Page 12

Bennett

I'm wedged into an aisle seat of the airplane, knees knocking against the hard plastic tray table, en route to Charleston. My mind isn't on the game ahead; it's on Gracie. The way her hair spilled over the pillow, the soft curve of her hip—it's like a damn watermark on my brain.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" A flight attendant's voice breaks through my reverie.

"Uh, just water, thanks." I manage a half-smile and return to my internal tug-of-war. We've been playing this modern-day version of tag since that night by texting when we can and leaving promises of 'catch you later'. I never wanted a relationship because of this. Time is a luxury I don't have. Yet, she's there, an unexpected constant in almost every damn thought I have.

The plane begins its descent, and I force myself to make the mental shift into game time mode.

A few hours later, I’m gliding across the ice, the roar of the opposing team's fans filling the chilly arena. I pivot, ready for anything the Renegades throw my way.

"Stay sharp, Ben!" Ethan yells. I nod, keeping my eyes on the puck.

The puck flies across the ice and my blade carves a path to intercept it, but a flash of chestnut hair and green eyes sparks in my mind. Gracie. With a shake of my head, I refocus. There's no room for distractions when you're defending your territory against a relentless offense.

The Renegades' forward, Asher Gray, is barreling down on me like a freight train, his eyes locked on our net. I plant my skates firmly on the ice, ready to take the hit if that's what it takes to shield our goalie. The sharp sting of cold air fills my lungs as he gets closer, and I feel every muscle in my body tense up.

"Got your back!" I hear from behind me, but my focus is on the puck, on the Renegade trying to bulldoze his way through. He fakes left, I don't bite. His shoulders drop, and I know he's committing. I step into him just as he shoots, throwing my weight against his. Our pads collide with a loud thud, the force enough to rattle my teeth. The puck skitters away harmlessly to the side, and I can almost hear the collective groan from their fans.

"Nice one, Halliday!" the goalie shouts, giving me a quick tap with his stick. I'm already scanning for the next threat, but a grin tugs at my lips.

I spot Jackson speed skating down to be close enough to claim a pass.

"Go, man, go!" I shout, my voice echoing under the helmet. He doesn't need any more encouragement. Skating backwards now, I watch Jackson weave through the Renegades' defense.

They try to close in on him, but I see the opening before he does. With a flick of my stick, I nudge the puck away from an opposing stick right onto Jackson's tape. It’s all the space he needs. He darts past their number one defender, Ryder Raines, leaving their guys looking like they're stuck in slush.

"Light that lamp!" I holler, watching as he bears down on their goalie, Dakota Miles. Time seems to slow, the crowd's noise fades, and there's only the sound of Jackson's skates cutting into the ice, the slap of the puck as he fires a shot.

The red light blinks on. Goal.

"YEAH!" My fist punches the air. The guys are swarming Jackson, and I'm right there with them, clapping him on the back. There’s a huge rush from setting up a perfect play.

"Great assist, Ben," Jackson says, breathless.

"Teamwork," I reply, and mean it.

The time clock winds down, and we end up pulling out the win by one point against the Charleston Renegades.

The locker room's buzzing with the high of a win, but all I can think about is Gracie. The guys are making plans to hit the bar scene, and I can already smell the victory beers in my head. However, tonight, I'm bowing out.

"Bennett, you got to come out with us. Don't be a spoil-sport," Jackson ribs me.

"Next time," I assure him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Got something I need to do."

Back at the hotel, I flop onto the bed. My phone lights up the dim room, and I swipe through the DoorDash app until I find what I'm looking for—a store that has flowers. Roses? No, too much, too soon. Tulips, yeah, those are friendly... right?

I add in some gourmet candy, because I did learn from our short time together that Gracie's got a sweet tooth. The order form's asking for a message, and I tap out something that feels safe but sincere: "Thought you might like these. - Bennett" It's not poetry, but it'll do.

With a heavy sigh, I let myself sink into the mattress. It's weird, this thing with Gracie. It’s exciting but damn slippery.

I must've dozed off because the next thing I know, my phone's vibrating against the nightstand, jolting me awake. I flip the phone over to see it light up with Gracie's face. I swipe to answer, and there she is with her bright green eyes.

"Hey," I say, propping myself up against the headboard.

"Look at you, hockey star in his natural habitat."

"If by natural habitat you mean a hotel room that smells vaguely of sweat and desperation, then yeah, spot on." I laugh.

She giggles, and I feel a tug in my chest. Her laughter always does that to me.

"I just got your surprise. The tulips are beautiful, and the candy... well, you clearly know the way to my heart."

"Good to hear," I chuckle, rubbing a hand over my face. "Glad they made it to you okay."

"Thank you, really. It was such a thoughtful gesture." There's a pause, and she is biting her lip in that cute way she does when she's moved. "I watched the game, by the way. You were amazing as usual."

"Thanks." It's funny how just a few words from her can make all the bruises feel worth it. "Wish you could've been there."

"Me too," she says softly, and I swear I can feel the distance between us.

"Next home game?" I venture.

"Next home game," she confirms with a smile. "I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to connect sooner," she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Same here," I admit. "The schedule's been brutal."

"Tell me about it," Gracie sighs, leaning back into her couch. "Between meetings and deadlines, I barely have time to breathe."

"Doesn't it suck?" I groan. "People think being a pro athlete, or even working at Holidates, is all glamour, but they don't see the grind."

"Exactly! Like, I love my job, but sometimes I just want to pause real life and have a moment. You know?"

"Totally get it." I nod and she smiles in return.

We fall into silence, comfortable but loaded, each lost in thoughts of 'what ifs' and schedules too packed for spontaneity.

"What would you do if you had a whole day off? No obligations, no expectations," I ask.

Her eyes light up, and it's like I've asked her the million-dollar question. "I'd start with yoga at sunrise, maybe take a long walk on the beach after... I'd read that book that's been collecting dust on my nightstand."

"Sounds nice and relaxing," I respond.

"And you?" she asks.

"Fish," I blurt out, and her eyes open wipe as her eyebrows lift up. "Yeah, I know it's not what you'd expect, but there's something about being out on the water, just me and nature."

"Wow, I wouldn't have pegged you for a fisherman."

"I'm full of surprises, Hogan." I tease, enjoying the way her last name rolls off my tongue.

"Clearly." She laughs, and, God, it warms my heart.

We talk for hours, trading stories and dreams, the conversation ebbing and flowing.

"Gracie," I whisper into the quiet, "this isn't enough."

"Tell me about it," she murmurs back, her gaze piercing through the digital divide. "I wish you were here, Bennett."

"Me too, Gracie," I confess, and it's the most honest thing I've said in years. "Me too."

Her eyelids start to droop. She's fighting sleep, I can tell.

"Hey," I whisper, my voice scratchy with fatigue, "you're fading on me."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and she rubs at her eyes. "No, I'm not," she protests weakly, but there's a heaviness to her voice, betraying her.

"Gracie, it's okay. You had a long day." My own eyelids feel like they're weighted down, each blink slower than the last.

"Did I ever tell you about my first hockey game?" she asks out of nowhere.

"Can't say you have." I nestle deeper into my pillow.

"I was seven," she starts, her words slurring just a bit, "and Dad took me to see the Chicago Blades play since we were living there at the time. I didn't understand the rules, but the energy... it was amazing."

"Sounds like a good memory." My own recollections of early games flood back.

"Mhm," she hums, her green eyes now half-closed. "You were probably out there, weren't you? A young prodigy on skates."

"Something like that." I chuckle, but the sound is muffled by a yawn.

"Tell me something else," she murmurs.

"Like what?" I ask, my eyelids are so heavy.

"Anything," she breathes.

I rack my brain for another story, something light, something to keep this conversation going just a little longer. Although, the room is dark, the bed too comfortable, and her presence, even through the phone, too soothing.

"Gracie?" I mumble, unsure if she's already fallen asleep.

"Yeah?" Her response is faint.

"Goodnight," I say, the word a soft sigh escaping from my lips.

"Night, Bennett," comes her reply, barely audible now, but I don’t hit the disconnect button and neither does she.