Page 17

17

Stellan

A week has passed since that meeting. A week since I was told to stay away from her .

I still can't get used to it. The silence. The distance between me and Fiona. It feels like I’m drowning in it. I can’t stop thinking about her—about the way her eyes soften when she looks at me, about the way she laughs, the way she feels when I hold her. It’s like I’ve been cut off from the one thing that made me feel alive.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I feel the ache in my chest, the pull to be near her, to touch her. I miss her more than I ever thought possible. And I never imagined it would hurt this much.

But I’m not stupid. I know why I’m doing this. I have to wait. The team, the media, her father—everything is too complicated right now. I’m doing what I’m told, playing my part. I’ll wait until the story dies down, until the heat of it fades. I’ll figure out a way to fight for her. But right now? I have to bide my time.

Coach Phillips has kept me busy—extra practices, tight game schedules. Anything to keep me on the ice and out of my head. And it works, for the most part. On the ice, I can lose myself. Hockey is something I can control. It’s predictable, it has rules, and I know what to expect.

But the moment the game ends, when I’m alone with my thoughts, it all comes rushing back.

I’m in the locker room now, just finishing up my routine after another grueling practice. The sweat is still dripping down my face, my muscles aching from the effort. I strip off my jersey, toss it into my bag, and grab a towel, wiping my face. The guys are laughing, talking about the next game, joking around as usual, but all I can think about is her.

Fiona.

I wonder what she’s doing right now. I wonder if she’s thinking about me the way I can’t stop thinking about her.

“Stellan,” Zyon calls from across the room, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You good, man? You’ve been looking like someone kicked your dog all week.”

I look up at him, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

He eyes me skeptically, clearly not buying it. “Sure, you are. You’ve been distant as hell lately. Is it still the Fiona thing? You need to get over that. I thought it was fake anyway.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “Yeah, something like that,” I mutter, barely able to look at him.

“You sure? Because I’ve never seen you so quiet,” Zyon presses, a grin tugging at his lips like he’s about to crack a joke, but I can tell he senses there’s more going on.

I just shake my head, trying to push the conversation away. “I said I’m fine.”

Alaric chimes in from the other side of the locker room, clearly overhearing. “Come on, man, you’ve been dragging since that hot tub incident. We all know what happened, and you’re doing the right thing, but don’t let it mess with your game. It’s hockey season, remember?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. They’re right. It’s hockey season. I can’t afford to let my personal life screw up my career. But every time I step on the ice, I can feel the emptiness in my chest, the ache for her that I can’t shake.

I grab my gear, trying to ignore the nagging feeling gnawing at me. I focus on the sound of the locker room, the hum of conversation, the clink of sticks and skates. For a moment, I can pretend I’m okay, that everything is fine.

But then I’m alone in my car on the way home, and it all comes crashing back. The silence. The absence of her voice. The feeling that something vital is missing from my life.

The media frenzy is dying down, but the wounds still feel fresh. I keep imagining her—her smile, her laugh, the way she’d look at me when I’d say something stupid. I want to be near her, but I can’t. Not yet.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, taking deep breaths to steady myself. I can’t afford to break. I need to keep it together.

There’s a part of me that wants to text her, to reach out, but I know I can’t. I know my place right now. I’m doing what I’m told—playing the role of the good soldier. I’ll keep my distance, for now. I’ll let her father believe that this is just a phase, that it’s nothing serious. But I’ll never stop wanting her.

When I get home, I throw my bag down and collapse onto the couch. The silence in the apartment is suffocating, and for a moment, I just sit there, staring at the wall, wishing for something to fill the emptiness.

I reach for my phone, but then hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen. I can’t. Not yet.

I miss her so damn much.

I know I have to wait. I know I have to play by the rules, keep my head down. But every part of me wants to fight for her. To fight for us .

I’ll wait. For now. But I’m not giving up. Not on her. Not on us.

Not ever.