Puck Me, I’m Yours (Hawthorne University Hockey #1)

34. Delaney

34

Delaney

The rink hums with the energy of final preparations, the collegiate championship is just a couple days away. But I tune it all out. My focus narrows to the rhythm of my breath, the extension of my arms, the power in my legs. This is my moment, and I’m ready to own it.

"Keep those lines clean, Quinn!" Coach Simone’s voice cuts through the crisp air.

I don’t flinch. Instead, I push harder, driving into the next combination. The edgework is flawless, the jumps effortless. I’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to falter now.

But as I transition into my layback spin, I catch sight of him in the bleachers. Breck.

He’s leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, watching like he’s memorizing every move. It doesn’t rattle me. If anything, it fuels me. My body responds to the quiet confidence in his gaze, the unwavering belief he has in me.

I was an idiot. I let my past, my baggage, get in the way of the truth. Breck is the best man I've ever known. He has never done anything to make me question him or how he feels about me. He has always been here, right here, every step of the way. I mean, the man learned every figure skating term there is. He knows the program requirements. He memorized my routine. For me.

The routine ends with a powerful flourish, my skates coming to a sharp stop at center ice. My chest heaves, not from exhaustion but exhilaration.

"That’s the energy I need," Coach Simone says, nodding approvingly. "Keep it up."

I nod back, my lips curling into a satisfied smile.

In the bleachers, Breck stands and claps, a slow, deliberate sound that echoes through the rink. "That’s my girl," he mouths.

After practice, I head to the changing room, only to find him waiting just outside, his familiar hoodie pulled up against the chill of the rink.

"You didn’t have to come," I say, though my smile betrays how happy I am to see him.

"Of course I did," he replies, pulling me into a hug. "One last cheer session before we both take off."

His warmth seeps into me, grounding me. We both know what’s ahead—separate arenas, different cities, huge stakes. But for now, we’re here. Together.

"You’re going to kill it out there," he says, his hands cupping my face. "I wish I could be there to see it."

"And I wish I could be there for you," I reply, my voice soft.

Breck stands, stretching his tall frame. "Well, how about we head back to the house and I'll cook you something to help clear that pretty head of yours?"

"You? Cook?" I tease, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I know you can bake but I thought your culinary skills were limited to protein shakes and cereal."

He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I make a mean grilled cheese. It's practically gourmet."

I can't help but laugh, the tension from practice melting away. "Alright, Chef Monroe. Lead the way."

As we walk towards the exit, Breck's hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with mine. It's such a small gesture, but it grounds me, reminding me that no matter what challenges lie ahead, we're in this together.

"So," I say, glancing up at him, "what's on the menu tonight? Gourmet grilled cheese?"

Breck grins, that mischievous glint in his eye. "That, my love, is a surprise. But I promise it'll be better than anything the team nutritionist has ever forced on us."

I snort. "That's not exactly a high bar, Breck."

"Hey, have a little faith," he chuckles, squeezing my hand. "I might just surprise you."

I can't help but feel a wave of contentment wash over me as I climb into his truck. Tomorrow may bring challenges, but tonight, I have Breck, a questionable meal, and the promise of a quiet evening together. And really, what more could a girl ask for?

I settle onto the worn leather couch in the living room at Breck’s, my muscles aching from practice but my heart full. Breck plops down next to me, his warmth radiating through his Hunters sweatshirt. The scent of lemon and cedarwood envelops me, and I bury my face in it.

"Del," he starts, his voice softer than usual. "I hate that I can't be there for your championship."

I sigh, leaning into him. "And I wish I could watch you dominate the Frozen Four."

"It sucks," he says bluntly, running a hand through his hair. "We've worked so hard, and now..."

"Now we're living our dreams, just... separately," I finish.

Breck nods, his warm brown eyes meeting mine. "But hey, I've got something for you. A way for me to be there, even when I'm not."

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh?"

He reaches behind the couch and pulls out a water bottle. But not just any water bottle. This one is covered in... tiny Breck faces?

"Ta-da!" he exclaims, holding it out proudly. "Now you can have me cheering you on during every hydration break!"

I burst into laughter, taking the bottle from him. It's ridiculous and sweet and so perfectly Breck that I feel my heart might burst. "You're such a dork," I manage between giggles.

"Yeah, but I'm your dork," he grins, that crooked smile that never fails to make my stomach flip.

I examine the bottle closer, noticing different expressions on each little Breck face. "Did you seriously make different faces for this?"

He shrugs, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. "Maybe I got a bit carried away. But now you've got supportive Breck, proud Breck, 'holy shit that was an amazing move' Breck..."

I shake my head, overwhelmed by the gesture and the deep, unending love I feel for this man. "This is... God, Breck. It's perfect."

I set the water bottle down and take Breck's hand, my fingers intertwining with his. "You know," I start, my voice soft but steady, "as much as I love this, I don't need your face plastered on a bottle to know you're with me."

Breck's expression softens, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. "Yeah?"

I nod, feeling a surge of emotion in my chest. "Your support isn't about being in the stands or even on FaceTime. It's... it's in everything you do. Every text, every late-night call, every stupid meme you send me when you know I'm stressed."

He chuckles, but I can see the emotion in his eyes. "Same goes for you, Del. When I'm out there on the ice, I carry you with me. Not literally, 'cause that'd be weird and probably against regulations, but—"

I laugh, cutting him off. "I get it, you goof." I lean in, resting my forehead against his. "We've got this, right? Even when we're apart?"

"Absolutely," he murmurs, his breath warm on my face. "Distance has got nothing on us."

As the night deepens, we find ourselves tangled together on the couch, the low hum of a forgotten movie in the background. I'm hyper-aware of every point where our bodies connect, savoring these last moments before we're separated again.

Breck's arms tighten around me, and I can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. "I'll call you the second the game's over," he promises, his voice a low rumble in my ear. "Win or lose."

I nod against his chest. "Same here. As soon as I step off the ice, you'll be my first call." I pause, then add with a smirk, "Well, after I hydrate with my new favorite water bottle, of course."

His laughter vibrates through me, and I close my eyes, trying to memorize this feeling. The warmth, the safety, the love. It's a moment I want to bottle up and carry with me through the challenges ahead.

This is everything. He is everything. And, he’s right. This is forever. I’ve never been so sure of anything, of anyone, in my life.