

Beck laughs, and I feel it — that familiar tug in my chest that’s becoming impossible to ignore. Seeing Beck with Jake? It does something to me, something that makes my carefully built defenses feel about as sturdy as wet tissue paper.

Don’t fall for him, Abby. But who am I kidding? It’s a past tense thought.

How am I supposed to keep my heart on lockdown when Beck looks at Jake like he’s the coolest kid on the planet? And the way Jake looks up to him? It’s dangerous. The kind of dangerous I vowed to avoid.

"Alright, superstar," Beck says, ruffling Jake’s hair. "Want to help me pack up?"

Jake’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning. "Really?"

“Absolutely. I need an assistant, and you’re my guy.”

As Jake darts off with Beck to gather sticks, Spotty finally gives up on the puck and plops down by my feet, his tongue hanging out in pure puppy satisfaction.

“You’re not supposed to make this so easy,” I mutter to no one in particular, running my hand over Spotty’s head.

But it’s Beck who’s making it too easy.

I keep watching as Beck chats with Jake, explaining how to stack sticks properly while Jake listens with awe. It’s like they’ve formed their own little team, and my heart doesn’t know whether to cheer or hide in the locker room.

"How do you do it?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Beck looks up, his expression curious. "Do what?"

"Be so…" I wave a hand vaguely, searching for the right words. "Good with him. You’re patient. Kind. You make him feel like he matters."

Beck’s eyes soften as he straightens, walking back toward me with Jake trailing behind, holding what looks like half the team’s equipment.

"It’s easy when the kid’s as awesome as Jake," Beck says, his voice quieter now. "He’s smart. Funny. And he’s got a heart bigger than this whole arena."

Oh great. Just go ahead and melt, Abby. Right here. In public.

I swallow, forcing a smile. "Yeah. He’s one of a kind."

“And he’s got a one of a kind mom,” Beck adds, his eyes locking onto mine.

Oh no. No, no, no.

Abort. Abort.

I glance away, focusing way too hard on Spotty, who’s now sniffing an abandoned glove like it might be his long-lost sibling.

“I’m just doing what I can.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Abby…” Beck’s voice is softer now, almost hesitant.

And then I feel it—that slight shift in the air between us. The magnetic pull I’ve been trying so hard to ignore.

I look up, and Beck is closer than I realized. Way too close.

His eyes — that impossible shade of stormy blue — search mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"You’re amazing," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

My heart pounds as Beck lifts a hand, brushing a stray lock of hair away from my cheek. His touch is gentle, his fingertips lingering just a second too long.

"Beck…" I breathe, but I don’t move.

I should step back. I should create space.

But I don’t.

His gaze dips to my lips, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me.

And I want him to.

My pulse skyrockets, and every nerve in my body screams for me to lean in. To let go.

But just as Beck starts to close the distance, Jake’s voice cuts through the moment like a foghorn.

"Beck! I think I found your glove!"

What is it about kids? They have a Spidey-sense for timing … bad timing.

I jolt back, heat flooding my cheeks. Beck’s hand falls away, and the space between us feels suddenly, achingly empty.

“Thanks, buddy,” Beck calls over his shoulder, but his eyes linger on mine for just a beat longer.

And in that moment, I know. If Jake hadn’t interrupted…

I don’t even want to think about how close I came to crossing a line I don’t know if I’m ready for.

“Mom?” Jake pipes up, unknowingly rescuing me from the emotional quicksand I am sinking into. "Can we come to the game on Saturday? Beck said it’s a big one."

“Oh, uh…” I blink, trying to shake off the warm fuzzies threatening to take over. "We’ll see, buddy. I’ve got a lot of work to do this week."

Jake’s face falls just a little, and Beck notices.

"I’ll leave tickets at will call," Beck offers with a smile that makes it impossible to say no. "No pressure. Just… if you want to come."

Jake’s hopeful eyes bounce between me and Beck, and Spotty takes that exact moment to leap up and lick Beck’s face, sending Jake into another fit of giggles.

"Spotty! No licking the superstar!" I gasp, mortified, but Beck just laughs, wiping his face.

"Don’t worry," Beck says, grinning. "I’ve had worse. Griffin once dumped an entire protein shake on me as a prank. Spotty’s a walk in the park."

I laugh despite myself, but it doesn’t do much to calm the swirling mess inside me.

I should say no. I should walk away before this gets any more complicated.

But as I watch Beck and Jake — and even Spotty, who’s officially declared Beck his new best friend — I realize something terrifying.

I know that I don’t want to walk away.