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Chapter Two

Connor

I thought winning the Stanley Cup would change my fucking life.

But here I am, standing in a bookstore like a goddamn idiot, staring at my best friend's sister, and wishing I could tell her the truth.

How empty the victory felt when I lifted that cup one month ago. How the cameras flashed and the crowd roared, but all I could think about was getting back to her .

Back to my Lucy.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Ethan’s voice slices through the warm, coffee-scented air like a slap shot to the ribs.

Lucy stiffens in her chair. Emma stops pretending to sort books and openly watches, eyes gleaming like she’s just found front-row seats to the drama of the season.

“You’re missing one hell of a party, Luce,” Ethan continues, shrugging off his coat. “You know Mom asked about you. Twice.”

Lucy exhales through her nose. “By ‘asked,’ you mean she cornered people with your travel snapshots from Instagram and used them as hostage material.”

Ethan winces. “The usual damage control. Preston was so upset.”

Lucy rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the way her fingers twist in her lap. Nervous habit. I’ve cataloged all her tells over the years. Goalie instinct kicking in .

I arch a brow. “Your mom’s still pushing that match like it’s 1822?”

Ethan huffs out a laugh. “Hence my sister's strategic retreat to—” he gestures around the bookstore “—her natural habitat.”

Lucy tips her head toward Emma and slides a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the smooth curve of her neck. Distracting as hell.

“Unlike some people, I have taste.”

Emma beams and raises her hands up in the air. “Finally, some respect for my book shop.”

Without looking, Emma slides a to-go cup across the table toward me, like she already knew I’d need it.

I pick it up absently, taking a sip.

Ethan chuckles and turns his attention back to me.

And that’s when I really look at him.

Fuck.

He looks… bad .

Like someone took the guy I’ve known for years and drained the life out of him. He’s paler than usual, thinner, with dark shadows under his eyes.

His expensive clothes don't hide much. This is not the same guy who pulled me aside when I was drafted into the minors, swore up and down that Iron Ridge would be the best damn thing that had ever happened to me.

I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “Jesus, man. You look like shit.”

Ethan smirks automatically, the muscle memory of our friendship kicking in.

"Thanks, Cup Champion .” He rubs the back of his neck. “Guess we can’t all have our faces on cereal boxes now, can we?”

I grin, the most obnoxious one I have. “Yeah, well, I’ve seen that box of Golden Crunch , and I look fucking good on it.”

Lucy groans. “Oh my god, not this again.”

Ethan chuckles, shaking his head. “Man, I forgot how unbearable you are after a win.”

“Just sayin'. Better than Big Mike’s billboard in LA.” I flash my teeth. “Poor bastard’s face looked like it was melting in the sun the moment they put it up.”

Emma snorts. Lucy glares at me, which is probably warranted.

And for a moment, it all feels… normal.

The three of us. The same easy rhythm like it's always been.

Then Lucy stretches, yawning dramatically before locking eyes with the cup in my hand. “Wait, hold up. I just realized something.”

"What?"

"You, Connor Walsh, actual Stanley Cup champion, are standing in my bookstore, at my table, drinking—" she squints at my cup "—what the hell is that?”

I smirk, holding up the bright pink takeout cup Emma handed me. "It’s a Unicorn Mocha Deluxe ."

Emma snickers behind the counter.

Lucy squints harder. “It’s… pink .”

I take another slow sip, eyes locked on hers. “And?”

She leans back in mock horror. “Connor Walsh, you are a fraud.”

I shrug, dead serious. "Best damn drink I’ve ever had. And by the way, it's her book store, not yours."

"Not the point."

Ethan blinks as he looks down his nose at my coffee. "You seriously ordered that, man?"

"Nah," I shrug. "I came here a few weeks ago and Emma took one look at me and said, ‘I know exactly what this man needs.’”

I take a slow sip and exhale with a exaggerated slow satisfaction that has Lucy rolling her eyes.

“And what do you know? She was right.”

Lucy stares at me like I’ve committed an unspeakable crime against masculinity.

And that’s when I really see her.

The messy top knot, the oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, the way her fingers absently toy with the rim of her cup.

She’s beautiful. In a way that’s almost aggravating. Like she doesn’t even realize how stunning she is.

Fuck, I’m so screwed.

I barely register Ethan shifting beside me until he exhales, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Alright," he mutters, standing. “We need to go.”

Lucy blinks. "Go? Go where? You just got here!"

Ethan looks at her, something unreadable flashing across his face. "I'll explain later. And Luce? Maybe call mom back. You'll know about it if her hair starts falling out because of you."

Lucy swears at her brother as I follow Ethan out of the bookshop, the cold Iron Ridge air slapping me in the face. Snow crunches beneath our boots as we head down Main Street, past the storefronts decked out with twinkling lights despite it being the middle of summer.

That's Iron Ridge for you—always ready for winter, even in July.

The streets are quiet tonight. A few locals nod at me as we pass—the Stanley Cup hero treatment still going strong even though it's been weeks since we brought the cup home.

I should be riding this high forever, but something's been off ever since we got home from Vegas.

"Ridgeview?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Where else?" Ethan grins.

I've spent most of the off-season partying—team celebrations, sponsor events, the whole championship circuit. My face is everywhere for fuck's sake. I should be on top of the world.

Instead, I keep finding myself walking past that damn bookshop, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in that armchair in the corner.

Lucy.

She's the one person I've wanted to see since Vegas. The one who's been avoiding me like I'm a power play she needs to kill. All because of that one moment that she initiated.

We turn the corner, and I can see the warm lights of Ridgeview Tavern up ahead. The place where I first landed in Iron Ridge, where Ethan introduced me around when I was already a hockey God.

Fuck, back then I had more nerves than skill.

"Remember when you brought me here my first night in town?" I ask.

"Yeah, you looked like you were gonna puke in Eli's good scotch."

I laugh. "I almost did."

The memory makes me smile… two kids with big dreams. Now I've got a championship ring and Ethan's got... whatever the hell he's got. Yachts. Parties. Investments.

But what I don't say is how I remember Lucy being there that night too. Eighteen, smart-mouthed, with those blue eyes that melted away the pain of my high school break up.

Back then, I still wrote her off as Ethan's annoying little sister.

Now she's all I think about.

Vegas changed everything. One barely-there kiss in a hotel hallway, her back against the wall, my hands itching to touch her. Then she ran, and I've been chasing ever since.

The irony isn't lost on me.

I've finally caught everything I've been hunting my whole career, but the one thing I want most keeps hiding in that fucking book shop.

The heavy wooden door of the Ridgeview creaks open, and the place smells like beer, wings, and victory.

"Well, look who finally graces us with his presence!" Eli's voice booms across the bar. "The pride of Iron Ridge!"

I duck my head, grinning. "Come on, Eli. It's nearly been a month since we won."

It's actually closer to the new season than it is to last season now. Not that you would know it looking around the damn place.

"Don't 'come on' me, Walsh. That save in game four? Pure poetry." Eli's eyes twinkle as he grabs two glasses. "Your usual booth's open. Take a seat, Champion, and I'll bring you your beers."

Ethan and I slide into the worn leather seats. Above us, three different games play on mute, the scores from the summer European leagues scrolling across the bottom of the screens. The golden glow from the pendant lights catches the condensation on our glasses as Eli sets them down.

"To the Cup champ," Ethan raises his beer.

I clink my glass against his. "Look at us now, huh? Remember when you had to teach me which fork to use at those fancy dinners your parents invited me to?"

"Remember when you thought a power play was something you did with the light switch?" Ethan shoots back.

"Fuck off." I laugh. "At least I knew what ice was. You spent half your time worried about scuffing those Italian loafers you loved."

"Hey, those loafers got you into all the right parties."

"Those parties almost got me traded." I take a swig of beer and laugh. "Your sister saved my ass that night, talking me out of punching that asshole from the Eagles."

"Lucy's got a talent for damage control." Something dark flickers across Ethan's face, but he does well to school it before I can look too much into it. "Always has."

The mention of Lucy's name hangs between us, heavy with everything I want to tell him.

That his sister has been driving me crazy for years. That I've been fighting this thing since she stormed into the Icehawks, back into my life every goddamn day again.

That I'm not just pretending anymore, and it scares the shit out of me.

But Ethan's my oldest friend in Iron Ridge, and there are lines you don't cross. Even when you want to. Even when you've already started to.

I focus on my beer instead, watching the foam slide down the glass.

The conversation lulls for a moment, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I can feel the weight of what I'm not saying.

"You really had to bring me out for a drink just to roast me about my luxurious life?" I lean back, arms stretched across the booth. "Hate to break it to you, brother, but my offseason isn't just a revolving door of women like yours."

Ethan smirks, doesn't buy it for a second. "No? Come on, man. You could have anyone."

I force a chuckle. "Right. That's me. Living the dream."

Except the only girl I want is completely off-limits.

Lucy's face flashes in my mind—that smile she gives me when she thinks she's won an argument, the way her eyes light up when she's excited about some new design project for the team.

Ethan keeps watching me, head tilted. "Okay, so if it's not the models, what are you doing? Training? Relaxing? Counting your millions?"

"Trying not to get tackled every time I leave the house," I joke, but it's only half true.

"Are you telling me you're getting bored of the spotlight?"

"I think my face on a billboard is enough attention for a lifetime," I reply dryly.

"I bet. But, hey... could be worse. You could be one of those guys who's secretly in love with the wrong girl."

My beer freezes halfway to my mouth.

Ethan laughs, but there's a weight behind it. I know that laugh. It's the one he uses when he's trying to hide something. I've heard it too many times not to recognize it.

Ethan grins. "Relax. I was joking."

"Yeah. Sure." I force a laugh that sounds like a goalie mask scraping against concrete.

He doesn't know. He can't know.

I take another swig of beer, longer this time, hiding behind the glass while my pulse settles.

Ethan's always been perceptive, but there's no way he's figured this out. He hasn't been around to see it. I have been careful. Well, except for that moment at the bookstore today.

And Vegas.

And every single time we're in the same room together.

Shit.

Ethan finishes his drink in one long gulp, stretches his arms over his head, and drops the next bomb.

"Anyway, I might need your help with something soon."

I lean forward, intrigued. Finally, something to focus on besides Lucy.

"Help with what?"

Ethan hesitates. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Ethan exhales, running a hand through his hair. The gesture makes him look older, worn down. "I think I need to keep a low profile for a bit. And soon, it will be useful to have someone I can trust."

I lift a brow. "Low profile? What, are you on the run?"

Ethan laughs, but it doesn't sound right. "Just... some business stuff. Nothing crazy."

I narrow my eyes, studying Ethan's face. Something's off. The Ethan I know doesn't do 'low profile.' He does champagne towers and private jets and brags about them on his feed.

"Is everything alright?"

Ethan shrugs, tracing the rim of his empty glass. "Just need a break from the scene. Thought I'd hang around Iron Ridge for a while."

"For a while? Like, more than a weekend?"

"Yeah. Got a problem with that?" His tone shifts to defensive and he gives me the once over. "Besides, someone needs to keep an eye on my little sister. Seems like she's been hanging around the wrong sort lately, huh?"

The way he says it—with that pointed look—makes my stomach clench.

"No problem at all, man. It'll be good having you around again." I signal Eli for another round. "Actually, now that you're staying, you should come to the charity auction at the season launch next week. The team's raising money for Blake's youth hockey program."

"Charity auction?" Ethan perks up slightly. "Like, the one where they auction off the players for dates?"

"It's not a date," I correct him quickly. "It's a 'fan experience package.'"

Ethan's laugh sounds almost normal this time. "Right. And how much did you go for last year?"

"Fifteen grand," I admit. "But it was for charity."

"And who was the lucky winner?"

I grimace at the memory. "Senator Wilson's daughter. We toured the arena and had dinner at Vincenzo's."

"Sounds romantic," Ethan teases.

"It was excruciating . She asked for my autograph on her arm in permanent marker. Pretty sure it's tattooed there now."

Ethan shakes his head and sets his empty glass down with a soft clink .

“Well,” he drawls, smirking as he stands. “Guess if someone bids on you at the auction this year… it’ll keep you from making my sister your personal recliner again.”

He stands, tossing a few bills on the bar before slapping my shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Walsh. Catch up again soon."

And just like that, I've gone from he can't know, to…

Shit. He fucking knows.