Chapter 5
five
. . .
The whole town feels brighter after last night’s win.
I wake up still smiling, my lips tingling from that kiss.
Our kiss. The memory plays on repeat while I brush my teeth, make coffee, get ready for my morning lessons.
Even when I’m trying to focus on scales and finger positioning, my mind keeps drifting back to the tunnel.
To his hand on my cheek. To the way he said my name like it meant something.
My students notice immediately.
“Miss Kessler, you’re happy today,” Emma announces during group lesson.
“I’m always happy,” I say, but I’m grinning.
“Extra happy,” Lily clarifies. Or maybe it’s Kayla. They’re both in their color-coded shirts but I’m too distracted to check which is which.
“Did you win a game too?” Rusty asks.
The question makes me laugh. “Something like that.”
I tell myself I’ll see Jude later. That maybe we’ll grab coffee or he’ll text. Something. Anything. But when the day drags by in silence, the glow starts to fade.
By three o’clock, I’ve checked my phone approximately seven hundred times.
By four, I’m trying to convince myself that hockey players are just busy. That he’s probably in meetings or film review or whatever it is they do between games.
By five, I’m driving to the rink.
I tell myself I’m just dropping off the event flyers for the fundraiser. Dad asked me to bring them by anyway. It’s a perfectly legitimate reason to be here. Not pathetic at all.
The lie tastes bitter.
I want to see him.
I push through the main doors and immediately hear the sounds of practice. Skates on ice. Pucks hitting boards. The sharp blast of a whistle. Practice should be over by now, but someone’s running extra drills.
I make my way to the rink windows and spot them immediately. Finn and Jett are racing down the ice, showing off. Dax is working on slap shots. And Jude is out there too, helmet off, talking to Finn about something.
He laughs at whatever Finn says.
But it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I tap on the glass, a small knock that shouldn’t carry but somehow does. Jude’s head turns. He sees me.
The laughter stops.
I wave, trying to look casual. Breezy. Like my heart isn’t suddenly hammering.
He gives a nod. That’s all. One single nod.
Finn says something to him, gesturing in my direction. Jude shakes his head and skates away toward the bench, putting distance between us even through a wall of glass.
My stomach drops.
I wait in the hallway, trying not to look pathetic. Trying not to count the minutes. Other players filter out, heading to the locker room. Finn gives me a sympathetic look as he passes. Jett mutters something about extra conditioning.
When Jude finally walks off the ice, he looks tired. Like someone who didn’t sleep. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and there are shadows under his eyes.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
“Fine.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.
That single word hurts more than it should. More than it has any right to.
I fall into step beside him as he walks down the hall, his skates replaced with sneakers, his equipment bag slung over one shoulder. “You disappeared today.”
“Had a lot on my mind.”
“About the game?”
“About everything.”
He stops walking. Runs a hand through his damp hair. Stares at the wall like it holds answers. “Maybe we should slow down.”
The words land like a puck to the ribs. Hard and unexpected and stealing all my air.
“Slow down?” I repeat, not sure I heard him right.
He exhales hard. Won’t look at me. “You’re sunshine, Soph. I’m not built for that.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out what’s happening. Trying to understand how we went from kissing in the tunnel to this. “Is this because I was cheering? You think I don’t get how intense it was out there?”
“No.” He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “It’s not you. It’s me realizing what this looks like.”
“What what looks like?”
“This.” He gestures between us. “Coach’s daughter. The perfect girl in town. Everyone loves you. And me—”
“You?” I whisper, my throat tight.
He looks down at his hands. Those scarred, huge hockey player hands. “The guy everyone calls a bruiser.”
The word sounds different now. Heavy. Wrong. Like it’s grown teeth.
I reach for his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Jude, that was a nickname, not a label. I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” His voice is rough. Strained. “But you don’t get it. You walk into a room and people light up. Kids adore you. Your dad’s proud of you. The whole town thinks you’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“Close enough.” He finally meets my eyes and there’s something broken in his gaze. “I walk into a room and people brace for impact. They see the guy who fights. Who hits. Who breaks windows and probably breaks everything else too.”
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly. “You’re not who you think you are.”
For a second, just a second, I think he believes me. His expression softens. His shoulders drop.
Then something in him shutters closed. Locks down tight.
“Maybe,” he says. “But I don’t want to find out I’m wrong by wrecking you first.”
He starts to walk away.
I grab his hand, holding on even though I can feel him pulling back. “You’re not wrecking me. You’re making me feel—”
“What?” His voice cracks on the word.
“Everything.”
That freezes him. His whole body goes still. I can see his throat work as he swallows.
Then he gently pries my fingers from his wrist. One by one. Like he’s being careful not to hurt me even while he’s breaking my heart.
“You’ll thank me later,” he says quietly.
I laugh. Can’t help it. But the sound cracks halfway through, splintering into something that’s dangerously close to a sob. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.”
He flinches. Actually flinches like I’ve hit him.
For a moment, it looks like he’ll turn back. His hand twitches. His jaw works. He takes half a step toward me.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he turns and walks into the locker room. The door swings shut behind him with a hollow thud that echoes down the empty hallway.
I stand there too long. Long enough that the hallway lights start flickering, the automatic timer thinking everyone’s gone. Long enough that my eyes start stinging and I have to blink hard to keep the tears from falling.
When I finally move, my legs feel shaky. Unsteady.
I pass Finn in the hallway near the exit. He’s got his gym bag and car keys, clearly heading out. He hesitates when he sees me, awkward in that way guys get when they can sense emotions they don’t know how to handle.
“Hey,” he says carefully.
“Hey.”
“He’s been off today,” he says. “Probably no big deal though.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
Finn gives me a sympathetic half-smile. The kind that says he knows I’m lying but he’s too polite to call me on it. “He likes you, you know. That’s the problem.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“With Blockton?” Finn shrugs. “Nothing does.”
He leaves and I’m alone again in the hallway that smells like ice and rubber and old coffee from the vending machine.
Outside, the parking lot is dark. The first snow is starting to fall again, heavier than last night. Fat flakes that stick to my windshield and melt into tiny rivers.
I pull my coat tighter and head toward my car, fumbling for my keys with numb fingers.
A muffled cheer carries from inside the rink. Someone’s still running drills. I glance back through the glass.
Jude’s on the ice again.
Of course he is.
He’s skating hard. Punishing himself with sprints that would make most people collapse. His movements are sharp, aggressive. He’s practicing defense. Alone. Against no one.
Just him and his demons on the ice.
I watch him for a moment, my breath fogging the glass. He doesn’t see me. Doesn’t know I’m still here.
And I realize this might not be something I can fix with a smile or patience. And music lessons definitely won’t help. This is bigger than a broken window or a missed beat. This is him deciding he doesn’t deserve something good before even giving it a chance.
I whisper, “Come on, Bruiser,” but the glass steals the sound. Swallows it whole.
He keeps skating. Alone under the harsh lights. A lone figure on an empty rink.
And I walk away. I really don’t have any other choice.