Stick With Me (Saints Hockey #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

I wish bad days came with a warning.

My stride stutters, then stops. “Watch it,” a woman warns, narrowly avoiding a collision with my back.

“Sorry,” I shout.

Bella, the sixty-pound pit bull mix I’m walking protests with a whine. I scratch her velvety head, refreshing the web page on my phone with my free hand. “I know, girl, just a minute. My fiancé is apparently a bachelor.”

The article reloads, and my fiancé’s handsome face still smiles back at me. Most Eligible Bachelor in Sports, the headline reads. Scrolling down, I scan the information, sure there’s an explanation. Jace Knolls... Dallas Spurs’ center… franchise player… named most eligible bachelor… recently single… broken engagement… long-term girlfriend, Hannah Clarke.

Huh, well, that’s pretty clear.

What’s not clear is why the man who kissed me goodbye this morning is quoted as saying, “Hannah and I split amicably.”

We’ve only been engaged for six months. He proposed this past summer in a huge, over-the-top way— Will you marry me? flashed across the jumbotron for me and 15,000 other people to see. My cheeks still burn just thinking about it.

Social media notifications flood my screen as I ignore an incoming call from my mother. Several more missed call and text notifications pop up, but none are from Jace.

There’s a tug on the leash wrapped around my wrist, and the dog connected to it looks up at me with pleading brown eyes. “Okay, let’s get you back to the shelter. I can deal with my personal crisis when I get home.”

I head back toward the shelter. The blare of car horns and passing conversations of sharp-dressed businesspeople fade into the background, drowned out by the theories spinning in my head. This has to be a mistake. A misprint. It wouldn’t be the first time the press put their own spin on a story. Working in influencer marketing, I know what you see online is rarely an accurate portrayal of real life, but why wouldn’t he tell me about this? A heads-up would’ve been nice, especially if this is just some kind of PR stunt. Even as I try to rationalize, it’s not adding up.

Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt .

My phone vibrates. I pull it from my leggings at my hip, relieved to see it’s my fiancé. But that relief is short-lived when the preview on my lock screen reads, “We need to talk.”

Everyone knows nothing good comes after those four words.

I press the call button before I can chicken out. It only rings twice before his recorded voice prompts me to leave a message. I’m still looking down at the phone in confusion when another text comes through.

Jace:

We’ll talk when you get home.

Well, shoot.

The walk back to the shelter passes in a blur. My breath comes in shallow pants as I swing open the door to the Dallas SPCA. Power-walking the bad energy out is a thing, right?

“Hey, Jules,” I greet my only real friend in Dallas as I pass the front desk on my way to the kennels. She’s at least forty years older than me, which makes our friendship unlikely, but she’s the mother I wish I had. I met her on my first day here. I’ve been volunteering since moving to the city, trying to prepare for my dream of opening my own rescue. A plan that has admittedly been on hold for far too long.

“That was a quick walk.” Her voice isn’t judgmental, just concerned. She knows how much I enjoy my time with the shelter’s residents. Especially Bella, who’s been with us the longest. “How did my girls fare out there? With the wind chill in the twenties, you won’t catch me stepping outside.” She rubs her arms to fight off the draft from the concrete walls.

“We survived,” I mutter. More than just the cold weather . I keep my gaze on Bella, scratching behind her ears. Jules always has a way of seeing straight through me, and if I look up, she’ll ask the questions I’m not ready to answer—questions I’m not sure I even have the answers to.

I’ve succeeded at convincing myself that this is all just one big misunderstanding. He wouldn’t actually end things with a sports article. I mean, who does that? But the weight pressing on my chest refuses to lift, no matter how hard I try to shake it off.

I make an excuse to head out early and gather my things from the break area, hurrying out to my car. With the morning traffic finally cleared, I make it uptown in record time. But the heavy feeling in my chest seems to have shifted, sinking to my stomach and leaving a hollow, uneasy void.

By the time I pull into my assigned parking spot, I’m gripping the steering wheel as tightly as I’m holding onto hope. It’s all a misunderstanding , I repeat the four words like a mantra in my head.

I take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady myself as I ride the elevator up to the penthouse where I’ve lived for the past three years with Jace. After his rookie contract expired, he signed an extension and moved us to a bigger, more luxurious place. I liked our smaller townhouse, but he insisted on this penthouse condo, so here we are.

As the doors open into the foyer, the sounds of clattering silverware and slamming cabinets fill the space. Before I even make it to the kitchen, I know he’s making a post-morning-skate protein shake. He’s the most predictable person, or so I thought.

I take a seat at the marble counter. “Hey.”

He makes a sound of acknowledgment but continues to move around the kitchen, gathering ingredients.

“So, I saw something online today…” I pause to take a deep breath, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks.

“Oh yeah, what about?”

Seriously?

“Isn’t that what you wanted to talk about?”

He eyes me quizzically, like he’s trying to figure out if I know what’s coming. Then, glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts dramatically. He drops the unpeeled banana into the blender, milk splashing up the sides, and looks back at me with wide eyes. “Shit. Today’s the twenty-second.”

Until this very moment, until I saw the truth written on his face, I couldn’t believe the article was true. But now, there’s no denying it. He’s breaking up with me. Via some puff piece article. It would almost be funny if I weren’t lightheaded with anger.

“I meant to talk to you before the article went live, but I’ve been so busy—” he starts.

“You mean the one naming you hockey’s ‘most eligible bachelor’?” I cut him off, adding air quotes for emphasis.

He rounds the counter, taking the stool next to mine. His voice softens. “We need to talk.”

Understatement of the century .

“So you’ve said.” I shift my chair away. If he touches me, I may lose the reins on my anger, which are about as thin as dental floss at the moment.

“I think we need to take a step back. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I’m just not ready for marriage. We’re still young, and I got caught up in trying to make everything look perfect. I rushed into the engagement, and now I need some space to figure things out… on my own.”

“You’d like us to remain good friends? And for us to split amicably?” I ask, quoting the article.

“Well, yeah,” he says, his brows knitting together. “I only wish you the best,” he adds, sounding like he’s reciting a line from an advice column on how to break up and still be friends with your ex.

I can’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbles up. It’s either that or I scream.

“Hannah, I didn’t know how to tell you. I still love you; you know that. But everything has happened so fast, and I need a breather.”

Six years of building a life together doesn’t seem fast to me. We’ve been dating since my freshman year of college.

“So, you’re breaking up with me?” I ask, even though it’s clear that’s what’s happening. I need him to say the words. I wish he would have said them before I had to read them, along with the rest of the world.

He shifts in his seat and thrums his fingers on the counter. His eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at me. “Uh, I’d like to call it a break and not a break up . Time apart. An intermission. Experience all the things we should before settling down.” He finally turns his body toward me to meet my eyes. “You know you’re my end goal, babe. I just want to take a timeout.”

I stare at him, stunned. I don’t recognize the man looking back at me. My heart races and no breathing exercise or positive mantra is going to slow it down. “Since we’re using hockey analogies, let me make sure I’m getting this straight. You’d like to ‘shoot your puck in other nets’ then come back to me and live happily ever after? Am I getting that right?”

“Don’t be that way,” he whines, bringing his forehead to rest on his fist.

I put my life on hold for the man sitting next to me. For years, I set aside my plans to support him—his career, his goals, his dreams. I thought we were a team, that all the sacrifices I made would eventually be met with his support in return. But now, he’s throwing it all away. I thought he was my future, and I was his.

Turns out, I was wrong.

“Say something.” He runs his fingers through his dirty blond hair that matches mine. His hand moves down to his neck where he rubs the tension out, as if he’s the one having a hard time with this.

There’s a ringing in my ears, and my stomach twists in knots as a cold sweat creeps over my skin. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I’m so stupid.” The words barely scratch the surface of the storm raging inside me.

“I’m not doing this to you, Hannah. I think this is best for both of us,” he says, his voice frustratingly calm.

“I sure as hell didn’t choose to spend this Wednesday morning calling off our engagement!” My voice cracks, and Jace’s eyes widen. I don’t curse, and I never raise my voice, but what does he expect?

“I did, however, choose to put you first for the past six years, so that’s on me. Now look where I am.” I gesture around the sterile apartment. “None of this is mine. I’m twenty-four, and what do I have to show for it?” The fight in my voice fades as the reality starts to sink in.

Jace’s brows scrunch together, clearly not following my train of thought. To be fair, I’m barely keeping up with it myself. My breath rushes out, and I try to pull in more air, but it doesn’t reach my lungs. It feels like I’m sucking oxygen in through a straw.

It’s not just him I’m losing. It’s the life I’ve built here. When you take away Jace, what’s left? My job, my social life—they all revolve around him.

“How long have you been planning this? You must’ve done that interview months ago. Why didn’t you tell me? Were you just biding your time until you ran out of it? We’ve been sleeping together, Jace… not frequently, sure, but that’s not the point. The point is you knew. You knew, and you didn’t say a word.” The words spill out in a rush.

“It never felt like the right time…” His mouth continues to move, but I lose track of what he’s saying.

He reaches for my hand, but I jerk it out of his reach. All I can focus on is the pressure building behind my sternum, the overwhelming urge to scream or cry, or both.

I need to get out of here.

“I need a moment.” I nearly knock over the chair in my hurry to stand. The screech of the metal legs against the floor and my rapid breaths are the only sounds that reach my ears.

Rushing out of the kitchen, I open the first door I find and shut myself in the guest bathroom, leaning back against the door and sliding to the floor. I can’t seem to steady my breath or swallow the lump in my throat. The tears come despite my best efforts, spilling over my lashes and running down my cheeks.

What am I going to do now? I can’t stay in this apartment, and there’s nothing keeping me in Texas.

Breathe in… one, two, three, four.

Hold… one, two, three, four.

Breathe out… one, two, three, four.

Has our relationship been perfect recently? Definitely not. But did I see this coming? Also no.

The unsteady rhythm in my chest only makes the anxiety worse.

Sure, we’ve grown apart a little, but that’s normal as you grow up, right? Of course, we’re different from the teenagers we were when we got together. I just thought it was a phase we’d work through. All couples go through rough patches, don’t they?

Is this what my mother warned me about? Always hammering into my head the importance of traditional relationship dynamics. Dynamics I never wanted to be a part of, yet that’s exactly how I ended up, isn’t it? Still, it wasn’t enough to keep him from leaving.

I wasn’t enough.

My head swims, and my vision blurs at the edges.

Something I can see—my white and black checkered Vans against the tile floor.

Something I can touch—the gold ring I spin around my thumb.

Something I can smell—a sandalwood candle sitting on the vanity.

Something I can taste—lingering notes of coffee on my tongue.

Something I can hear—he’s back to making his damn smoothie already?!

What am I going to do now? Nope, I still don’t have an answer for that one.

Apparently, Jace wants something different. Something that’s not me. His way of handling our rough patch is getting some space. And who knows, maybe he’s right. But if he thinks I’ll come crawling back once he’s done having his fun, he’s mistaken.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “I’m sorry,” Jace says. For a second, I almost believe him until he adds, “I know we were planning to leave for Florida next week, but I moved up your ticket so you could spend time with your family…”

Family? Why would he think I want to spend time with them? He knows my relationship with my mother is strained at best. Still, at this point, enduring her endless questions sounds better than staying in this apartment for another minute. “When’s the flight?” I ask, trying to hide the rasp in my voice.

“Um, seven… tonight.”

My head knocks back against the door.

I throw another pair of offending pants into my too-small suitcase. To be fair, the pants did nothing wrong. It was my fiancé. Oops, ex -fiancé.

I was looking forward to a mostly relaxing vacation, but those plans are out the window, along with our relationship. I’m still going to Florida but now to Palm Beach, not Sunrise. No more watching Jace play hockey, posting pictures, sipping margaritas, and tasting the chocolatey goodness of my favorite brownies from Le Petit Sweet. I’m still getting that dang brownie!

Nope, no more fun vacation, instead I’ll be wallowing in heartache at my parents’ place. You know how they say there are five stages of grief? Well, between this morning and this afternoon, I’ve gone through two. I’m past the shock and denial, now I’m onto anger. Okay, maybe anger has been woven in throughout. At this rate, I’ll be cured of heartbreak in about two-point-five days.

Thinking I’d found my person, I never thought I’d have to go through another breakup. Not that I have much experience with them to begin with. My first and last breakup was with my high school sweetheart. My naive sixteen-year-old self thought it was the end of the world. I was utterly heartbroken—crying myself to sleep, incessantly texting him to give us another shot, and eating my weight in Sour Patch Kids. That prickly feeling on my tongue from too much sourness became my constant companion through the months I mourned the loss. To this day, I can’t even look at them without feeling sick.

But this time around, heartbreak feels different. It’s like there’s a knife in my back, and I want to pry it out and wield it. I’m not sad, I’m pissed. Not murderous, though, to be clear.

I storm across the hardwood floor toward the walk-in closet, not making an effort to soften my steps. Yanking a floral print sundress from its hanger, I crumble it into a ball and add it to the chaotic pile of clothes strewn across my bed.

“Hannah, there’s no need to stomp,” Jace says, appearing in the doorway. He leans casually against the frame, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Lucky him. “Are you almost ready? Your flight leaves in two hours. Oh, and we should probably talk about the social media plan. It would be great if you could craft a post that echoes my sentiments in the article.”

Is he serious? I crinkle my brow, trying to examine him for answers. I think he is.

And God forbid I miss my flight. The one he so kindly booked for me, ensuring I get out of his hair as quickly as humanly possible. My jaw ticks as my molars grind together.

The messages from my mother told me he also contacted my parents to let them know I’d be on my way. Hannah, what happened? Are you sure it’s nothing you did? Do you think you can work it out? I can already feel the headache coming on.

“Does it look like I’m ready?” I snap, spreading my arms wide to emphasize the mess around me—clothes everywhere, open drawers, an unmade bed. Jace just rolls his eyes and turns, walking back down the hall, leaving me to figure out how to fit my life into one large suitcase and a smaller carry-on.

An hour later, I’m in a rideshare on my way to the airport. I’ve got two suitcases filled to the brim, and the rest Jace agreed to ship to me once I’m settled somewhere new.

As my mother’s texts continued to assault me throughout the afternoon, I considered changing my flight. But I don’t have any other options. My friend Natalie is a traveling nurse, so staying with her is out of the question. I could stay with Ryan, my best friend, but I need a moment to restabilize, and being around him always makes me a bit off-balance.

Speak of the devil. Swiping to accept his incoming call, his deep voice comes through my earbuds. “Hannah, are you all right?” The worry is clear in his voice. Before I can answer, he continues, “I saw the article. One of the guys sent it to me. Why didn’t you tell me you guys broke up?”

“Hi to you, too. Well, I didn’t tell you because I, too, just found out.”

There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “What’s going on? That interview was given months ago. I’ve done enough of them to know.”

“I know… I’m not sure why he didn’t tell me. Breaking up with me is one thing, but the way he did it is just plain cruel,” I say, then fill him in on my plans to regroup at my parents’ place in Florida.

After listening mostly in silence, he comes up with a plan. Of course he does; he has a plan for everything. “We have a break coming up for All-Star Weekend. All the guys who aren’t participating have time off. How about I come down there to see you? I know you and your mom will be at each other’s throats in a day, and you could use a friend.”

I can’t stop my lips from tipping up. How does my friend, who I only see a couple of times a year, if I’m lucky, know me better than my fiancé? Former fiancé, I remind myself again.

His plan sounds perfect, and he’s right. I’ll need rescuing. “Okay, that sounds great.”

“Yeah? Okay, yeah.” One of his teammates yells at him in the background. “Hey, Sunshine, I gotta go. Ice time is in thirty. Text me when you land, okay?”

Ending the call, I slump back into the leather seats, a huff of air escaping my lungs.

What am I going to do now?