Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Colby
The Choice
“If you leave… will you still miss us?”
The question lands harder than any hit I’ve taken in professional hockey.
Harder than playoff losses. Harder than headlines. Harder than hearing sports analysts debate my career like I’m a failing stock option instead of a person.
Because Jillie asks it quietly. Softly. Like she already expects people to leave eventually.
The kitchen goes completely still around me. Snow taps softly against the bakery windows while morning light glows pale gold across the counters. I’m holding a twenty-five-pound flour bag under each arm, and somehow that little question knocks the air clean out of me.
Jillie sits on her usual counter stool twisting the strings of her Sprinkle Supervisor apron nervously between her fingers.
She thinks Sadie can’t hear her.
I glance toward the storage room doorway automatically.
Still closed.
Good.
Because if Sadie heard that question, it would break her heart.
Mine already feels cracked wide open.
I set the flour bags down carefully before answering. Not because I’m avoiding the question. Because I suddenly understand how much my answer matters.
Really matters.
Jillie watches me with those too-wise eyes children get after disappointment teaches them caution too young. And suddenly I see everything clearly.
The waiting by windows. The fear underneath hope. The way she checks people’s faces before trusting promises. No six-year-old should already know how to brace for abandonment.
“I’d miss you very much,” I say quietly. The honesty in my voice surprises even me.
Jillie studies my face carefully. “Even if hockey took you away?”
The wording nearly destroys me.
Not: if you wanted to leave. If hockey took you away.
Like even she understands that sometimes careers swallow people whole.
I crouch beside her stool slowly until we’re eye level. “Hockey doesn’t get to decide who matters to me.”
Something flickers softly across her face. Relief. Hope. Careful trust.
Then she whispers: “Okay.”
One tiny word, but it settles somewhere deep inside my chest like an anchor dropping.
Because the horrifying truth is…
I already miss them whenever I leave just for a day.
The bakery.
Briar Cove.
Sadie laughing flour-covered behind the counter.
Jillie yelling dramatic frosting opinions at six in the morning.
They already feel like mine.
That realization should terrify me. Instead, it feels devastatingly right.
The storage room door swings open, and Sadie steps back into the kitchen carrying coffee filters. She immediately notices the expression on my face.
“You okay?”
There’s that question again, always soft, always real.
And suddenly I’m dangerously close to saying: No. Because I think I’m falling in love with your daughter too.
Instead, I stand slowly and force my voice steady and answer “Yeah.”
Sadie’s eyes narrow slightly. She doesn’t believe me. Also, not new.
By noon that day I’m driving toward Frostholm through worsening snowfall while my chest feels heavier with every mile away from Briar Cove.
The highway stretches gray and cold beneath overcast skies. Pine trees blur past the windshield while sports radio drones quietly in the background about trade rumors and playoff projections.
Usually, hockey noise fades into the background automatically. Today every word sounds exhausting.
Trade value.
Media opportunities.
Legacy potential.
I shut the radio off entirely.
Silence fills the car instead, and immediately my mind drifts back to the bakery.
Jillie’s question.
Sadie’s tired eyes watching me over coffee mugs.
The smell of cinnamon and vanilla and warmth.
By the time Frostholm Arena rises ahead through falling snow, my stomach already feels tight with dread.
That’s new. The arena used to feel electric, now it mostly feels cold.
Inside, fluorescent lights glare harshly across concrete hallways while equipment carts rattle past. Staff members nod greetings. Reporters linger near the media entrance hoping for comments about trade speculation.
Everything feels loud.
Performative.
Artificial somehow.
I walk into the locker room and immediately get hit in the chest with a roll of hockey tape.
Toby points dramatically from across the room. “TRAITOR.”
I catch the tape automatically. “Good afternoon to you too.”
“You’re abandoning us for New York.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“You emotionally considered it.”
“That sentence means nothing.”
Liam lounges against his locker scrolling through social media. “Actually, it means everything. The internet already thinks you’re gone.”
“Fantastic.”
Jamie glances up from reviewing practice footage on a tablet. “Ignore them.”
Toby gasps. “Captain leadership has ruined your personality.”
“Somebody here needs one.”
I drop into my locker seat with a sigh. The familiar smells hit immediately: ice, sweat, rubber mats, sports disinfectants. For years this place has felt like home.
Now all I can think about is how Sweet Seasons Bakery smells like cinnamon rolls at dawn.
That realization unsettles me enough I immediately stand again. Toby notices instantly. “Oh no. He’s emotionally pacing.”
“Stop narrating my life.”
“Never.”
Liam tosses his phone aside. “So, what’s the move?”
I shrug one shoulder. “No idea.”
The room quiets slightly, because apparently everyone already knows that answer matters.
Jamie studies me for a long moment before asking quietly: “What are you really afraid of?”
The question lands harder than expected.
Because I already know the answer.
I stare down at my gloves sitting inside my locker.
For years hockey has been the center of everything: schedules, cities, relationships, choices.
You sacrifice enough for professional sports and eventually your entire life starts orbiting the game whether you want it to or not.
And suddenly I don’t know if I want it to anymore, not like before.
I exhale slowly. “I think I found something I don’t want hockey to take away from me.”
Silence. Complete silence.
Even Toby stops joking.
Jamie’s expression softens slightly like he already suspected this.
Liam whistles under his breath. “Oh, you’re gone-gone.”
“I hate that phrase.”
“It’s accurate though.”
Unfortunately, true.
Toby drops heavily onto the bench beside me. “Okay, but serious question.”
“That’s new.”
“When did this happen?”
I think about it honestly. Was it the festival? The school concert? Jillie asleep against my chest? Sadie laughing at my burned cinnamon rolls?
No, earlier.
Much earlier.
Maybe the second Sadie looked at me near the skating rink like she didn’t care about headlines.
Maybe the first time Jillie trusted me enough to grab my hand automatically.
Maybe every tiny bakery morning afterward.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
Jamie nods once, then: “That usually means it’s real.”
The words stay with me all the way upstairs to management meetings.
The executive conference room overlooks the arena ice through giant glass windows. Clean lines. Expensive furniture. Corporate coffee.
The entire place feels sterile.
Three executives sit waiting with Marcus beside a stack of paperwork.
Trade paperwork.
“Colby,” one of them says smoothly, “we think this could be transformative for your career.”
There it is again.
Career.
Always career.
They walk me through everything:
endorsement projections
media opportunities
New York branding campaigns
contract restructuring
reputation recovery
Six months ago, this presentation would’ve felt like oxygen.
Now?
All I can picture is Jillie’s little skates beside Sadie’s front door.
Snow-covered Briar Cove streets glowing beneath Christmas lights.
Bakery mornings.
Sadie laughing with flour on her cheek while pretending not to smile at me.
The executives keep talking. I barely hear them anymore, because suddenly I understand something devastatingly simple.
I don’t want more fame. I want peace. I want family.
The realization settles quietly but completely inside my chest.
One executive slides the trade packet toward me. “This is your chance to reset everything.”
I look down at the paperwork, then out through the glass toward the empty arena seats.
Thousands of them.
All those years chasing noise. And somehow the only place I can breathe lately is a tiny bakery in Briar Cove.
Marcus notices my expression first. “Colby,” he says carefully, “talk to us.”
I finally look back at them. And for the first time in years, the answer feels obvious.
“I’m staying.”
Silence.
One executive blinks. “With Frostholm?”
“Yes.”
Marcus stares at me like I’ve announced plans to join a traveling circus.
“You’re turning down New York?”
I think about Sadie hearing part of that phone call yesterday. The hurt on her face. The resignation. Like she already expected me to leave eventually.
And suddenly the idea physically hurts.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I am.”
***
Two hours later, the media room explodes.
Apparently, somebody leaked trade discussions before management finalized anything, so reporters crowd the arena expecting a dramatic announcement.
Flashbulbs pop nonstop as I sit beside the Frostholm GM at the long press table.
Questions immediately fly.
“Colby, are the Vipers rumors accurate?”
“Is this a career reset?”
“Are you leaving Frostholm?”
“Will the Briar Cove relationship continue if traded?”
That last one nearly makes me laugh, because somehow that’s the easiest question in the room.
The GM starts speaking first about organizational confidence and future goals.
I barely hear him. Instead, I think about Jillie asking if I’d miss them.
About Sadie pretending distance will hurt less later.
About how empty New York suddenly feels compared to Briar Cove.
The GM finally nods toward me.
My turn. I lean toward the microphone slowly. The room goes silent.
“I’m staying with Frostholm.”
Flashbulbs explode instantly. Questions start flying again. I keep going anyway.
“I spent a long-time chasing place I thought I was supposed to want.” My voice steadies, the more honest I become. “Big markets. Bigger attention. Bigger expectations.”
The reporters quiet slightly, because this isn’t the answer they expected.
“I think somewhere along the way I forgot what feeling at home was supposed to feel like.”
The room is completely silent now. And suddenly I don’t care about headlines anymore. “I’m done chasing places that don’t feel like home.”
Somewhere in the back of the room, somebody audibly whispers: Oh my goodness.
The internet is absolutely going to lose its mind. Honestly? Fine.
Because for the first time in years, I mean every single word.
By the time I leave Frostholm, snowstorm warnings cover every highway alert sign heading toward Briar Cove. I drive straight into it anyway.
Wind throws snow hard against the windshield while darkness settles across the roads.
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter with every mile because suddenly one thing matters more than anything else: Sadie thinks I’m leaving.
And I cannot let her believe that for one more night. Nor my sweet Jillie.
***
Briar Cove finally appears through thick snowfall nearly two hours later.
The town glows softly beneath white drifts and Christmas lights.
Home. That realization arrives instantly now without resistance.
Sweet Seasons Bakery still glows warmly at the corner of Main Street. I park crookedly outside and jog through the snow toward the door.
Inside, Sadie stands alone locking the pastry cases for the night.
She looks up the second I knock.
And immediately her face changes.
There it is again. That careful heartbreak.
Like she’s already bracing for goodbye.
“Hey,” she says softly as she opens the door.
The word nearly destroys me.
“You’re still here.”
“Barely.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Fragile.
Finally, she says: “I saw the press conference.”
I stop breathing for half a second. Because I can’t tell from her expression whether that’s good or bad.
“You’re staying,” she whispers.
Not accusation.
Not disbelief.
Wonder.
I step closer slowly.
Snow melts from my coat onto the bakery floor while strings of lights glow softly around us.
“Sadie,” I say quietly, “none of this feels fake anymore.”
Her breath catches visibly.
“I don’t want temporary.”
The words come easier now. Cleaner. Truer than anything I’ve said in years.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t want a real life.”
Emotion breaks across her face instantly. Not graceful. Not controlled. Real.
And suddenly I understand exactly how long she’s been holding herself together trying to protect everyone else first.
“You chose us?” she whispers shakily.
The vulnerability in her voice wrecks me completely.
“I think I already had,” I admit softly. “Before I even realized it.”
Tears fill her eyes immediately.
Oh, I do love her.
The realization lands quietly but absolutely.
Not temporary.
Not confused.
Not almost.
Love.
And standing in that glowing bakery while snowstorm winds howl outside, I realize leaving her now would feel like ripping out part of myself.
Sadie laughs shakily through tears. “You’re ruining all my emotional self-defense strategies.”
I step closer again. “So, stop defending yourself from me.”
Her eyes lift to mine slowly, and the entire bakery feels suspended around us.
Then she whispers: “Okay.”
That one word undoes me completely, the same word that Jillie had used.
I reach for her carefully, slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
My hand settles gently against her cheek.
Warm skin.
Soft breath.
Trembling exhale.
Every part of me goes still. “Sadie, I love you.”
She leans into my hand slightly. That tiny movement destroys whatever restraint I had left.
I kiss her.
Slowly. Deliberately. Not rushed. Not reckless. Certain.
Across the street, people inside the diner immediately notice. Mrs. Bellamy is absolutely going to combust with happiness. Someone lifts a phone. A camera flash goes off faintly through the glass.
Neither of us cares.
Because Sadie kisses me back like she’s been trying not to for weeks.
Like relief. Like trust. Like coming home.
When we finally pull apart, both of us are breathing unevenly.
Foreheads touching. A snowstorm raging outside. The bakery warm around us.
And for the first time in years, I know exactly where I belong.
I brush my thumb softly beneath her eye.
Then whisper the truest thing I’ve said in a very long time.
“I think Briar Cove became home the second you opened that bakery door for me.”