Page 36 of In My Hockey Era (Must Love Hockey #1)

brEAKUPS & BAD DECISIONS

Lucy

I stare at the blank cursor on my phone screen, the familiar blue and white interface of my social media app open, waiting. Waiting for me to post something—anything—about tonight’s game. The one I should be talking about, analyzing, breaking down with stats and commentary.

Instead, I’m frozen.

Because the only thing worse than pretending everything is fine… is knowing that everyone is going to ask about him the second I hit post .

I can see it now—the replies, the messages.

Where’s Bennett?

Why aren’t you teasing him tonight?

Is #QuinnWilder over?

I squeeze my eyes shut, stomach twisting.

The thing is, I want to post. I want to lose myself in the sport, in my usual routine, in something— anything —that doesn’t feel like the gaping hole inside my chest. But the moment I try, I can’t.

Because all I can think about is the last game I watched in person, standing in the tunnels waiting for Bennett to come off the ice, his jersey wrinkled from play, his face lit up with that cocky, teasing grin.

The last time we were us .

My throat tightens, and with a frustrated sigh, I toss my phone onto the couch and flop backward beside it, staring at the ceiling.

I was fine before Bennett Wilder.

I was independent, career-driven, unbothered . I didn’t care about relationships, didn’t need to be anyone’s girlfriend, didn’t daydream about things like stolen kisses in hotel hallways or the way his hand felt on my waist when we danced at that stupid gala.

But now?

Now, I feel like I’m standing outside in the cold without a jacket, and the worst part is… it’s my own damn fault.

I was the one who left. The one who said I needed space.

And now, I have it.

And I hate it.

· · ·

I thought time would make it easier. That if I could just get through a few days—maybe a week—without seeing Bennett, without hearing his stupid, cocky voice, without checking my phone every five seconds for a text that wasn’t coming… I’d be okay.

But I’m not.

It’s been a week. A week of silence. A week of pretending I’m fine, pretending I don’t miss him with every breath, pretending that I don’t think about him every time I step into my apartment and remember the way he stood in my kitchen making me dinner like he belonged there.

The ache in my chest has settled deep, a constant, dull pressure that won’t let up no matter how much I try to drown it out with work, with hockey, with Mia’s relentless attempts at distraction.

And tonight? Tonight, it’s winning.

I sit curled up on my couch, knees to my chest, staring blankly at the untouched takeout container on my coffee table. Max rests his head on my lap, his big brown eyes looking up at me like he knows. Like he can sense that something inside me is breaking apart, piece by piece.

I drag in a shaky breath, swiping at the tear that slides down my cheek. I feel hollow. Empty. Like I let go of something I was never supposed to lose.

I reach for my phone before I can stop myself, my thumb hovering over his contact. His name stares back at me, waiting.

Listening to Benson Boone on top volume while ugly crying can only get you so far.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my thumb twitching—then, with a choked breath, I close the screen and drop my phone onto the couch beside me.

I can’t call him.

But I can’t sit here, drowning in this feeling either.

I pick my phone back up and scroll down to another name instead.

Connor.

It rings three times before he answers, his voice groggy. “Luce? You okay?”

I let out a broken laugh. “It’s late, huh?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it.” He pauses, and I can hear the rustling of sheets. “What’s up?”

I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, trying to keep my voice steady. “I, uh…” I trail off, unsure how to say it, how to explain this ache that won’t let up. “I think I made a mistake.”

Connor is quiet for a second. “About what?”

I swallow hard. “Bennett.”

Another pause, this one heavier. Then, softer, “Talk to me.”

My chest tightens, and before I can stop it, the words tumble out in a broken rush.

“I miss him, and it’s stupid because I was the one who walked away.

I told him I needed space, I told him I couldn’t trust him, and now—” My voice catches, and I press my knuckles to my lips, trying to hold it together.

Connor exhales. “Oh, Luce.”

I shake my head, tears slipping down my cheeks faster now. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if I should do anything. But everything feels… wrong. I feel wrong.”

Connor doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets me cry. And I hate it. I hate crying. Hate feeling weak. But something about my big brother being on the other end of the line, steady and unwavering, makes me feel a little less like I’m falling apart completely.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he says finally. “That’s not my job. But I will tell you this—you’re not stupid for missing him.”

I sniff. “Feels like I am.”

Connor huffs a quiet laugh. “Nah. You fell for the guy. Of course you miss him.”

I close my eyes at his words, my heart twisting painfully.

You fell for the guy.

I’ve been avoiding that truth since the second I walked away from him.

Because admitting it? It makes everything hurt even more.

Connor sighs. “Look, I was skeptical at first. I wasn’t sure about him, wasn’t sure if he was worth it. But you want to know what I do know?”

I swallow. “What?”

“That you’ve never sounded like this over a guy before.” His voice is gentle, but certain. “So maybe that means something.”

A tear slips down my cheek.

Yeah. It means something.

I drag in a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

Connor lets out a low chuckle. “Well, step one is probably getting some sleep, because you sound like hell.”

I huff a tired laugh, swiping at my face. “Wow, thanks.”

“Anytime.” His voice turns teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it. “Love you, sis.”

I sniff again, my throat tight. “Love you too.”

· · ·

The wail of the siren fades as Ethan and I push the stretcher into the ER, moving in sync like we’ve done a hundred times before. It’s a simple transport—elderly woman, dehydration, nothing life-threatening. The kind of call we’re relieved to get after a week of chaos.

“Vitals are stable,” I tell the triage nurse as we shift our patient to the hospital bed. Ethan helps adjust her blankets while I hand off the paperwork. A few minutes later, we’re back in the rig, the hum of the engine filling the silence as we sit in the bay, waiting for our next call.

I press my head against the seat and exhale, willing the ache in my chest to disappear.

It doesn’t.

I feel Ethan’s eyes on me before he even says a word.

“So,” he starts, stretching out the word. “You gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you, or do I need to start assuming you have a terminal illness?”

I snort, rubbing a hand over my face. “What?”

“Come on, Quinn. You look like death warmed over, and you’ve been moping around like a kicked puppy for days. Either you’re dying, or—” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Oh shit. It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

I stiffen.

Ethan’s mouth curves into a smug grin. “It is a guy. Jeez, I didn’t think you even had feelings, let alone ones strong enough to make you this miserable.”

I shoot him a look. “Do you want me to kick your ass?”

“You could try, but you’re weak from heartbreak.”

I groan, tipping my head back against the seat. “Ethan. Drop it.”

“Yeah, see, I would , except you’ve been acting weird for weeks . And I don’t like it. You don’t talk about personal stuff, I get that, but whatever this is? It’s eating you alive, Quinn.”

I close my eyes.

I could brush him off. I should . But the weight in my chest is so damn heavy, and Connor’s words from last night are still ringing in my head.

Maybe I need to talk about it.

Maybe I needed someone to call me out.

I exhale sharply. “I broke up with Bennett.”

Ethan lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

I pick at the edge of my sleeve, focusing on the fabric instead of his face.

He watches me for a beat, his expression unreadable. “Why’d you do it?”

“Because he didn’t tell me something. Something big. And when I found out… I panicked. I told myself it was a trust thing, but—” I shake my head, my voice quieter. “I think I was just scared.”

I was upset that he hadn’t told me, we’d shared so many personal details, so to leavethis out felt like a betrayal.

It was more than that, though. Mia’s words and my subsequent epiphany definitelyplayed into my reaction.

I was falling for Bennett—hard and fast—and that was scary.

I’d been on my own for so long, and to open myself up to a man who could hurt me was.

..it was terrifying.So yeah, maybe I’d run at the first sign of trouble.

It was easier than having my heart crushed.

He shifts in his seat, resting his arm along the steering wheel. “You love him?”

I inhale sharply. I don’t answer. I don’t need to.

He sighs. “Look, I don’t do feelings, either. But I do know this—love is the one thing on this planet that makes all this pain and suffering worth it. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared.”

I stare at him.

Of all the things I expected Ethan to say, that wasn’t one of them.

He shifts, looking out the windshield, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

“We see the worst of it, Quinn. Every single day. People in pain. People dying. People losing the ones they love. And yeah, it’s easy to get jaded.

Easy to think nothing lasts, so why bother?

But if you find something good? Something real?

” His jaw tightens. “You hold onto it. You fight for it.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.

I never thought Ethan would be the person giving me relationship advice, but damn it if he isn’t making sense.

I sit with that for a long time, letting his words settle.

· · ·