Page 16

Chapter sixteen

Abby

It’s scary how easy this feels.

The barbecue was a major hit, and it was nice to get to know more of his teammates in a casual setting. I think I was proper and made Beck proud. But then there was Spotty. Yikes! But the day was such fun.

I lean against the doorframe of Beck’s kitchen, watching Jake chase Spotty through the living room while Beck’s three cats—Biscuit, Mitts, and Hat Trick—observe from the safety of the couch, their expressions a mix of curiosity and mild annoyance. Spotty, oblivious to their disdain, barrels ahead with Jake right behind him, laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

“Spotty, slow down!” Jake shouts between giggles, but the overexcited Dalmatian isn’t having it. He’s in full zoomie mode, zigzagging between furniture like a furry tornado on skates.

“Careful!” I call out, but it’s too late.

Jake lunges for Spotty just as the dog changes direction. Jake misses and goes sprawling, landing with an exaggerated thud on the plush rug with his arms around the dog’s back legs.

“Gotcha!” Jake exclaims, wrapping his arms fully around Spotty, who immediately starts licking his face like he’s a popsicle.

“Ewww! Spotty!” Jake squeals, laughing uncontrollably as he tries to fend off the enthusiastic assault.

I can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing through Beck’s enormous living room.

This. This is what happiness looks like.

“Need backup?” Beck’s voice rumbles from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder just as he steps into the room, his grin melting what’s left of my heart.

“Only if you’re ready to get slobbered on,” I tease, watching as he walks over and effortlessly scoops Jake off the floor.

“Spotty, down,” Beck commands softly, and the dog, miraculously, obeys—though his tail wags like a metronome on overdrive.

“Dad powers,” I murmur with a grin.

Beck flashes me a lopsided smile. “I’ve had some practice.”

My heart clenches at his words. He’s not just talking about Jake or Spotty. He’s talking about us .

And that’s the part that excites me and terrifies me.

***

A few hours have passed and with the energy of youth, Jake jumps on the private elevator and runs out the back door again. We watch him tossing a softball to Spotty, who refuses to return it and instead parades around in triumphant circles. The sky has turned dusky violet, and a soft breeze rustles the wind chimes that Beck has hanging around the pool decking. Jake has great swimming stills and obeys my orders to never go near the pool unless one of us is out there. I’m confident of him being outside for a while especially since we can see him from Beck’s window.

We follow them downstairs, and I lean against the deck railing with a mug of tea, letting the cool air calm the heat still buzzing under my skin from Beck’s smile. He joins me quietly, his tall frame warm and steady beside me as he leans on the rail, watching Jake and Spotty with a soft, half-smile.

“He’s got a good arm,” Beck says, nodding toward Jake.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured, sipping. “He’s convinced he’s going pro. In hockey. Baseball. Dog training. Depends on the day.”

Beck chuckles. “The confidence of youth. It’s a beautiful thing.”

I glance up at him, surprised by the edge of wistfulness in his voice. “You sound like someone who misses it.”

He tilts his head slightly, the easy smile still there, but something thoughtful behind his eyes. “I do. Sometimes. I started skating when I was four, chasing my older brother around frozen ponds. We both thought we’d go pro, but… he didn’t make it.”

My brow furrows. “Yes, you did mention a brother. Tell me more?”

“Had,” Beck said quietly. “Well, he’s still alive but neither my parents nor I never hear from him. His name is Greg. He’s living in Denver with his husband and two golden retrievers. He tore his ACL twice in college, career-ending stuff. He coached for a while, but he didn’t love the game the same after that. Walked away. Started a bike repair business and never looked back.”

“That must’ve been hard—for both of you … and your parents.”

He nods, exhaling. “It was. Still is. I felt guilty. I got the dream he chased longer and harder than I did. Still do, sometimes. I’ve tried to reach out to him over the years. I just can’t understand why he has cut us off so completely. I think that’s why I started the youth charity programs—trying to give other kids a shot at something, whether it’s hockey or just a place to feel safe.”

I stare at Jake, my heart tugging. “You’re really good with kids, not just Jake. I’ve seen how you are at the rink with the little fans. Patient. Genuine.”

“I like the way they see the world. Honest. No filters. You don’t see that much as an adult.” He pauses. “Jake’s lucky to have you.”

The words catch me off guard—gentle and sincere, with no agenda behind them—and they crack something open.

“I don’t always feel like I’m enough,” I admit, staring into my tea. “I try, but sometimes I wonder if I’m doing it right. If I’m screwing it all up.”

Beck doesn’t speak, just stands there beside me with that steady presence that makes it feel safe to say the things I usually keep buried.

“It’s been just us since Jake was four,” I say quietly. “His dad—my husband—died in a car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light. I was texting him to grab milk on his way home, and the next call I got was from the ER.”

Beck’s head turns toward me slowly. “Abby…” His voice broke a little. “I’m so sorry.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak for a moment. “Jake was so little. He doesn’t remember much, just a few bedtime stories and the pancakes he made every Saturday. Sometimes I think that’s a blessing. But for me… I remember everything. The ordinary stuff that turned sacred the second it was gone.”

He reaches over and gently covers my hand with his. His touch is warm, not demanding—just… there. Present.

“I lost someone, too,” he says after a moment. “Not to death, but… I think the grief is still there. I had a best friend in high school, Eli. We were inseparable. He came out to me after a game one night, and I was the first person he ever told, or so I thought. But he must have told someone else, because a week later, someone on the opposing team outed him in the worst possible way. He got bullied so badly he left school, moved across the country. We kept in touch for a while, but I think the pain swallowed him up. I still wear the wristband he gave me for good luck. It's under my glove every game.”

I blink, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

“I don’t talk about him much,” Beck continues. “But I get it—the ache that doesn’t go away. The fear of letting someone in again. You carry it quietly, like armor, until someone sees through it.”

A lump rises in my throat. “I’ve been scared to love again,” I admit. “Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m terrified of what happens if I lose it again. If Jake does.”

“You’re not alone in that,” he responds gently. “But maybe love isn’t about erasing the loss—it’s about having someone beside you while you carry it.”

The tears come slowly, not dramatic, just soft and honest. I don’t wipe them away. Beck doesn’t flinch. He stays, grounding me with his calm, with the safety in his gaze.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” I say. “But… I’m glad it’s you.”

He squeezes my hand. “Me too.”

Out in the yard, Spotty finally returns the ball and bellyflops in the grass with a dramatic groan. Jake falls over beside him, laughing hysterically.

“He’s good at stealing hearts,” I say, watching them.

Beck looks at me, a spark of something tender in his eyes. “He’s not the only one.”

***

Days like this are becoming the norm—casual dinners at Beck’s, afternoons filled with laughter, movie nights where Jake falls asleep snuggled between us on the couch. It feels… natural. Like we’ve slipped into a rhythm that I didn’t even realize we’d started.

Jake’s thriving. His confidence has skyrocketed, and his constant smiles tell me everything I need to know.

It’s more than just happiness—it’s stability. Jake finally has something, someone , to look up to. Beck encourages him, pushes him to try harder, but always with the gentlest touch. Jake’s joy has shifted into something deeper, something I recognize as security.

I watch the way Jake lights up when Beck teaches him hockey tips in the driveway, how he hangs on every word when Beck talks about teamwork and perseverance.

And Spotty? He’s thriving too. Beck’s house has become his second home, and while he’s not exactly best friends with the cats, he’s learned to coexist with them. Well… sort of.

He likes curling up by the fireplace like he owns the place, as if he’s decided this is his domain now.

And me? I’m happy.

Happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.

But happiness this easy? It feels… dangerous.

Because I’ve been here before. I’ve known love that felt this right, this effortless—until life ripped it away.

My mind drifts back to those early days with Jake’s father—how we fell into a rhythm so quickly, how certain I was that it was forever.

And then…

Gone.

The ache never really goes away. It’s just… quieter now. But the fear?

That’s louder than ever.

***

It started subtly.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. The distant look in Beck’s eyes when he thought I wasn’t watching. The way his smile didn’t always reach those piercing blue eyes.

But now?

Now it’s impossible to ignore.

“Beck,” I murmur softly later that evening, as we sit curled up on the sofa, a worn fleece blanket draped over us. Spotty is sprawled out at our feet, snoring softly, while Mitts, Hat Trick and Biscuit are perch on the armrests, their judgmental gazes trained on the dog.

Beck’s arm is around me, his thumb lazily brushing along my shoulder. But his mind…

It’s somewhere else.

“Hmm?”

I tilt my head up, studying his profile. The firelight flickers across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the tiny crease between his brows.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, but the tightness in his jaw tells me otherwise.

“Beck…” I shift slightly, turning so I can look him in the eye. “You’ve been… distracted.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His gaze drifts toward the fireplace, his jaw clenched so tight I’m afraid he might crack a tooth.

“Just a lot on my mind,” he finally says, but the words are too careful, too measured.

Liar.

“Is it work?” I press gently, hoping he’ll give me something—anything—to ease this growing knot in my stomach.

He nods, but it’s automatic, his eyes still not meeting mine.

I don’t push. Not yet.

But the knot that is in my stomach tightens. Whatever is going on, it’s coming for us.

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. I let myself relax into Beck’s warmth, my head resting against his shoulder.

“Your dog,” Beck murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “is spoiled rotten.”

I glance down at Spotty, who’s rolled onto his back, paws in the air, snoring like a freight train. Biscuit and Mitts watch him with barely disguised judgment.

“Look who’s talking,” I shoot back, a grin tugging at my lips. “Your cats act like they own the place.”

“They do own the place,” Beck says, deadpan. “I’m just a humble servant.”

“Right. A billionaire hockey player who’s a servant to his cats.” I snort.

“Hey.” Beck’s grin is pure mischief now. “Mitts rules this house with an iron paw.”

As if on cue, Mitts flicks her tail and gives us both a look that says finally, some respect.

I laugh softly, the tension in my chest easing just a little. “We’re a mess, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Beck murmurs, his voice softer now as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “But I kinda like this mess.”

My heart flips, and for a moment…

I let myself believe this could be forever.

***

“Okay, spill,” Quinn demands the next afternoon as we sit at my kitchen table. She’s elbow-deep in flour, rolling out dough for what I suspect will be the world’s best batch of cinnamon rolls.

“There’s nothing to spill,” I lie, but the way she arches an eyebrow makes it clear I’m not fooling her.

“Abby.”

I sigh, my hands tightening around the mug of tea in front of me.

“It’s Beck,” I admit softly. “He’s… distant.”

Quinn’s hands still, and she looks up, her expression turning serious. “Distant how?”

“He’s distracted,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Something’s weighing on him. And I don’t know if it’s… us.”

“Have you asked him?”

I shake my head, my throat tight. “Not yet.”

Quinn’s eyes narrow. “Abby.”

“I know,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No.” She points the rolling pin at me like a weapon. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut him out because you’re scared.”

“Quinn—”

“ No. ” She cuts me off, her tone gentler now. “You love him, don’t you?”

My throat tightens. “I… I think I do.”

“Then don’t let fear make you lose him.” Quinn’s eyes soften, but there’s an edge of urgency in her voice. “Beck’s not the kind of guy who runs. But if you keep putting up walls… he might not stick around to keep climbing them.”

I blink back the sting in my eyes.

“Abs.” Quinn’s voice is softer now; her hands still dusted with flour as she reaches across the table to squeeze mine. “You’ve already lost so much. Don’t let fear make you lose this too.”

Her words hit harder than I expect, and I swallow hard.

“I’m just… scared,” I whisper.

“Of course, you are.” Quinn’s expression softens. “But sometimes, the scariest things… they’re worth it.”

***

The breaking point comes later that night. Beck is here to hang out and watch some television.

Jake’s fast asleep, Spotty’s curled up on the rug, and Beck’s beside me on the sofa , his gaze focused on the flickering flames in the fireplace.

But he’s a million miles away.

“Beck.”

He doesn’t respond at first.

“Beck.” My voice is softer now, but insistent.

Finally, he turns to me, and the vulnerability in his eyes nearly undoes me.

“Talk to me,” I whisper, my hand reaching for his.

For a moment, he looks like he might pull away. But then… his fingers tighten around mine.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

My heart pounds so loudly I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

“What is it?”

Beck’s jaw clenches, his eyes clouding with something I can’t quite read.

“My agent…” His voice is barely above a whisper, and when he finally meets my gaze, the weight in his eyes steals the breath from my lungs.

“There’s… been an offer.”

My heart drops. “An offer?”

Beck swallows hard. “From another team.”

Oh. OH!

“Beck…” My voice cracks, but I force the words out. “Are you… are you leaving?”

The silence that follows is deafening.