Page 2

Chapter one

Reassess THIS, you prick

Charlie - Present Day

T he plane hits a pocket of turbulence, jolting me awake from a half sleep. I blink groggily, trying to orient myself, the steady hum of the engines a reminder we’re still in the air.

I glance at the kids, still fast asleep. Meadow’s face is smushed against her unicorn pillow, and Noah is sprawled out, mouth slightly open. Their peacefulness makes me smile—so blissfully unaware of the weight of this moment. I envy that innocence, but mostly feel lucky they can rest.

We’re really doing this. We’re really here.

As the plane starts its descent, I can see unfamiliar terrain appearing out the window. A pang of anxiety creeps in, questioning if I’ve made the right choice. Uprooting the kids, moving to a country where we know practically no one, leaving behind the safety net of family and friends. It’s terrifying.

But staying would have been terrifying, too. Staying meant living with constant reminders of a life I’d already left behind, of a marriage that had slowly eroded my confidence.

I think back to that final conversation with my ex-husband, Alex. The way his smirk barely masked his contempt. He’d scoffed, looking at me like I was a child with a fleeting whim. “Go ahead, Lottie. If you think you can make it work, fine. But when you can’t…” He paused, letting the words linger, his tone dripping with disdain. “You bring the kids back, and we reassess. ”

Reassess. As if our lives were just another asset to measure and manage. He’d always made me feel inadequate, like I’d crumble without him. He never believed I could do this on my own. Never thought I was capable of making a life without him.

And that’s exactly why I had to leave. To prove to myself that I can. That I don’t need his approval or permission to build a life worth living.

But the doubts linger, gnawing at my resolve. Doubts I know were cultivated by years of Alex’s voice, the way he’d chip away at my confidence, convincing me I was barely capable of standing on my own.

What if he’s right? What if I fail? What if I can’t give Noah and Meadow the life they deserve here?

I close my eyes and try to dispel the what-ifs. It’s too late for second-guessing. We’re in this, and I have to make it work. For all of us.

As the plane begins its final approach, my thoughts drift to the job that brought us here. It still feels surreal, being headhunted by one of the most prestigious marketing agencies in Denver: Pulse Creative .

I wasn’t looking for a new job. I wasn’t looking for anything, really. I was just trying to survive, to keep my head above water in the wake of my crumbling marriage. And then this opportunity landed in my lap. It felt like the universe was nudging me forward to a new life, where I could finally leave behind the disappointment and doubt, and build something meaningful.

I’m damn good at what I do. Marketing feels like second nature—the creativity, the strategy, the thrill of piecing together a campaign that just clicks. But sometimes I wonder if it’s all a bit hollow, to create desire from thin air and fuel endless consumerism.

Still, there are days when it feels powerful, like I’m creating something that matters, something that can make people feel . Those are the days I live for: flexing my creative muscles, working with amazing teams, sitting in rooms where big decisions are made. Being part of something bigger. That’s what keeps me goi ng.

Pulse Creative isn’t an entirely new world, either. It’s the sister company to the agency I worked for in New Zealand. I met Zoe, who is based here in Denver, through our joint projects and business trips between the two agencies.

Our professional relationship quickly became a friendship, and when she found out about my situation, she pushed for me to come here. She vouched for me, sang my praises to the higher-ups, made the transition seamless. Zoe’s been in my corner through it all.

The plane touches down with a slight jolt, pulling me out of my thoughts. Meadow stirs, blinking awake and rubbing her eyes, while Noah yawns and stretches in his seat.

“Are we here, Mama?” Meadow mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

“We’re here, honey bee.” I smooth her hair and kiss the top of her head. “Welcome to Denver.”

As we make our way off the plane, the reality of our new life sinks in. The airport is a bustling hive of activity, a sharp contrast to the quieter life we left behind.

Meadow clings to me with her small arms wrapped tightly around my neck, while Noah holds my hand, his eyes wide with wonder. “Wow, it’s huge here!” he exclaims. “Where’s the snow?”

“Soon, buddy,” I chuckle. “We’ll see plenty of snow soon.”

After a grueling stretch through immigration and security with two tired kids in tow, we finally reach the arrivals hall, where I quickly spot a familiar figure waving animatedly from across the room.

Zoe.

It’s one thing to have a friendly face greet you in a new city; it’s another when that person has been your biggest cheerleader through thick and thin.

My heart lifts at the sight of her, the first real wave of relief I’ve felt since we left New Zealand. She’s holding up a sign that reads, ‘WELCOME TO DENVER, KIWI & KIDDOS!’ complete with doodles of planes and mountains. It’s so effortlessly Zoe.

“There she is!” Zoe’s grin stretches wide as she rushes over, bouncing with excitement.

She ’s tall, with silky dark hair cascading down her back and a natural tan that is testament to both her Arapaho heritage and love for the outdoors. Athletic and effortlessly beautiful, Zoe’s the type who could hike a mountain one day and run a marathon the next without breaking a sweat. She’s stunning. Even in the chaos of the airport, she turns heads.

Emotion rushes through me as she pulls me into a quick hug, careful not to squish Meadow, who’s still wrapped around me like a koala.

“God, they’re even cuter in person!” Zoe coos, running a perfectly manicured hand through Meadow’s strawberry-blonde hair. “And who might you be, little miss?

Meadow blinks at her, half-shy, half-intrigued, slowly recognizing Zoe from all the video calls we’ve shared. “I’m Meadow,” she says, clutching me tighter.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you in person, Meadow. And you must be Noah!” Zoe holds out her hand for a high-five, which Noah eagerly returns. “You guys ready to see your new home?”

Their excitement gives me the calm I’ve been searching for, the reassurance I need. This is going to work. It has to.

Ever the planner, Zoe has thought of everything. “The car’s just outside, and I stocked your fridge with basics, so you don’t have to worry about anything tonight. Just relax, settle in, and breathe.”

I feel a rush of gratitude. Zoe has been a lifesaver, not just with the move but in the months leading up to it. We’ve known each other for a while through work, but our relationship deepened when she started helping me prepare for this relocation.

I’d confided in her during those late-night business trips, fueled by too much wine and the safety of being far from home. She knows more about my life than most people, and hates Alex with a fiery passion.

“You’re a godsend, Zoe. I don’t know how I would’ve done this without you.” Emotion wells up, and I blink it back.

“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” She gives my arm a gentle squeeze then grabs two of our suitcases. “And don’t worry, Denver’s amazing. We’ll make sure you fall in love w ith it, babe.”

As we step outside, the crisp air hits us. It’s the start of fall here—a stark contrast to the New Zealand spring we left behind. The mountains rise silently in the distance, their presence as steady as ever.

I take a deep breath, letting the newness of it all sink in, though I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something hauntingly familiar about it, too. The last time I was in Colorado was a lifetime ago. Late nights under the stars, a boy with hazel eyes, and a summer that still lingers in the corners of my mind. But I shake it off. There’s no time for old memories now, not when we’re here to make new ones.

This is it. Our new beginning.

***

Jake

The sound of skates slicing through ice has always been my favorite kind of music. The cold air, the adrenaline—it’s everything. Out here, it’s just me and the game, like it’s always been.

Coach is running us through some new drills, mixing things up to keep us sharp. We’re a couple of weeks into the pre-season, and the pressure is already mounting.

Even though I’ve been at this for over a decade, every practice counts. Every moment on the ice is a chance to prove I’m still the guy they can count on, even with younger, hungrier rookies vying for the same spotlight. At 31, I’m technically one of the veterans setting the example. Funny how things change.

Back when I was first drafted, it was all about proving myself, showing everyone that I belonged here. Now it’s about keeping up, staying sharp, making sure I’m still the guy they can count on in the clutch moments.

But as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve started thinking more about what comes next. Hockey has been my life for as long as I can remember, but I know it won’t last forever. I’ve seen guys struggle with the transition, not knowing who they are without the game. And I’ve always told myself that when the time comes, I’ll be ready. That I won’t be one of those guys clinging to the last threads of their career.

But what if I am? What if there’s nothing else I want as much as this?

The thought feels like a bruise that won’t heal, one I keep pressing on, even when I try to ignore it.

That’s not a problem for today, though. Today is about the upcoming home opener, about keeping my focus, and about pushing for a shot at the playoffs.

As practice winds down, I catch sight of Zoe Carlson by the boards with her camera out, capturing footage for the team’s social media. She’s been working with the Colorado Storm for years now, contracted through her marketing agency.

With each season, she’s become a solid friend—the kind who knows when to dish out tough advice or throw in a quick-witted comment to break the tension. She’s sharp, clever, and never lets anyone take themselves too seriously, least of all me.

“Nice hustle today, Brooks,” she calls out.

“Thanks, Carlson,” I say, skating over. “You here for the whole practice?”

“Nah, just the first half. Then I’m off to meet my bestie, she’s just landed here from New Zealand. Pulse poached her for some of their big accounts.”

“New Zealand, huh? Big move.” My words are casual, but hearing that country’s name throws me off guard.

“Right? She’s a rockstar, though she's been through a lot.” She glances at her watch. “Pulse is so lucky to have nabbed her. I’m excited to have her here too, for more selfish reasons obviously.”

I nod, making a small sound of acknowledgment, but my thoughts drift.

New Zealand.

It’s been a while since I thought about that place, or more specifically, a person I knew from there. Charlie. The summer I spent with her at that camp felt like another life, but the connection we shared was rare. Unfinished. We were just kids, but she was unforgettable.

“ Sounds like a good fit,” I say, my mind already shifting back to the ice and the game plan for our next match.

Zoe gives me a quick wave from the stands before hurrying off, and I skate a few more laps to cool down, thinking about what Zoe’s friend must be like. It takes guts to start over somewhere new, to throw yourself into something unfamiliar. That kind of leap feels miles away from the life I’ve poured everything into.

Even as I think that, there’s a restless ache I can’t shake. Most days, I’m satisfied. I love the game, the team, the rush of it all. But lately, it feels like something’s missing. Like I’ve been skating in circles, chasing a future I thought I wanted but can’t quite see anymore.

And sometimes when I least expect it, that ache sharpens into something more. A memory. A question. A fleeting thought about the one thing I never chased. The one thing I let go of.

I shake it off and push harder, burning the edge of the rink like speed alone could drown out the hum of my thoughts. But no matter how fast I go, it always catches up eventually. The nagging sense that the ice, the crowd, the victories—they’re not enough anymore.

The scariest part is, I’m not sure I’m enough for whatever comes next.

As I head off the ice and start peeling off my gear in the locker room, the usual post-practice banter is already in full swing.

Chase Walton is in the middle of recounting some wild night, his grin wide as he exaggerates every detail. “And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any crazier, she pulls out this—”

“Spare us the details, Walton,” Elijah cuts in, shoving Chase’s shoulder as he passes by. “Some of us don’t need to live vicariously through your escapades.”

Chase just laughs, unfazed. “Not all of us are as boring as you, Eli.”

“Boring is what wins games, remember that,” Elijah replies as he drops onto his bench and starts unlacing his skates.

Ryan, our captain, chuckles from his spot by the lockers. “We should let Walton lead the next strategy meeting. See how far his interesting ideas get us.”

“I’m full of brilliant ideas,” Chase says, puffing up in mock pride. “For one, we should definitely be doing more f an events. Preferably in Vegas.”

“You just want another excuse to see that stripper,” I say, tossing gear into my locker.

“And your point is?” he counters. “Come on Brooks, you could use a little fun. You’re too serious these days.”

I shrug. “Serious is what gets us to the playoffs.”

Coach walks in, clapping his hands to get our attention. “Alright, listen up. Good work today, but we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Stay sharp. We’ve got a tough schedule, but if we keep this up, we’ll have a real shot at the playoffs.”

A murmur of agreement sweeps through the room. We’ve got a strong team this year, a mix of seasoned veterans and hungry rookies, and something big feels just within reach.

Coach nods, satisfied, and turns to me. “Brooks, keep leading by example. The rookies look up to you.”

I nod, feeling a familiar mix of pride and pressure. “Will do, Coach.”

As Coach leaves, the conversation shifts to lighter topics: weekend plans, league gossip, and Chase’s endless string of women. The guys are loud and full of energy, like they always are after a solid practice, and I should be right there with them. Instead, I feel a hollow place beneath all the noise, like I’m circling something I can’t quite figure out.

“Brooks, you spacing out?” Chase drops onto the bench beside me with a grin. “You thinking about that sick deke today, or are you just planning your retirement?”

I roll my eyes, chucking my gloves into my locker. “Don’t get your hopes up, Walton. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Ryan calls over. “We need you out there, old man.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not in my grave just yet.” As if in response, my shoulder twinges, a reminder that my body’s not as forgiving as it used to be.

Turning towards the showers, I catch one of the rookies, Logan, watching me with that wide-eyed look of someone who’s still getting used to being here.

“Nice hustle out there today, Pooks,” I say, clapping him on the should er.

He’s just a kid, barely out of high school, and the team immediately dubbed him ‘Pookie’ because of his baby face. He grins tentatively, and it reminds me of that feeling of trying to prove myself. Hell, maybe that’s all I’ve ever done. Prove I belong. Show that I’m enough.

Stepping into the scalding hot shower, Zoe’s words resurface in my mind about her colleague from New Zealand. Just the name of that country thrusts me back into my memories. I try not to dwell on the past much, but a part of me has always held onto my summer at camp. Held onto my memory of Charlie.

Maybe it’s because she was the first person who saw me beyond hockey, who made me feel like I mattered just as I was. But it’s pointless to think about it now. We haven't seen each other since then, and she probably has a life a thousand miles away from anything to do with me.

I try to shake the memories away. The season has just started, and there’s no room for distractions. For now, it’s about the game, the team, and proving that I still belong. Still, as I head out of the locker room, the feeling lingers like a whisper in the back of my mind.

Maybe this season isn’t just going to be about hockey. Maybe there’s something else in store, something I’m not quite ready to face yet.