Page 5

Chapter five

Abby

“Whoa, this place is huge!” Jake’s voice echoes through the spacious corridor as we step inside the Irondale Ice Hawks’ training facility. His eyes are wide with awe, taking in every detail like he’s just entered hockey heaven.

Spotty trots beside him, tail wagging furiously as he sniffs every corner.

“Welcome to where the magic happens,” Beck says with an easy grin, walking ahead of us. He’s dressed casually—well, as casually as Beckett Hayes can look. Fitted jeans, a trendy soft gray collarless shirt that hugs his broad shoulders a little too perfectly, and loafers. It all says “effortless confidence” and makes it impossible not to notice him.

Focus, Abby.

I remind myself that I’m here to gather information for my article, not to gawk at Beck’s biceps.

“Check this out.” Beck gestures toward the rows of gear lined up against the wall—sticks, helmets, pads, and jerseys neatly organized. Jake practically vibrates with excitement.

“Can I…?” Jake points at one of the sticks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Go ahead, buddy,” Beck says with a grin. He reaches for one of his personal sticks, handing it to Jake. “That one’s a little heavier than what you’re used to but give it a try.”

Jake’s eyes go wide as he grips the stick. “Whoa… this is awesome!”

Beck kneels down next to him, adjusting Jake’s grip with practiced ease. “Feel that balance? This one’s custom-made. Perfect weight, curve, and grip for my shot.”

Custom-made. The detail slips past me, barely registering at first. Of course, Beck would have custom gear. He’s a professional athlete. But something about the way he says it…

“Custom, huh?” I murmur, trying to sound casual.

Beck’s eyes flick to mine, a hint of amusement dancing in their depths. “Yeah. I’ve got a guy who designs them specifically for my shooting style. Makes a difference when the game’s on the line.”

Of course he does.

Jake doesn’t care about the subtlety I’m picking up on. He’s too busy swinging the stick like he’s already scoring in the Stanley Cup finals.

“This is so cool!” Jake beams, and Beck’s laughter fills the space—rich, warm, and completely disarming.

As we move through the facility, Beck effortlessly balances guiding Jake through the space and keeping an easy conversation going with me. He’s comfortable here, in his element. But there’s something softer about him now, something more than just the hockey star everyone sees on the ice.

“So… you live in Elmwood full-time, right?” I ask as we pass the team’s lounge area. “Not just during the off-season?”

Beck nods, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Elmwood’s home. Always has been.”

“Even with your career taking you to Irondale?”

“Especially with that.” His expression shifts, his tone softening. “I love the game, but… after everything’s said and done, I need somewhere that feels real. Elmwood’s that place for me.”

I glance at him, curiosity tugging at me. “Why stay in a small town when you could live anywhere?”

Beck’s gaze drifts, a distant look clouding his usually bright eyes. “My parents are there. And… I guess I just like the quiet. I can walk down Main Street, grab coffee at Joe’s Diner, and people know me because I grew up there—not because I’m Beckett Hayes, the hockey star.”

His words hit me harder than I expect. There’s something raw in the way he talks about Elmwood: it’s not just a town, but a part of who he is.

“How much of your time is spent there?” I ask softly.

Beck smiles, but it’s different this time. Softer. More genuine. “I’m there most days, actually. I commute to Irondale for games and practices, but I spend my nights in Elmwood. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and… I like being close.”

“Wow,” I murmur, surprised. “You’re really that tied to it?”

“Yeah.” Beck’s voice is quiet, almost reverent. “Elmwood’s where I learned to skate. Where I had my first goal. It’s where I feel that I can breathe.”

He continues: “And my folks and some other friends are available to watch over the cats where we have out-of-town games. It makes me feel good that they are being cared for by people I trust.

Besides that, I’ve told you about the personalities of those three almost-monsters. Like me, my folks think they are totally adorable and can do no wrong, even when the breakables hit the floor now and then.”

I’m stuck a few sentences back. Breathe. He said it’s where he can breathe.

The word lingers, and for a moment, I wonder if Beck’s life is more complicated than I realized.

“But you do more than just live there, don’t you?” I say softly, watching him closely.

Beck hesitates, then shrugs, as if trying to downplay it. “I help out where I can. Little things, mostly. Sponsoring youth hockey leagues, helping fix up the rink, stuff like that.”

“Little things?” I arch an eyebrow, sensing there’s more he’s not saying. I hear that you do a lot more to help Elmwood continue to thrive, Mr. Hayes.”

Beck shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. “It’s not a big deal.”

It sounds like a big deal.

But I let it slide. For now.

We move toward the players’ lounge, and Jake’s excitement spikes again when he spots framed photos of the team. But it’s not the hockey shots that catch my eye.

“Wait…” I squint at a picture tucked off to the side. “Are those… cats?”

Beck’s laughter is immediate and unguarded. “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost bashful. “Biscuit, Mitts, and Hat Trick.”

“Seriously?” I grin, unable to hold back the giggle bubbling up. “You named your cats hockey terms?”

“Of course.” Beck’s grin is unapologetic. “Biscuit’s the diva. She rules the house. Mitts is the scrappy one—always ready to throw down. And Hat Trick…” His voice softens, and his eyes warm. “He’s just… happy to be around. Loves everyone.”

“Will they get along with Spotty?” Jake pipes up, clearly invested.

Beck chuckles. “We haven’t introduced them yet, but I have a feeling Biscuit would put Spotty in his place.”

“My dog’s not scared of anything!” Jake declares proudly, and Spotty barks on cue, wagging his tail like he’s agreeing.

“I don’t know…” Beck smirks. “Biscuit’s been known to take down the best of them.”

“Wait…” I narrow my eyes playfully. “You’re telling me these cats have a reputation?”

Beck leans closer, his grin conspiratorial. “Let’s just say they’ve got their own Instagram account with a pretty loyal following.”

“Of course they do.” I laugh, shaking my head. But something about the way Beck talks about his pets… the affection in his voice, the softness in his expression… it’s enough to make my heart flutter.

As the tour winds down, Jake and Spotty find a stray puck and start an impromptu game of fetch near the rink. Jake’s laughter echoes around us, and Spotty’s playful barks fill the space.

Beck and I stand off to the side, watching the scene unfold, and sharing a few quiet moments.

“He’s really good with Spotty,” Beck murmurs, his voice warm. “Jake’s a natural.” I smile, but my heart feels a little too full as I watch them. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Beck’s eyes flick to mine, something unreadable swirling in their depths. “You’re doing a great job, Abby. Jake’s lucky to have you.”

The sincerity in his tone hits me harder than I expect. I glance away, my throat tightening. “Thanks.”

“So…” I glance at him, keeping my tone light. “What’s next for you, Beck? Beyond hockey, I mean.”

His smile falters for just a moment.

There it is. That hesitation.

Beck’s eyes shift and his jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair. “That’s… complicated.”

Complicated .

The word hangs between us, thick with unspoken meaning.

“For now…” Beck’s easy grin returns, but this time, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just focused on the game.”

But I’m not buying it. There’s more.

As Jake’s laughter echoes around us, I can’t shake the feeling that Beck’s hiding something, something bigger than just his future in hockey.

What is he not telling me?

And why do I suddenly care so much?