Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Colby
The Offer
I know something is wrong the moment my agent calls before eight in the morning.
Normal people do not receive career-altering phone calls before coffee.
Sports agents absolutely do.
Unfortunately.
I stare at my vibrating phone while standing in the parking lot outside Sweet Seasons Bakery. Snow drifts lazily across Main Street, coating Briar Cove in more soft white layers while the bakery windows glow warm gold against the gray winter morning.
Inside, I can see Sadie moving behind the counter. Jillie stands on her usual stool wearing an oversized apron that says SPRINKLE SUPERVISOR in glitter marker.
My chest tightens automatically at the sight.
The phone keeps vibrating.
MARCUS, AGENT FROM HELL flashes across the screen.
Accurate contact name.
I answer reluctantly. “Please tell me nobody died.”
“That depends how emotionally attached you are to Frostholm.”
I close my eyes briefly. There it is. The thing I knew was coming eventually.
Trade season.
Even standing here in Briar Cove with powdered sugar permanently embedded in my bloodstream somehow couldn’t stop hockey reality from finding me.
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
“You got an offer.”
Not unusual.
Except Marcus sounds excited. Too excited.
“The Vipers reached out officially this morning.”
I go completely still.
Ah.
That’s different.
New York Vipers.
Massive market. Massive media attention. Massive pressure.
The Vipers are the kind of team that players dream about joining when they still think fame feels like victory.
Months ago, I would’ve killed for this, probably literally.
The Vipers are hockey royalty. Deep playoff runs. National endorsements. Primetime coverage every week. Career resurrection territory after the disaster my reputation became last season.
It’s exactly the kind of reset everybody thinks I need.
Marcus keeps talking while I stare through the bakery windows.
“Fresh market. Fresh media cycle. New locker room. Bigger sponsorship potential. This could completely rebuild your image.”
Image.
Always the image.
Not: Are you happy?
Not: Are you exhausted?
Just: How marketable can we make you next?
A laugh drifts faintly through the bakery glass.
Sadie.
I look up automatically.
She’s arguing with Jillie over frosting colors while Mrs. Bellamy watches like it’s live television.
Warmth hits my chest so suddenly it almost hurts.
“Colby?” Marcus snaps. “You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“This is huge.”
“I know.”
“You sound weird.”
“I just woke up.”
“That’s a lie. You’ve been awake for hours. Your small-town bakery girlfriend posts before dawn.”
I grimace.
The internet has entirely too much information about my life now.
“She’s not posting me.”
“No, she’s posting cinnamon rolls while half the country zooms in looking for your reflection.”
Fantastic.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “What does Frostholm think?”
“They’re willing to talk.”
That lands harder than I expect.
Because Frostholm used to feel permanent.
The arena.
The city.
The life.
Now the thought of leaving barely stirs anything except tiredness.
Marcus lowers his voice slightly. “This is what you wanted six months ago.”
He’s right.
Six months ago, I was furious. Burned out. Humiliated after the playoff collapse.
Drowning in bad press and sports commentary about whether I was still elite enough to justify my contract.
A fresh start had sounded like survival.
Now?
I look through the bakery window again.
Jillie is drawing smiley faces in spilled flour while Sadie pretends to scold her.
And somehow New York suddenly feels very far away.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally.
Marcus nearly chokes. “Think about it?”
“Yes.”
“This is not a muffin flavor, Colby. This is your career.”
My eyes stay on the bakery.
“That’s the problem.”
Silence.
Then: “What the hell is happening to you in Briar Cove?”
I wish I knew.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t wait too long. The Vipers want movement quickly.”
I hang up before he can keep talking.
For a moment I just stand there in the cold. Snow crunches beneath my boots. The bakery windows glow warmly. Main Street slowly wakes around me.
And somehow the thought of leaving makes my chest feel strangely hollow.
That should concern me more than it does.
Inside the bakery, the bell over the door jingles as I step in. Warmth immediately wraps me.
“Colby!” Jillie waves dramatically from the counter stool. “Mommy says edible glitter is not a food group.”
Sadie doesn’t look up from frosting cupcakes. “Because it isn’t.”
“That feels anti-celebration.”
I shrug off my coat slowly. “I support joy.”
“See?” Jillie says triumphantly.
Sadie finally glances at me. And immediately notices something.
“You okay?”
Two simple words. No cameras. No performance. Just genuine concern.
It hits embarrassingly hard. “Fine.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. Right. She’s already learned my tells. Annoying.
“Agent?” She guesses quietly.
I stare at her. “How did you know that?”
“You get the same expression I get when suppliers raise butter prices.”
“That’s disturbingly specific.”
“It’s also correct.”
Unfortunately, true.
Jillie looks between us curiously. “Are you having grown-up stress?”
“Yes,” Sadie and I say together.
Jillie sighs heavily. “That’s contagious around here.”
I laugh despite myself. And there it is again. That impossible feeling.
Ease.
Later that afternoon I drive to Frostholm for meetings. The city rises cold and silver beyond the highway, all sharp buildings and heavy traffic and giant digital billboards flashing advertisements across winter skies.
Months ago, this skyline felt electric. Now it mostly feels loud.
The Frostholm Arena parking garage smells like concrete, exhaust, and old ice. Familiar. Corporate. Controlled.
Not home.
That realization unsettles me immediately. Inside the locker room, the guys are already waiting. Toby lounges dramatically across a bench eating protein bars like he’s preparing for hibernation.
Liam scrolls social media with dangerous focus. Jamie sits quietly taping his stick for practice.
The second I walk in, Toby points accusingly.
“HE ARRIVES.”
“Please stop yelling.”
“You’re emotionally different now.”
“I regret speaking to any of you.”
Liam grins. “Too late. We’ve all seen the school concert photos.”
I freeze briefly. “There were photos?”
Jamie looks up dryly. “Colby. There are always photos.”
Right. Forgot.
Toby shakes his head dramatically. “Tiny chairs changed him.”
“They were physically threatening.”
“You smiled in public.”
“That has happened before.”
“Not with your eyes.”
I hate that apparently everyone notices that now.
Liam tosses his phone onto the bench. “Internet loves you again, by the way.”
“Fantastic.”
“No, seriously. You went from emotionally unavailable hockey villain to small-town family man in under a week.”
“Congratulations,” Toby says solemnly. “You’ve become Pinterest.”
I drop into my locker chair with a groan.
Jamie studies me quietly for a moment.
Then: “Marcus called?”
Of course, he already knows.
Agents and team captains apparently operate through telepathy.
“Yeah.”
The room shifts slightly. Even Toby stops joking. Liam whistles softly. “The Vipers thing is real?”
I glance up sharply. “How does everybody know everything?”
“Because hockey is gossip with skates,” Toby says.
Accurate.
Jamie leans back against his locker thoughtfully. “It could be good for you.”
There’s no judgment in his voice, just honesty.
“Fresh start,” Liam agrees. “Bigger market. Bigger endorsements. Bigger attention. Your reputation would reset overnight.”
Months ago, those words would’ve sounded like oxygen. Now they just sound exhausting.
Toby watches me carefully.
Then: “You don’t sound excited.”
The room goes quiet, because apparently Toby Donovan occasionally develops emotional intelligence by accident.
I exhale slowly.
“I don’t know.”
Jamie’s gaze sharpens slightly. That answer means more than if I’d said no, because everybody in this room remembers how badly I wanted out six months ago.
How angry I was.
How burned down I felt.
But now? Now there’s a little girl in Briar Cove who asks if I’m coming back tomorrow like she assumes the answer is yes. And a baker with tired eyes who looks relieved every time I walk through her door.
Toby tosses another protein bar into the air. “So, when are we becoming uncles?”
Liam nearly chokes laughing. Jamie rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t phrase things like that.”
“What? I’m emotionally invested now.”
I laugh despite myself. Then go strangely quiet.
Because the horrifying thing is…
Part of me instantly pictured it. Sunday dinners. Kids skating. Cabins by the lake.
The image arrives warm and dangerous before I can stop it.
Jamie notices the silence immediately. He waits until the others get distracted arguing over power-play statistics before speaking quietly.
“You okay?”
There’s that question again. And once again, I don’t really know how to answer it.
“I think I forgot what liking my life felt like,” I admit finally.
Jamie studies me for a long moment. Then nods once like he understands far more than I actually said.
After practice I drive back toward Briar Cove alone. Snow falls harder outside the windshield while the highway narrows into lake-country roads lined with pine trees and old cabins wrapped in white lights.
My chest loosens mile by mile the farther I get from Frostholm. That should probably tell me something important.
By the time Briar Cove appears ahead, dusk has settled over the town, and suddenly everything slows.
The frozen lake glows pale silver beneath the evening sky.
Kids skate near the community rink wrapped in scarves and hockey jerseys.
Main Street twinkles beneath hanging lights.
And Sweet Seasons Bakery glows warm against the snow-covered sidewalks.
I slow automatically as I pass it. Inside the window, Sadie laughs at something Mrs. Bellamy says while Jillie decorates sugar cookies beside the register.
The sight hits me harder than any trade conversation all day. Because this feels real in a way hockey hasn’t in years.
Not glamorous.
Not exciting.
Peaceful.
I keep driving slowly toward Sadie’s neighborhood.
Outside her small house, Jillie’s handmade snowman leans crookedly near the porch.
One button eye is missing. The scarf is too big. The stick arms are uneven.
It’s perfect.
And suddenly I understand something terrifying. This isn’t about hockey anymore. Not really.
Not about contracts, or headlines, or rebuilding my image.
It’s about peace, belonging, family, and Sadie.
The realization lands quietly but completely.
The life I thought I wanted suddenly feels strangely empty compared to this town.
Compared to them.
My phone rings again. Marcus.
I turn around and drive back toward the bakery and pull in out front before answering immediately.
The storefront lights glow warmly through falling snow.
I finally answer with a sigh. “What now?”
“The Vipers want an answer soon.”
I lean back against the seat. “I told you I’m thinking.”
“You’re overthinking.”
“No. I’m actually thinking for the first time in years.”
Marcus exhales sharply. “You are a professional hockey player, not a Hallmark movie.”
I glance toward the bakery windows again. Inside, Sadie moves toward the front counter carrying fresh pastry trays.
My chest tightens immediately.
“That’s the thing,” I admit quietly. “I’m not sure hockey is enough anymore.”
Silence.
Then: “Oh, no,” Marcus mutters. “You’re in love with the baker.”
I laugh once under my breath. Not because he’s wrong. Because hearing it out loud feels terrifying.
Movement near the bakery door catches my attention. Sadie steps outside carrying trash bags toward the alley dumpster. She freezes when she hears my voice through the cracked car window.
“…I don’t even want New York,” I say quietly into the phone. “Not anymore.”
Sadie goes completely still. My stomach drops instantly. Because the expression on her face changes before I can explain.
Shock.
Then hurt.
Realization slams into me too late.
She thinks I’m leaving.