Page 7

Chapter seven

Abby

I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop, my fingers hovering over the keys, but my mind is nowhere near the article I’m supposed to be writing. I’ve rewritten the opening line three times, and each version sounds worse than the last.

Beckett Hayes, hockey superstar and philanthropist… Nope. Too formal. Beckett Hayes, the heart and soul of the Ice Hawks… Ugh. Too cheesy. Beckett Hayes, a man who… A man who, who what?

I groan, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my temples. How do I sum up Beck? He’s not just another arrogant athlete with a pretty face. He’s kind. He’s generous. He’s great with Jake. And he has three cats who, despite being named after hockey terms, are apparently absurdly lovable.

And therein lies the problem. I’m supposed to be writing a professional, objective piece for Sports Edge , not daydreaming about the man behind the jersey.

“Focus, Abby ,” I mutter, sitting up straighter and shaking my head.

However, my mind refuses to cooperate. Instead, it takes me back to the way Beck’s eyes light up when Jake grins at him after catching that puck. Or how his hand brushes against mine during the tour, sending a jolt of awareness through me.

I’m in deep.

“Mom?” Jake’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s sprawled on the living room floor, building an elaborate Lego fortress while Spotty lies next to him, tail wagging lazily.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Are we going to Beck’s game on Saturday?” His eyes are hopeful, and I can already feel my resolve weakening.

“We’ll see,” I say carefully, trying to sound neutral.

Jake’s face falls slightly, but he doesn’t press the issue.

Oh, Abby. Who are you kidding?

I sigh, saving the disastrous draft and slamming my laptop shut. I need a break. And maybe… I need advice.

“He’s a walking contradiction, Quinn,” I say, pacing my tiny kitchen while my younger sister listens patiently on the other end of the phone. “He’s charming and thoughtful, but I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head.”

Quinn chuckles softly. “Sounds like someone’s falling for the guy.”

I stop mid-step, gripping the phone tighter. “I’m not falling for him.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” I sigh, leaning against the counter. “I can’t let myself go there. Jake’s already attached, and I…” My voice trails off.

“You’re scared,” Quinn finishes softly.

“Of getting hurt. Again.” I swallow hard. “What if Beck isn’t who I think he is? What if—”

“What if he is?” Quinn’s voice is gentle but pointed. “You deserve to be happy, Abby. And so does Jake.”

I blink back unexpected tears, my heart twisting at her words.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.”

Quinn doesn’t push any further, giving me the space I need to process. But her words linger long after we hang up. I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the wall while Spotty paces near my feet, his nose twitching as if he senses my inner turmoil.

“What do you think, Spotty?” I ask softly, running my fingers through his fur. “Is Beck too good to be true?”

Spotty tilts his head, his big brown eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“You’re no help,” I murmur with a weak smile, but the gentle wag of his tail tells me he disagrees.

***

The next day, I take Jake to the local ice rink where he practices on weekends. The familiar chill in the air hits me as soon as we step inside, stirring up memories I’m not ready to confront.

Ethan.

I glance toward the corner where he used to stand, cheering Jake on with that proud, easy smile. The ache is instant, raw, and familiar. I blink quickly, pushing the pain aside.

“Come on, Spotty!” Jake tugs on the leash as our energetic pup pulls us toward the stands. Spotty’s tail wags like a metronome dialed to overdrive, his excitement mirroring Jake’s.

“Easy, buddy,” I murmur, tightening my grip just enough to keep Spotty from dragging me across the ice.

As Jake skates onto the ice, my heart swells with pride—and a touch of sorrow. He’s getting better, faster, more confident with each practice. Ethan would’ve loved this. He’d have been right here beside me, shouting encouragement and grinning from ear to ear.

You’re doing great, Jake.

I hear Ethan’s voice in my head, a ghost of the past that still lingers no matter how much time has passed. My throat tightens, and I glance down at Spotty who’s sitting at my feet, watching Jake with the same intensity I feel.

His tail thumps softly against the floor, his warm, soulful eyes meeting mine.

I force myself to focus on the present, but memories continue to sneak in—our Sunday afternoons after church at the rink, Ethan teaching Jake how to skate, and the laughter echoing off the ice. Jake was little more than a toddler at the time, but he was already skating better than he walked it seems. Ethan was so proud.

I thought I’d buried these emotions, but being back here brings everything to the surface.

Move forward, Abby.

Easier said than done.

***

It’s been a lazy day. After Jake’s practice we spent time picnicking at the park and enjoying Jake’s break from school. I’m not sure where the day went, but it’s already evening and time to settle in.

After Jake is tucked in and Spotty is curled up at my feet, my phone buzzes. I almost ignore it, assuming it’s another email from my editor, but something tells me to look.

Beck: Hey. I was wondering… Would you and Jake like to come for a private skate tomorrow? I’d love to show him a few pointers.

My heart skips a beat. His words are casual, but I can feel the hope laced between the lines. I stare at the screen for a moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Say no, Abby. Keep things professional.

But then I think about Jake’s face lighting up on the ice. About Beck’s quiet patience and easy smile.

I also think about the guarded look in Beck’s eyes when I mentioned my article. He’s been burned before by the media. If I say yes, I’m not just agreeing to a private skate—I’m opening a door that might be impossible to close again.

“What do I do, Spotty?” I whisper, running my fingers through his fur. His tail gives an encouraging thump, almost as if he’s saying, “Take the chance.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I type back a quick reply.

Me: We’d love to. What time?

As soon as I hit send, my stomach flips a little. I’m blurring the lines. And I’m not sure how to stop.

***

The next morning I wake up earlier than usual, unable to shake the mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in my chest. My mind keeps circling back to Beck—his easy smile, the way he looks at Jake like he genuinely cares, and the hint of vulnerability he tries so hard to hide.

I know I should be cautious. I know I should keep this strictly about Jake and the article. But my heart… my heart is already tiptoeing across dangerous territory.

By the time Jake bounds into the kitchen, Spotty on his heels, I’ve made a pot of coffee and gone over a million scenarios in my head.

“Mom! Beck texted me this morning!” Jake beams, holding up my phone. “He said he’s excited to skate with me today!”

My heart squeezes at the joy on Jake’s face. “I know, buddy. We’ll head there after lunch.”

“Can we bring Spotty?”

“We’ll see.” I glance down at the enthusiastic Dalmatian, whose tail thumps in agreement. “If Beck says it’s okay.”