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holky

It had been a few weeks since LA, and every morning still felt like waking inside the best dream ever. Chuck and I were golden—always laughing, chirping each other across the locker room, curling up at night like the rest of the world didn’t exist. I was so fucking happy I could barely think straight. Which was probably why it scared the hell out of me when my flip side crept in.

It had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. In high school, it whispered that I wasn’t good enough for a college scholarship. At UMass, it warned me something would go wrong, and I’d lose my spot. In Buffalo, it hissed that one bad stretch would have Criswell shipping me down to the minors.

Now it had a new target. Chuck. And the sick part was, the flip side didn’t say he would hurt me. It said I would hurt him.

Since I’d never had anything this good before, I didn’t know how to keep it. I was sure to say the wrong thing, fuck something up, push too hard, or pull away at the worst time. Sooner or later, I’d break what we had. Hell, I’d probably break him.

The thing is, when you feel this much, the fall doesn’t just scare you. It haunts you. And then it finds you.

* * *

After our workout, Chuck jumped in the shower while I had a Zoom call with my agent to talk through a new endorsement deal. Chuck had already finished when the call ended, which meant I had to shower solo. I made it quick, and after I toweled off and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, I went to find him.

It was unseasonably warm for April, and I found him stretched out on a chaise in the garden. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose in slow, even breaths. Sunlight skimmed across his face, softening the angles and making him look even younger.

He’d picked up meditation from Harpy’s husband, Luca, a professional lacrosse player who swore it made him calmer. It seemed to be working for Chuck too. He looked peaceful and steady, like nothing in the world could touch him.

My stomach clenched, because I was pretty much the opposite. I felt like I was hanging on with string and hope. Although everything should have been perfect, I couldn’t settle. There was a low, persistent hum of doubt I couldn’t shut off.

Since he looked so peaceful, I went back inside. With our final game of the regular season coming up and the playoffs starting a few days after that, things were getting hectic. Chuck had a lot of expectations to live up to since he was on the first line. Add in the attention he was getting as a potential rookie of the year, and he needed all the relaxation he could get.

I went to the living room and lay on the couch, hoping a change of scenery would slow the churning in my chest. Dr. Goodman, my therapist, had suggested I try deep breathing for my anxiety, so I gave it a go. I was feeling a little better by the time I heard Chuck’s footsteps coming my way.

When I opened my eyes, the sight of him hit like a punch and a prayer all at once. His face was soft with concern and glowing with love. With his shaggy hair a windblown mess from being outside, he looked like he’d been up to no good. My heart did something wild inside me.

“Why didn’t you stay out there with me?” he asked.

“Didn’t want to disturb you.” I sat up and patted the cushion beside me. When he eased down, I draped an arm around his shoulders, craving the contact like air. “How are you feeling about things?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Hockey’s hockey, and it’s great. Being with you is a dream come true. But…”

I patted his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s… Is something wrong, sweets?”

I wanted to tell him about my rising panic and the voice in my head whispering we were doomed. He deserved to know I was too damaged to make this work, and that he had no idea what he’d signed up for. But if I opened that door, everything would come spilling out in a mess I couldn’t begin to untangle. He’d listen and do everything he could to help, and I’d smile and pretend to feel better.

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t , because deep down, I was convinced we had a shelf life. It had nothing to do with him. Despite the maddening thoughts, I was happier than I’d ever imagined I could be, and that was the problem.

I was born with a crack down the middle no one could fix, so something inside me had always been broken. No matter how hard I tried to believe otherwise, I knew that flaw was why my mom left and my dad couldn’t stand the sight of me. Whatever was wrong, it made me unlovable in the long run. It always had and always would.

If I had any decency, I’d protect Chuck from that. I’d walk away before I cut him on all the jagged parts of me no one could smooth out. But as selfish as it was, I wanted us to last as long as possible. When it ended, all I’d have were memories, and I wanted enough to survive the fallout.

That wasn’t protecting him. That was clinging like a goddamn vampire, draining him for everything he had, which only proved my point: I was already screwing this up. Yet if telling him what was wrong with me meant speeding up the end, I’d keep my mouth shut and hold on until it all came crashing down.

Desperate to calm his mind, I reached for the best version of Holky I could find and slapped on a smile. “I’m wound up about the playoffs,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

Our gazes locked, and I couldn’t miss the flicker of caution in his eyes. Chuck was smart. I wouldn’t be able to fool him for long.

It broke my heart because I’d put that hesitation in his eyes. I clung to a sliver of hope that this was normal. It was a rough patch, me getting used to the idea of being happy. Maybe if I kept moving forward without looking down, we’d make it over the bump in the road. Maybe we’d be okay.

* * *

We had afternoon practice instead of morning skate because of a scheduling conflict, and it turned out to be our best in weeks because everyone was dialed in. The locker room afterward was all chirps and confident predictions; most of the guys were already tallying up tomorrow’s win against Toronto. Since I was old-school superstitious, I didn’t touch that kind of banter.

Chuck had carried his line during the scrimmage, and he seemed upbeat on the drive home. I could still feel it, though, a low thrum of unease. One advantage of playing Holky all my life was that I was an expert at being upbeat and jokey, so I pasted on a grin and did everything I could to make things feel easy again. It worked, at least a little. He smiled more and even laughed a few times.

We stopped at Wegman’s for groceries, then hit our favorite Chinese place to pick up dinner. Once we got home and put the groceries away, Chuck laid out our appetizers: hot and sour soup, spring rolls, and shrimp toast. We tore into it like we hadn’t eaten in days.

The room was eerily quiet—only the sound of chewing, the occasional slurp, and the distant hum of city traffic outside. We were halfway through the beef and broccoli when Chuck glanced over his chopsticks.

“You looked good at practice.” His voice was casual, but his eyes were alert. “That goal you snuck past Gabe was a real beauty.”

Despite the smile that warmed me all over, the caution in his eyes remained. That broke a tiny piece off my heart, so I forced another grin. “Appreciate that. I was trying to keep up with your chaotic energy.”

He snorted. “You’re welcome for the inspiration.”

I pointed at him with my chopsticks. “You’re basically my muse, one with great flow.”

“Careful,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Complimenting my hair is dangerously close to calling me your sunshine and saying I help you fly.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’m one metaphor away from telling you your love makes me glide across the ice like a swan.”

He muttered into his noodles, “I will physically throw you out the window.”

“You’d miss me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’d finish dinner and move on.”

I chuckled through the sting that comment left behind. He was joking, but something in the way he said it tugged at the frayed edge of everything I wasn’t saying. Was he teasing, or was it a test?

Trying to steer us back to safe ground, I gave him my best chirpy smirk. “Let me put it another way. Your stickhandling’s filthier than a gas station bathroom. And that’s a compliment, in case you’re wondering.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You buttering me up for sex?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe I’m saying I notice you—all of you.”

He looked at me for a beat too long. “You’re amazing too. Better than brownies and ice cream.”

I scoffed. “Okay, that was cheesy.”

“Nope,” he said, still watching me. “That was factual reporting.”

The banter had erased the cautious glint in his eyes, and after we talked about visiting Nana before playoffs began, we went downstairs to watch a movie.

Chuck chose Groundhog Day , one of our shared comfort picks. We always said it reminded us of life on the road: same schedule, different city, rinse and repeat.

After we curled up on a couch, Chuck leaned his head against my shoulder and hooked a socked foot around mine. The movie is hilarious from the get-go, and those first belly laughs felt so good I wished they could last forever. Chuck’s forehead smoothed out and the line between his eyes faded. He became the carefree version of himself I remembered from before I got so weird, nudging me during the dumb parts and shaking with laughter until he wheezed.

Through it all, I watched him. The flickering light from the TV played across his face, catching new details with every shift—the soft curves of his cheekbones, a glint of laughter in his eyes, the slow, sensual promise of his lips. I already loved him more than I could believe, but watching that movie, I fell harder every minute. Chuck was mine. Once, that had made me feel lucky beyond belief; now it felt heavier, like holding something too precious to risk hurting.

As the movie continued, some of my laughter was real. How could it not be with Chuck quoting Ned Ryerson like a lunatic? But too many of my cackles were forced, pasted over the guilt that wouldn’t stop whispering at the edges of my mind.

He deserves better.

My parents didn’t abandon me because they were cruel. They left because I was hurting them somehow . There was no other explanation. When your mom walks away and your dad turns so mean he can’t stand to be in the same room with you, you stop asking what went wrong. You realize the answer was always you.

I didn’t have to guess how this would end with Chuck because I already knew. He’d given me something I’d always wanted, someone who loved and needed me. I wanted to be better for him, but wanting didn’t mean I could be.

He laughed again, and I kissed the top of his head, then closed my eyes and breathed him in. I loved him so much my chest ached, so I made a decision. I’d try as hard as I could for as long as I could, but when I started hurting him worse than I already was, I would let him go. That would be the only way I’d ever be good for him.

He laughed again, then raised his head and kissed my cheek like nothing in the world could hurt us. But I knew better, and I was already counting down.