Page 17

Chapter seventeen

Beck

I’m no closer to a decision than the night I got that call from Dex. The weight of the decision presses down on me like a lead puck.

It’s been a week since that call from my agent, and I have no clarity about the right choice.

I stand by the window in my condo, coffee in hand, watching the snow fall steadily over Irondale. The rink where Jake practices is barely visible through the white haze. It’s quiet now, but I know that in a few hours, the place will be filled with kids laughing, skating, and chasing dreams.

That used to be me.

I remember the first time I stepped onto the ice as a kid—barely able to stay upright but loving every second. That’s where it all started. The dream. The obsession. The relentless drive to make it to the NHL.

And now…

Now I’m standing at a crossroads, torn between the game I’ve loved my whole life and the family I never thought I’d have.

***

I hear the front door open. “Beck?”

Abby’s soft voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

I blink, realizing I’ve been gripping my coffee mug so tightly my knuckles are white. I loosen my hold and turn to see her standing in the doorway, her eyes full of quiet concern.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, but we both know it’s a lie.

Her lips press together, but she doesn’t push. Not yet.

“I’m taking Jake to the rink,” she says softly, her gaze lingering on me. “You wanna come?”

My heart aches at the hopeful lilt in her voice.

“I can’t.” The words come out hoarse, heavier than they should be. “I… I have a meeting with Dexter.”

Abby’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she looks away.

“Okay.”

She tries to sound casual, but I hear the weight in her voice as she turns to leave.

I should tell her. I need to tell her. But every time I open my mouth; the words stick in my throat.

Because what if telling her means losing everything?

As the door closes, my heart feels ready to burst. I want to be out there with her and Jake today, but this decision is all I can manage at this moment. Maybe a conversation with my folks can help, so that’s where I head.

Mom and Dad are as supportive as I figured they would be, but in the end their advice is to follow my heart . They know I’ll make the right decision . Etc. Etc. Etc. So, while I feel their love and know they will always be in my corner, I come away no closer to a decision than before. The only thing I can really take away is the look in Mom’s eyes when she talks about Abby and Jake.

Yeah, that’s how I feel too, Mom.

***

The ice has always been home. Not just a place, but a part of me. So that’s where I go. I’ve lived my life one game at a time, chasing championships, measuring my worth in goals and assists, in bruises and banners. But now, for the first time, the silence in the rink is louder than any crowd I’ve ever faced.

Dexter laid it out plain a few days ago—two paths, one decision. I either hang up my skates at the end of the season and start coaching here in Irondale, or I take the Thunderhawks’ deal: three more years playing at full tilt, five million more in my pocket each year, but I’d have to uproot everything.

I lean against the cold railing of the arena mezzanine, watching the Zamboni hum across the ice. The surface gleams, spotless and perfect now with the snow gone. Like a fresh start. Like a blank slate. I used to see that as an invitation to go full throttle. Now, I only see what I’d be leaving behind.

My mind drifts to Abby’s laugh—bright, real, like sunlight in winter. And Jake, that kid's smile could crack through the thickest defensive line. He’s got this energy that fills every room he walks into, dragging Spotty behind him like a spotted cyclone. The first time they walked into my life, I never saw them coming. Now I can’t picture it without them.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve spent years chasing a dream I thought I understood. But lately, it feels like the dream is shifting.

Back in the locker room, the sounds are familiar—sticks clattering, skates sharpening, laughter bouncing off the walls. Griffin tosses a towel at Wes, who retaliates by throwing his own wet towel into Griff’s locker. Same old chaos. Same old rhythm.

I glance at the wall of framed jerseys from former team legends. I always thought my future was up there—retire a hero, number raised to the rafters. But what’s a legacy if you don’t have someone to share it with?

I remember my rookie year. Nights on the road. The endless grind. The hunger … We were all chasing the same thing—victory, respect, a name that meant something. Back then, love felt like a distraction. I kept my distance. Stayed focused. And for a long time, that was enough.

But now?

Now, a quiet evening at home with Abby and Jake, with Spotty trying to sneak food off the counter, sounds like winning.

I need clarity. So, I go to the one person who won’t sugarcoat it.

Dexter Stone sits behind his desk like a general in a war room—grizzled, sharp-eyed, and absolutely unbothered by the chaos swirling around him. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“Sit.”

I take the seat across from his desk, and he eyes me like I’m a puzzle he’s been trying to solve.

“Coffee?” he asks, gesturing to the pot in the corner.

“No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Dexter leans back, his eyes narrowing. “So. I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about the weather.”

I try for a smile, but it doesn’t come close. “No.”

“Right.” He steeples his fingers, his expression unreadable. “Let’s get to it then.”

I nod, my throat tightening.

“As you know, there are two offers on the table,” Dexter says, his voice calm but firm. “One keeps you here—with the Ice Hawks. One-year extension, with an option to transition into coaching or management after that.”

“You know what the Thunderhawks are offering. They want a superstar. You’ve got gas left in the tank. But I also know you’ve been talking to Abby Price a lot lately. And that kid of hers is practically your shadow.”

I didn’t respond, didn’t need to.

Dexter sighed. “Let’s break it down. If you stay, you become a foundation piece here. You retire in Irondale. You coach the next generation. Your roots dig deeper. Your life stabilizes.”

“And if I go?” I asked.

“You get a final ride. A big payday. You’ll have fame that lasts another few seasons. You may even have a chance at the Stanley again. But there’s no guarantee of that or what comes after.”

I looked at him. “You think I’ll regret it?”

He hesitated. “I think you’ll miss more than the game if you leave.”

That hits harder than I expected.

He added, “What matters most isn’t the name on your jersey. It’s the names you go home to, Beck.”

Leave Abby.

Leave Jake.

Leave them.

My chest tightens.

“Look.” Dexter’s tone softens, and that’s what scares me the most. “You’re at a point in your career where you need to think long-term. Your body’s not going to hold up forever. You take this deal in Boston… you’re securing your legacy.”

Dexter’s jaw tightens. “You stay… you get another year. Maybe two. Then what?”

Coaching. Management. A different life.

A life where I’m not on the ice… but I’m here .

With them.

I think about Jake.

The way his face lights up when we practice slapshots in the driveway. The way he beams with pride when he calls me his favorite player.

I think about Abby.

The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. The way her laughter feels like home.

They’re not just part of my life now.

They are my life.

But what if staying means resenting the choice I make? That’s what making this difficult.

What if I stay… and one day, I can’t look at Abby without wondering what might’ve been?

What if leaving means breaking Jake’s heart?

What if I lose everything ?

***

“Beck. Beck!”

Dexter’s voice pulls me back to the present, and I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the framed photos on his desk without really seeing them.

“I can’t make this decision for you,” Dexter says softly. “But whatever you choose… you need to be all in.”

All in.

The words echo in my mind, louder than they should be.

“Take a few days,” Dexter adds, his expression gentler now. “But don’t drag this out too long. Boston’s not going wait forever.”

I stand. “Thanks, Dex.”

“Take your time,” he said. “But don’t take forever.”

***

I walk down the hall slowly, passing photos of our championship seasons, past glories and epic moments. My name is etched into that history, sure—but lately, I’ve been asking myself what I want etched into my future.

The truth is, I don’t need the money. Not at all. I’ve played smart, invested smart, and built businesses outside the game. I’m not one of those guys clinging to the game because it’s the only thing keeping me afloat. So why am I even entertaining this Thunderhawks offer like it’s my salvation?

Is it pride? Habit? The idea that if I’m not moving up, I’m falling behind?

Maybe it’s the fear that if I stop playing, I’ll stop mattering.

Whoa. That one hits hard .

I’ve spent my entire adult life being Beckett Hayes, the hockey star . Captain. Enforcer. MVP. The guy with a wicked slapshot and a highlight reel that got replayed in every season recap. But if I take off the jersey and stop lacing up those skates, who am I then? Just Beck? Just a guy with a lot of money, some business ventures, and a quiet house?

But, no, it’s a house that doesn’t feel quiet anymore. Not when Abby and Jake are around. Not with Spotty thundering down the hallway, or Jake leaving his action figures under my couch cushions, or Abby brewing coffee in the mornings like she belongs there.

Do I want to matter ? Doesn’t everyone? But maybe mattering doesn’t mean being seen by thousands every night. Maybe it’s about being seen by people who really know me. The people who notice when I’m quiet, who stay when I’m tired, who light up just because I walk through the door.

Fifteen million dollars won’t change who I am. But walking away from Abby and Jake just might.

The more I think about it, the more absurd my indecision seems. Trading that cupcake memory on my phone, that honest kind of joy, for a busier arena in a city where no one knows me yet? Trading bedtime stories for road trips and hotel rooms? Trading us for… one more shot at what? A trophy I’ll have to polish by myself.

What am I really trying to prove?

And who am I trying to prove it to?

I walk into the arena and slip into the back row of the stands, letting the quiet settle in. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to crave this stillness, the calm after the storm of a game, the hum of the refrigeration units, and the echo of my own breathing.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my gallery, stopping at a photo Quinn had snapped last weekend. Abby, Jake, Spotty, and me at the rink’s charity event. Jake’s front teeth are missing in his grin. Abby’s cheeks are flushed from laughter. I’m holding a pink frosted cupcake Jake had smashed into my hand. It wasn’t posed; it wasn’t perfect. But it feels like something real.

A decade ago, I wouldn’t have looked twice at that moment. Now, I can’t stop looking.

I let the memories wash over me. Early morning practices in junior league. My dad driving me to the rink in the dark. The first time I laced up my skates, the first fight I got into, and the first game I won. I lived for the glory, for the stats, for the roar of the fans.

But the things I remember most vividly lately? The way Jake runs to me with Spotty at his heels. The softness in Abby’s voice when she says my name. The sound of laughter echoing through my house after we hosted our first cookout together.

I hear the door swing open at the far end of the hall, followed by quick footsteps and a familiar voice.

“Beck? Are you still around?”

It’s Tess, the team’s nurse practitioner. She waves when she spots me.

“Abby’s finishing up with her notes,” she says. “She told me to tell you thanks again for the coffee and for keeping Jake entertained while she talked to Dr. Winslow.”

I know him well since he’s our team doctor, basically the surgeon on call who’s present at all games. He’s a good guy and I know for a fact that he has his eye on Tess. And who wouldn’t? She’s not only beautiful, but so kind-hearted. I think Tess has a sense of it; she’s not blind. And what a great match they would be—the medical power team! Oops, what did she just say? Oh, get your head back in the game, Beck.

“No problem.” I smile faintly. “Jake keeps me entertained.”

Tess gives me a long look. “You look like a guy with something big on his mind.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Whatever it is,” her voice gentler now, “Abby’s not the only one who believes in you. That kid adores you, Beck. Don’t take that lightly.”

I don’t.

When she leaves, I make my way back to the locker room, dragging my fingers along the cool wall as I walk. I feel like a man on the edge of something—of change, of clarity, of finally choosing not what would make me famous, but what would make me whole.

As I turn the corner, I hear the muffled sound of small feet shuffling.

Jake sits outside the locker room; his oversized hockey hoodie bunched at the sleeves. Spotty is curled beside him, head resting on Jake’s knee like a guardian angel with spots.

“Hey Beck!” Jake calls out, grinning.

“Hey, buddy.” I crouch beside him. “Was it fun watching the practice?”

“Sure was. Now Mom’s talking to Tess, so Spotty and I are waiting.”

Spotty gave me a low woof and licked Jake’s hand. I scratch behind his ear… the dog’s ear, not Jake’s.

Jake leaned in a little. “Beck?”

“Yeah, champ?”

His voice drops to a whisper. “Are you gonna leave us?”

The words slam into me like a slapshot to the chest.

“I heard Mom say you might have to go to a different team.”

I stare at him, heart clenching. “I don’t want to leave, Jake.”

He smiles and nods like that settled it.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

Still, I know one thing at that moment. The question isn’t just about where I want to go anymore.

It’s about who I don’t want to leave behind.

***

The house is quiet when I get back to Abby’s place.

Jake’s hockey gear is scattered across the living room, his stick propped against the wall. Spotty is curled up near the fireplace, snoring softly.

It feels like… home.

“Hey.” Abby’s voice is soft as she steps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Hey.” The way she looks at me—like she’s waiting for something—makes my chest ache.

“Dexter?” she asks softly.

I nod; my throat too tight to speak.

For a moment, the silence stretches between us, thick with everything we’re not saying.

“Beck…” Abby’s voice cracks just a little, and that’s all it takes to undo me.

“I don’t know what to do, Abs.”

The words spill out before I can stop them. “I love this game. I’ve loved it my whole life. But now… I love you . And Jake.” My voice breaks. “And I’m scared I’m going to lose it all—no matter what I choose.”

Abby’s eyes soften, but there’s pain there too. It’s the first time she’s seen me with tears in my eyes, but I just can’t contain them anymore.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispers, her hand brushing against mine. “But you have to be honest with me, Beck.”

I swallow hard and wipe my eyes.

“Boston offered me a three-year deal,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “A chance at the Cup. But… I’d have to leave.”

Abby’s grip on the dish towel tightens, her knuckles turning white.

“And the Ice Hawks?”

“One-year extension,” I say softly. “Then… coaching. Or management.”

Her lips press together, but I see the flicker of pain in her eyes before she looks away.

“And?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I add quickly, but the words feel hollow even as I say them.

Because the truth is…

I’m already running out of time.

***

Later that night, after Jake’s asleep and the house is quiet, I find myself back on the sofa staring at the ceiling while Spotty snores at my feet.

Abby’s beside me, her head resting on my shoulder, but I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

“Beck,” she murmurs softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

Her fingers brush against mine, tentative… but seeking.

“Whatever happens…” Her voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear it. “I don’t want to lose us .”

My chest tightens, and I turn slightly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You won’t,” I whisper, but the words feel like a promise I’m not sure I can keep.

Maybe my answer was sitting right in front of me this afternoon in the locker room, wearing a hoodie three sizes too big, with a spotted dog drooling on his shoe.