3. Breck
3
Breck
My gaze drops to the welcome mat as I stumble onto the front porch of the hockey house. Birdie made the mat for us last Christmas, and it proudly reads: “We’re probably at the rink.” The backup one, currently stashed in the coat closet, is my favorite, though. “We’re a little hockupied.” Classic Birdie.
It’s like a full on assault to the senses as I push my way inside. The clatter of cabinets from the kitchen mixes with the faint buzz of the TV, and the scent of stale sweat hangs thick in the air like a permanent resident.
The living room is its usual disaster zone—pizza boxes stacked precariously on the coffee table, Xbox controllers tangled in a nest of cords, and at least three different textbooks being used as coasters. Home sweet home.
"Honey, I'm home!" I call out, wincing as I toe off my sneakers. Fuck me, Greer and that other chick really put us through the wringer today. My legs feel like overcooked spaghetti.
Micah emerges from the kitchen, a protein shake in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. "Dude, you look like shit."
"Thanks, man. Really feeling the love," I grumble, but can't help the grin tugging at my lips.
Before I can take another step, a furry missile launches itself at me. Bauer, our team's unofficial mascot and resident good boy, nearly knocks me on my ass with his enthusiastic greeting.
Jett found him abandoned as a puppy, and we all swore we’d just keep him until we could get him to the shelter. But, of course, that plan went out the window the second he gave us those big, sad eyes. We’d fallen in love. So, now he’s just ours.
"Down, boy!" I laugh, scratching behind his ears. "I missed you too, buddy."
I squat down to his level, the temptation to just collapse and claim this stretch of floor almost too strong to resist.
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing over there, Monroe?”
I grin up at Micah, hiding the fact that I have come to an unfortunate conclusion: I might not be able to get back up.
“Dying, I think,” I reply, not bothering to move.
“Stop being so dramatic.” Micah walks over, extends a hand, and helps me up.
“Just leave me here to die,” I groan.
“Good God, man. Get up.”
I give one last dramatic groan, but Micah’s already tugging me to my feet. My legs have gone from cooked spaghetti to stone. I whimper as I gauge the distance from here to the couch. How much shit would the guys give me if I crawled over to the couch instead? Too much? Or just enough to be funny without stopping me from actually doing it?
I’m not sure it will be worth it, though. I’ll be forced to faceplant on the rug. And, while it might be cool as hell—it’s designed to look like an ice rink—it’s uncomfortable as fuck.
Jett's sprawled across the three-seater, his lanky frame taking up way more space than should be physically possible. He barely looks up from his phone. "What took you so long?"
I collapse into the nearest chair, groaning as my muscles protest. "Well, hello to you too. I think I pulled muscles I didn't even know I had."
Axel emerges from the kitchen, a comically large sandwich in his hands. "I bet he was sticking around hoping to catch a glimpse of that figure skating chick he was drooling over." he says, waggling his eyebrows.
I can’t fight the stupid grin that spreads across my face. I’d pestered Greer until she finally cracked and told me her name—probably just to shut me up.
Delaney.
It suits her, somehow. Elegant, yet sharp—like a blade hidden in silk. I can still see her in my mind's eye, all grace and power as she glided across the ice. Those intense green eyes, focused and determined. The way her blonde hair caught the light as she spun...
"Earth to Breck," Axel's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You're staring into space like a lovesick puppy. Don't tell me you're actually crushing on the ice princess."
I snap back to the present just in time to hear Birdie’s voice from the kitchen. "Who’s Breck crushing on, and why don’t I know about it?"
"What's cookin', good lookin'?" I call out, wincing as I haul myself off the chair. My muscles scream in protest but I’m not about to leave my bestie hanging. I shuffle toward the kitchen, my steps slow and stiff, like an old man trying to make it to the mailbox.
I’m not surprised to see Birdie, Jett's sister, is bustling around the small space. Her back is to me, petite frame dwarfed by the massive fridge she's restocking.
Birdie rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile. "Nothing you'd appreciate, Breck. These are actual vegetables, not just ketchup on your fries."
I clutch my chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Birdie. I'll have you know I ate a whole apple yesterday."
"Impressive," she deadpans, sliding a container of what looks like grilled chicken and quinoa onto a shelf. "Next thing you know, you'll be eating kale without complaining."
Jett snorts from his perch on the kitchen counter. "Yeah, when hell freezes over."
I peer into one of the containers, my stomach growling. "Seriously though, what've we got this week? Please tell me there's at least one cheat meal in here."
Birdie sighs, but there's fondness in her exasperation. "Fine, I snuck in some of that protein-packed mac and cheese you like. But the rest is all lean proteins, complex carbs, and yes, lots of vegetables."
"You're an angel," I grin, snagging the mac and cheese container. "A tiny, bossy angel, but an angel nonetheless."
I take a deep breath and try to lower myself onto one of the stools at the counter, but my muscles protest every inch of the way. I feel like I'm auditioning for an old folks' home. The stool groans under me, and I can’t help but wince when it feels like the thing might collapse beneath my weight.
“Jesus, Breck, you look like you’re trying to sit on a cactus,” Birdie snorts, a teasing glint in her eyes as she grabs a bottle of olive oil from the shelf. “Did the ice princess break your ego or your spine?”
I laugh through the discomfort, attempting to adjust myself on the stool. "Greer’s a sadist," I mutter, gritting my teeth as I find a less painful angle.
Birdie snorts, clearly trying to hide her amusement. "I’ll give you that one. She’s a hard-ass, but I’m certain you’re the one who kept begging for more."
"I don’t beg," I say, pulling the best sulking expression I can muster. “Even if I am a glutton for punishment.”
"That’s for sure,” Birdie says with a wicked smile, placing another few containers into the fridge. “So, who’s this mystery girl?”
My face heats up before I can stop it. "Her name’s Delaney," I mumble, not really wanting to admit how much I’m thinking about her.
Birdie gives me a knowing look, the corner of her mouth quirking up in that mischievous way of hers. “Delaney Quinn, huh? You’ve got good taste, Breck. She’s a catch.”
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “You think so?” I mumble, trying to play it cool, but failing miserably.
“Of course I do," she says, her voice softening.
I try to brush it off, but it’s hard not to smile. “We’ll see. She’s… different.”
Birdie shrugs, clearly not convinced. “Well, you're definitely not lacking in charm. You’ll figure it out.”
I snort, shaking my head. "I’ve got charm, huh? Guess I’ll add that to my list of talents."
Birdie grabs a dish towel and wipes her hands, stepping over to where I’m sitting. "You’re a catch, Breck. Trust me, Delaney’s not going to be able to resist."
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Birdie. You’re a good friend.”
She raises an eyebrow as she sets the towel down. I shift in my seat, trying to lighten the mood. “This is new.” I gesture to the delicate embroidery along her collar. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” Birdie says, smoothing the fabric with a smile. “I’ve been experimenting with some new stitches and I really like how this one turned out.”
I grin, admiring the detail. “Is there anything you're not good at, Bird?”
She looks at me with a sly smirk. “Picking men.”
I laugh, nodding in agreement. “True. You do have shit taste. I mean, you picked me as your bestie.”
Her expression turns exaggeratedly mournful. “And I regret it every day.”
I gasp in mock horror. “I. Am. Wounded.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “You’ll be fine.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile on her lips. “Alright, dork. I need to get out of here. I’ve got a million things to do.”
I dig into my pocket, pulling out one of the lemon candies I keep stashed there–and, well, everywhere. As soon as I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth, Birdie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’ve been carrying those around the whole time?”
“Always,” I say, popping another one into my mouth for good measure. “Gotta keep the stash stocked. You never know when you'll need a quick sugar fix.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Where else do you hide them? Under your pillow? In your gym bag?”
I give her a mock serious look. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She snorts. “You’re a weird one, Breck.” Then, with a final roll of her eyes, she grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder. “Alright, I’m heading out. You’re on your own for dinner.”
“But your food’s so much better than mine,” I whine, pouting dramatically.
Birdie just laughs, swatting me away. “You’ll survive. I only prep your planned meals. Cheat days are on you boys.”
“Fine,” I say, stepping up to her and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Thanks for the food, you’re a lifesaver.”
Jett immediately gags from behind me. “Gross. Can you guys not?”
Birdie shoots him a playful middle finger as she heads out the door, laughing all the way. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I flash her a grin before she leaves.
The moment the door clicks shut, I make my way back to the couch, body protesting every movement. I flop down onto the cushions with a groan. “I’m not leaving this spot for the next few hours,” I mutter.
I've barely sat still for five minutes and my daydreams are already drifting back to my dream girl. Delaney. I can't stop thinking about her. It's like she's somehow etched herself into my brain. There’s something about her—something I can’t shake.
I’ve had crushes before, but this... this feels different. More intense. More real. It’s not just her beauty, though that’s enough to make my heart skip a beat every time I think about her. It’s the way she moves, the way she is .
Do I sound crazy? Maybe. Is that gonna stop me? Probably not.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing my laptop from the coffee table, ignoring the curious glances from my roommates. They don’t need to know.
I open my browser and pull up the university's athletics page. It takes me all of thirty seconds to find the figure skating team roster. And there she is: Delaney Quinn. Her official photo doesn't do her justice, but it still makes my heart skip a beat.
“Uh-oh. Breck’s up to something,” Axel teases, looking too smug for his own good.
“Bet he’s watching game footage again. Dude doesn’t know how to turn it off,” Micah adds without even glancing up from his phone, his voice dry like always. He's never been much for drama or excitement—especially not since she-who-shall-not-be-mentioned.
"Whatcha doing there, Breck?" Jett asks, peering over my shoulder.
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, but I try to play it cool. “Nothing,” I say, adjusting the screen so he can’t quite see.
But, Jett’s like a dog with a bone. He leans in further, eyes narrowing as if he's trying to get a better look. “Come on, man. What the fuck are you hiding?”
I exhale a frustrated breath, swiping my hand in the air like it’s no big deal. “It’s just a roster,” I mutter, half-heartedly, as I try to focus on closing the window, but my fingers betray me.
He lunges across me for the screen, and I smack his hand away, but he’s quick—grabbing at it again. I slap his hand once more, and he grins like a damn idiot. I'm ready to wrestle the laptop away from him, but it’s too late.
"Holy shit, are you stalking that figure skater?"
I feel my cheeks heat up. "It's not stalking if it's public information," I argue, but even I can hear how weak that sounds.
Micah snorts. “Sure, bud. Keep telling yourself that.”
I throw Micah a glare, but it doesn’t stick. I want to know everything there is to know about this girl. Her favorite books, her hidden quirks, the little things that make her laugh when she thinks no one’s paying attention. Does that make me a stalker? You know, actually it might.
The thing is, I can’t stop.
Before I know it, I’m pulling up videos of her past performances. There’s one from last year’s regionals, another from a showcase in high school. I’m so deep in my search that I don’t even care if Jett can see at this point. I’m too damn invested.
Jett leans in again, his voice dripping with amusement. “Bro, you’re looking up ice princess’s greatest hits? That’s next-level simp behavior, even for you.”
I barely register his words. “Shut up,” I mutter, my eyes glued to the screen as Delaney floats across the ice, her every move mesmerizing. It’s like she’s got me in some kind of trance, and I can’t break free.
"Goddamn, dude,” Micah adds, his voice light but with an edge of mockery. “I mean, what’s next, Breck? Are you gonna show up at her practice with a bouquet of flowers?”
I feel the heat rush to my face, but I keep scrolling. I’m dimly aware that I’m acting like a complete fucking psycho stalker. There’s just something about Delaney that’s got me hooked, and I’m not sure I want to fight it. Maybe it’s the way she moves, or maybe it’s just her. I don’t know. But the more I watch, the more I need to know about her.
Axel's laughter cuts through my thoughts, and I glance up to see his smirk. “Jesus, man, you’re really deep in it now. Should we be worried about you stalking her dorm next or just wait until you’re sending her poems and buying a matching set of coffee mugs with her name on it?”
Axel’s laughter cuts through my thoughts. “ Do we need to warn her or should we just wait until you’re making hair dolls and planning your wedding to a girl you’ve never even spoken to?”
I roll my eyes. Axel’s got this whole playboy vibe, always bouncing from girl to girl like it’s his full-time job. The guy’s a walking one-man highlight reel when it comes to campus hookups. They don’t call him campus catnip for nothing.
If there’s a girl on this campus with a pulse, Axel’s already in her DMs before she’s even noticed the other players. But this thing with Delaney? This is different. But, Axel’s never been stuck on anyone, never been serious about anything except his next hookup. He doesn't get it. He'll never get it.
I refocus on the screen, ignoring the growing chatter from my best friends. I’m too deep into this rabbit hole now to stop.
I need to understand this sport. I need to understand her.
“Axel… Salchow… Lutz,” I mumble under my breath, trying to make sense of the moves I’m seeing. I feel like I’m speaking a new language, one I’m desperate to master.
“You having a stroke over there?” Axel asks, eyebrows raised.
“No,” I snap, though I’m only half-listening. I’m too busy Googling what the hell an axel is. “Just trying to learn something.”
“You really Googling ice skating moves now?” Jett asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is a new low, Breck.”
I flip him off without looking away from the screen. "Fuck off, Hawkins. Don't you have some weights to lift or something?"
But I barely pay attention to Jett’s retreating laughter. He’s always got something to say, especially when it comes to me and my “sensitive” side, but he’s not as bad as Axel. Jett doesn’t date either—he fucks around plenty, but dating? Nope. He’s more the type to keep things casual, no strings attached. He’s got a certain coldness about him when it comes to women.
Micah’s a different beast altogether. He’s of the belief that girls are good for one thing and one thing only—and that's not a topic we ever bring up around him. It’s like he’s got this rulebook for relationships, and it’s one that doesn’t involve anything that might require emotional investment. After he went through the world's shittiest breakup last year, he’s been Mr. Commitmentphobe. I can’t really blame him, though. The guy poured everything into that relationship, only to have it end in disaster.
Micah leans forward, catching a glimpse of yet another of Delaney’s programs on my screen. "Dude. This is straight up stalking. You haven’t even talked to this chick.”
I roll my eyes, but Micah’s not wrong. The idea of actually speaking to her seems impossible. Hell, even thinking about it sends my heart into overdrive.
I ignore him, focusing on the next video of Delaney performing a jump. My heart races as she lands, flawless. Perfect. She’s a goddamn masterpiece in motion. And I can’t get enough of it.
“Can’t I just appreciate a fellow collegiate athlete without the third degree?”
"If you say so," Axel chimes in, clearly unconvinced. "But I think you're more interested in studying her ass -ets than her skills, if you know what I mean."
The guys burst into laughter, and I feel my cheeks heat up. They're not entirely wrong, but it's more than that. I can't explain it, even to myself, but watching Delaney skate awakens something in me. A hunger, a curiosity, a desire to know more.
"Whatever," I say, unpausing the video. "You guys can chirp all you want. "But I’m telling you, there's something... magnetic about her. And it's not just because of how she looks.” My voice trails off as I catch another clip of Delaney spinning midair, her form a beautiful blur before landing perfectly.
The room falls quiet for a second, and I know the guys are exchanging looks. I don’t even care anymore.
Axel sighs, like he’s given up on trying to crack me, but I can hear the amusement in his voice when he finally speaks again. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what has yo so mesmerized, then. Screencast it so we can all see.”
I flip him off without looking away from the screen. "Fuck off.”
“Nah, I’m serious. You’ve been glued to that screen for what, like an hour now? You’re making us all curious. Screencast it, man.”
I groan, finally giving in. “Fine, fine, happy?” I hit the screencast button and the video I was just watching pops up on the TV. “There. Happy now?”
“Very,” Axel says, practically smirking through the screen. “Now, show us what’s so special about this girl.”
I glance at the video, Delaney performing another flawless spin, her movements graceful and fluid like she's not even trying. My chest tightens at the sight. There’s no denying it. She’s good, damn good.
“Watch this part," I say, voice unsteady despite myself. I hit play. Delaney jumps, spins in the air, then lands with perfect precision. The sound of the blades cutting the ice echoes in my mind even after the video ends.
Micah leans in, watching closely. “Huh,” he mutters, eyebrows furrowed. "She’s definitely got skill. I’ll give her that."
“You guys could learn something about grace on the ice."
"Oh, we're learning something alright," Jett chuckles. "We're learning that our boy Breck here is simping hard for the ice princess."
"Fuck off," I grin, throwing a pillow at his head. "You're just jealous because you move like a constipated moose on skates."
The guys laugh, but I can see the gleam in their eyes. I know I'm in for some serious ribbing, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when Delaney's doing something called a 'layback spin' that has me mesmerized.
I can't tear my eyes away from the screen as Delaney glides into a jump, her body twisting gracefully in the air before landing with perfect precision. My teammates' banter fades into background noise as I lean forward, completely captivated.
Jett's voice finally breaks through my trance. "You're drooling, bro."
I wipe my mouth reflexively, then scowl when I realize he's messing with me. "Shut up," I mutter, but there's no real annoyance behind it. I'm too fascinated by what I'm seeing.
As I watch Delaney nail another impossibly difficult-looking move, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to see her perform in person. To talk to her, to learn what drives her. The thought sends a thrill through me, and I know I'm in deep.