Page 6

Chapter six

Colton: Twigs and Trust

I t was just a twig. No reason for my pulse to spike when she stepped in and reached for it. But it did. It was the surprise—her hand in my hair, the soft brush of her fingertips. No it wasn’t.

Riley wasn’t the kid sister anymore. She was close, warm, and confident. And my brain—traitor that it was—chose that exact moment to notice how good she smelled. How her fingers lingered. How much I didn’t want her to step back.

Maybe she could see me as something more than her brother’s screwed-up friend.

I shook it off—at least, I tried to. No reason for that moment I almost kissed her to mean anything. Just proximity. Nerves. The weather. Whatever excuse I could come up with to explain why my pulse was still acting like I’d taken a hit on the ice.

But Riley James was also my handler. Ryan’s sister. And I was a walking headline waiting to happen.

Which made this whole thing complicated.

I pulled onto Main, still trying to reset my head. Just clear it and move on.

Maybe coffee would help. Maybe drills. Maybe anything that didn’t feel like the way she’d lingered, the way my brain refused to shut up about it.

Then my phone buzzed. The notification was lighting up my phone as I pulled into town. Vanessa Carlisle had dropped her article.

"The Fall of Colton Hayes: From NHL Golden Boy to AHL Headache."

Fantastic.

I skimmed the first paragraph as I parked near the diner.

It wasn’t just a rehash of the scandal. It was a deep dive.

It chronicled every bad decision, every late-night party, every time I’d shown up to practice hungover or skipped post-game interviews.

She made me sound like a train wreck. Honestly, maybe I was.

What stung the most was the suggestion that the rescue work was just a PR stunt—"a convenient attempt at image rehab, staged with the help of a quaint dog shelter and one very patient woman."

I clicked off the screen, but the words stuck like gum in my brain. I wasn’t angry. Not exactly. I was tired. Embarrassed. I was suddenly aware of how flimsy my progress felt if one article could knock it off balance.

That was the part I hadn’t prepared for—not the headlines, but how much they’d still sting.

I’d started thinking that trying would make it easier.

If I kept showing up and doing the work, it would start to feel solid.

But maybe change didn’t come with a gold star or some magic switch that flipped the past into something else.

Perhaps this was just how it felt—one step forward, two back. And you kept showing up anyway.

I decided to stop for coffee on my way to practice. I could at least pretend I was doing something normal. But even before I got out of the truck, my stomach was tight. The article had me twisted up.

Decaf it is.

The bell above the diner door jingled as I walked in. The smell of coffee hit me first, sharp and comforting. A couple of regulars were tucked into their usual booth near the window, papers open, coffee mugs half-drained. One glanced up at me, then back down—too fast.

I could feel it starting before anyone said a word. That shift in the room. The quick look. The silence with a shape to it. Like the pause before a faceoff.

I walked in anyway. Pretending I didn’t notice. Pretending it didn’t matter. But every step toward the counter made my stomach tighter. Every step toward the coffee counter felt heavier.

"Did you see the article?"

"Poor guy’s toast. NHL’s not going to touch him after this."

"He’s lucky they let him play down here."

My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Coffee suddenly felt like too much effort. I turned around and left.

I didn’t have a plan. I kept driving, one turn at a time, until the town thinned out and the rescue gates with the Timberline Shelter logo hanging from each side, rose ahead like they’d been waiting for me. I killed the engine, stepped out, and let the air hit me.

Something in my chest settled when I stepped out of the truck. The sting of the article was still there. But this place gives me the quiet I need. After drowning in noise, feel like I can breathe here. This place doesn’t ask for anything from me that I can’t give.

I was hoping for a few moments alone with the dogs. Just to clear the static in my head. But there she was. Riley, crouched near the kennels, checking water bowls. She looked up when I came through the gate.

"You’re supposed to be at practice," she said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

I shrugged. "Didn’t feel like it."

She stood, eyes narrowing. "Let me guess. You read the article."

I scoffed. "Hard not to when it’s half the town’s breakfast reading."

She planted her hands on her hips, but her tone softened. "It’s garbage, Colton. Let it go."

"Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being dragged through the mud for the millionth time."

"No," she said evenly, "But I have to watch you spiral every time someone holds up a mirror."

That stung. I turned away, pacing toward the barn.

I kicked at the gravel, then turned away, pacing. My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. "You think I like this? You think I don’t wake up every day trying to figure out how to fix what I broke? You think I don’t realize how much it screws with people who are trying to help me?"

I paused, waiting for Riley to come back at me with something sharp, maybe a full-on lecture. I deserved it.

She followed, stopping just short of the doorway. "Then stop making it worse. You can’t control what she writes, Colton. But you can control how you react."

That was... unexpected. I kept waiting for the eye roll, the sting in her voice, the part where she reminded me I was proving every bad headline right. But she just stood there, calm and steady.

I ran a hand through my hair.

"I don’t know what the right reaction is anymore. Should I post a denial? Go quiet? Give her more to write about? None of it seems to matter."

"That’s because you’re trying to win a game with no rules," she said. "Vanessa’s going to do what she does. You don’t have to make it easy for her."

I looked at her. Not at the sarcasm or the challenge, but the calm under it.

"What do you suggest then? Just sit here and take it? Pretend like none of this gets to me?

Pretend it doesn’t hurt?"

She hesitated. Let out a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

Gentler. "I’m saying you don’t have to figure it out alone.

That’s what I’m here for. I’m not doing the work for you, Colton.

But I’ll help you make better choices. I’ll be your sounding board. But you have to let me help."

I blinked. Caught off guard. I’d expected anger, judgment. But not this.

"You’d really do that? After everything I’ve said, the way I’ve acted?"

She shrugged, but her voice was steady. "You want to be better? Then let someone help you. Let me help you."

I just stood there. Didn’t know what to say.

I have someone in my corner.

And not because I was scoring goals or selling jerseys. Just because.

Riley wasn’t letting me off the hook, but she wasn’t walking away either. She was standing beside me. No angle. No agenda.

I don’t know what to do with that.

I’m not sure what flipped the switch, but something did. I don’t trust it’ll last, but right now? I like how it feels.

"Hey," I said quietly. "Sorry, I snapped earlier. That wasn’t about you."

She nodded. "I know. But thanks."

I am not sure I deserve her help. But one thing’s clear—I’d be a complete idiot not to take it.

She tilted her head, like she was weighing whether to say more. Then she did.

"Have you told Ryan you're skipping practice?"

I winced. "No."

"Okay, that’s the first thing you have to do."

I shook my head. "Seriously? What am I even supposed to say to him?"

She didn’t flinch. "Tell him the truth. What do you really feel?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. My jaw tensed, and I looked away.

She didn’t press. Just stood there. Still. Quiet.

The silence didn’t feel like judgment. That’s what is throwing me. I am not used to people giving me space without filling it with noise, or walking away.

I shifted my weight. Scuffed the toe of my shoe against the gravel. Anything to avoid saying what was sitting in my chest.

I looked down at the gravel. "I don’t know. Tired. Pissed."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

I shifted my weight. "Embarrassed, I guess."

She didn’t say anything. Just waited.

"I know I should be at practice," I said finally. "But I can't bring myself to walk in there. Not today. I feel like if I do, I won't just let myself down—I’ll drag the whole team down with me."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. Then tell him that. And tell him you came here. Tell him you’re with me. I’ll text him after you do to confirm. I’ll even tell him I think you should spend the day here, with me and the dogs."

I looked at her, stunned. "Why would you do that?"

She gave a small, crooked smile. "That’s what a sounding board does, remember? Helps you make the next right decision."

She reached out, fingers brushing my arm. "I’m heading back to the kennels. Come find me there."

I didn’t move. Not right away.

I don’t know how to respond to that. Or maybe I just don’t want to mess it up by saying the wrong thing

She was still looking at me. But she wasn't hovering. She turned back toward the kennels like she trusted me to follow through.

For once, I didn’t try to come up with a line or deflect. I just nodded and pulled out my phone.