Page 16

Bennett

I'm leaning against the cool glass that overlooks the rink, watching Zambonis make their last sweep. I’m thinking of Gracie but trying not to. I can’t help where we both are in our lives with our schedules, and I can’t help that the Bunnies come up to me when they think that I’m still single.

"Hey, Halliday, let’s go!" Coach shouts from the ice, but I barely register it. My thoughts are caught in a loop, replaying our last conversation, the one where she said we needed to cool it before we even had the chance to heat up.

With Gracie, it's not just about her looks, although hell, those waves in her chestnut hair and the way she fits into those jeans would make any man stop and stare. It's more than that; it's the charge that zips through me whenever she's close enough to touch.

"Seriously, Ben, it’s time for practice. Let’s go!" Ethan yells, snapping me back to reality.

It's still tough to concentrate when my mind is stuck on Gracie. The way she ended things—it stung.

I get it, though. Fear's a powerful thing. It makes you throw up walls higher than the boards around this rink. Fuck, did it have to be right when I felt that pull? That pull that said, 'Here's someone who might just understand the grind, the pressure, the why behind the late nights at the gym and the early mornings on the ice.'

The entire practice is a blur. I pray to God that we don’t have to run one of those new plays in the game this weekend because I, for sure, will not know what to do.

"Rinkside Tavern, Halliday, you in?" Jackson hollers across the benches, already with a towel wrap around his waist and ready for the showers.

My fingers tug at laces, and I yank off my skates.

"Nah," I mutter.

"Since when do you pass up a chance to unwind with the boys?" Ethan says.

"Since I decided I'm better off chilling at home," I say, slapping my skates into my locker with more force than necessary. The room falls a notch quieter, with my teammates exchanging looks.

"You gotta live a little, man," Ethan adds. They all know something's off, even if they don't know what—or who—it's about.

"Got some Netflix to catch up on," I lie and shed the rest of my clothes and wrap a towel around my waist. Without another word, I walk away from them and into the shower.

Luckily, no ones else talks to me before I’m slinging my bag over my shoulder and walking into the parking lot.

The drive back to my townhouse is a blur of Miami sunshine and palm trees that usually lift my spirits. Today, they're just a backdrop to the replay of Gracie's last words that loop in my head.

Key in the door, I step into the cool air conditioning of my place. I drop my bag by the door, the thump echoing through the empty space. Then I walk over to my living room and fall on the sofa.

I'm sprawled out, staring at the ceiling fan. The blades spin in a hypnotic rhythm, and I can't help but compare their endless cycle to my own routine—practice, home, practice, home.

My phone buzzes. I almost ignore it, but the screen lights up with 'Mom' and pictures of both my brothers crammed into their own frames. I can't dodge this one.

"Hey, Mom. Weston, Cole," I greet, forcing a smile I don't feel.

"Sweetheart, you look like hell," Mom says. Cole snorts in agreement, while Weston just raises an eyebrow.

"Thanks, I was going for the ruggedly handsome look," I quip, trying to deflect.

"Cut the crap, Bennett. You're moping around like a lost puppy. I see that you’re at home which means you didn’t go out with your teammates tonight. So, since when do you turn down a night out with the team?" Cole's blunt, as always.

"Since... it's just been a rough patch," I admit, pushing a hand through my hair.

"Over Gracie?" Weston's tone is softer, but it still stings.

"Could be," I confess, hating how vulnerable it sounds even to my own ears.

"Look, we all know breakups suck," Weston continues, "but you need to snap out of it. You're Bennett Halliday, for crying out loud."

“Shit, we never even made it to a relationship status to call it a breakup,” I shoot back.

"Son, you're allowed to be upset, but don't let it completely derail you. There's more to life than hockey and heartbreak," she adds.

They're right. I know they are. But knowing and feeling are two different games, and I'm losing at both right now.

“Cole and Weston, I need to chat with Bennett a little longer. We’ll see you guys later,” Mom says, and my brothers say their goodbyes, leaving me with just her. I’m staring at Mom's concerned face.

"Mom, I don't think—"

"Listen, there's something about Gracie you ought to know," she cuts me off with that tone that brooks no argument, the one she used when we were kids and tried to get out of doing chores. "She had a rough go with someone before you. It left scars, not the kind that fade."

I sit up straighter on my bed, the soft hum of the air conditioning suddenly too loud in my ears. "Yeah, Gracie told me that her last relationship was not a healthy one. What do you mean, ‘scars’?" My heart clenches tight.

"Her ex-fiancé." She pauses, taking a breath as if bracing herself. "He was quite the charmer, much like you, and he played hockey too, for another team."

"Okay..." I prompt, my mouth dry.

"He wasn't who he appeared to be. Behind closed doors, he was controlling, manipulative. He made her feel small, unworthy. He cheated on her, Bennett, more times than anyone should ever forgive. He had a bad accident, and that’s when it all came out. He broke off the engagement publicly. It was messy, humiliating for her."

"Fuck." The word slips out. I rake a hand through my hair. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"Would you have wanted to bring your hurt back up again when you were just getting to know someone?" My mom's question is gentle but pointed. "It's hard to trust after that, especially with someone in the same spotlight, with similar... temptations."

"I'm not him," I say. I said that to Gracie the other night, but I didn’t realize just how true that is until now.

"No, you're not, but give her time, sweetie. Trust isn't won in a day."