Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LUKAS
The locker room still buzzes with the afterglow of the win by the time I finish showering.
Steam hangs thick in the air, voices overlapping from every direction, while tape, pads, and half-empty water bottles clutter the floor beneath the benches.
Someone at the far end is arguing about a missed penalty call.
Brennan is laughing so loudly it shakes the walls, and Callum is throwing rolled-up socks at anyone within reach, as if he were twelve instead of a professional athlete.
“Devereaux,” Brennan calls across the room as I pull a clean hoodie over my head. “Your girlfriend looked impressed tonight.”
A chorus of agreement follows immediately.
“Very impressed,” Callum adds helpfully.
I snort, grabbing my bag from beneath the bench. “You are all obsessed with my personal life.”
“Because you have one now,” Brennan shoots back. “This is new for us.”
“Christ,” I laugh, shaking my head. “You people are exhausting.”
But they keep going anyway because that’s what happens after a win. Everyone’s too wired to stop talking. The atmosphere inside the room feels lighter tonight, easier after a brutal stretch of games and travel. We earned this one.
And somewhere in the middle of all the noise, my mind drifts straight back to Kate. To the way she smiled when I skated over during warmups. Hudson yelling loud enough for half the rink to hear when I scored in the second period.
I felt like they were there waiting for me afterwards, and it was the most natural thing in the world. That thought settles deep in my chest as I zip up my bag. I’m in dangerous territory.
Callum catches me smiling to myself and groans dramatically. “Look at his face. He’s gone.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite behind it, because maybe he’s right. Maybe I am gone. The realisation should probably scare me more than it does.
Eventually, the room starts to empty, guys filtering out toward the car park in groups while staff move around collecting equipment. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out last, still damp-haired from the shower, phone vibrating in my pocket with a message from Kate.
Kate: Hudson says your celebration after the second goal was “acceptable.”
I laugh under my breath immediately.
Lukas: High praise from the tiny critic.
Kate: Don’t let it go to your head.
Warmth spreads through me before I even lock my phone again. It’s stupid how quickly she’s become part of my routine now. How natural it feels to look for her in the crowd or to check her messages between periods.
Outside, the cold air hits me instantly. Fans still linger near the barriers by the players’ entrance, a few calling names as players emerge from the building. The floodlights from the arena cast long shadows across the pavement, bright against the dark sky overhead.
I spot Kate’s car near the edge of the lot almost immediately.
Hudson is leaning against the passenger door, scrolling through his phone, while Kate stands beside him with her coat wrapped tightly around herself against the cold. She looks tired tonight, softer somehow, and my chest tightens with immediate affection at the sight of her.
Mine.
The thought arrives uninvited and far too easily.
I start toward them, already smiling, and halfway through planning how I’m going to convince Kate to let me stay over tonight instead of making me leave her at the door again.
Then I see her.
At first, my brain refuses to process it properly. A woman standing slightly apart from the crowd near the players’ entrance, dark curls spilling over the shoulders of a camel coat. One hand wrapped around the handle of a suitcase. The other is holding a little boy’s hand.
Everything inside me goes completely still.
No.
My steps slow automatically. The noise around me dulls into something distant and muffled as recognition crashes into me all at once.
Camille.
For a second, I honestly think I might be imagining her. Some kind of exhaustion-induced hallucination brought on by adrenaline and lack of sleep. But then she looks up, and I know.
Her expression shifts the moment our eyes meet. Not relief exactly, but something heavier than that. The little boy beside her tugs gently at her hand, looking up at her first before his attention drifts toward me.
And then my heart stops completely. Because his eyes—Jesus Christ. They’re a piercing shade of blue. The exact same shade as mine. The world tilts violently for a second as my stomach lurches.
I stare at him properly, and suddenly I can’t unsee it. The shape of his face. The dark blond hair curling slightly beneath his wool hat. The way he watches me cautiously from behind Camille’s leg.
Every instinct in my body fires at once. Confusion. Shock. Disbelief. Something dangerously close to fear. I don’t even realise I’ve stopped moving until I hear Hudson’s voice somewhere behind me.
“Lukas?”
It snaps part of the world back into focus.
Kate is watching me now, too, concern already flickering across her face as she follows my line of sight toward the woman standing by the entrance.
Towards Camille.
Towards the child.
Tabarnak.
Camille shifts slightly under the weight of my stare. “Bonjour, Lukas.” Her voice sounds exactly the same. That makes this worse.
I swallow hard, my body suddenly feeling too tight, too tense beneath my skin. “What are you doing here?”
I’m not angry, not yet. Just stunned. Her fingers tighten around the boy’s hand. “Can we talk?”
The child looks up at me again, with curiosity in his eyes.
And Christ, those eyes. My stomach drops so hard it feels physical.
Behind me, I can feel Kate watching everything carefully.
Not pushing or interrupting because that’s not who she is, but I know she can sense something is wrong immediately.
Of course she can. She notices everything.
Camille glances briefly past me toward Kate and Hudson before looking back at me again. There’s guilt written all over her face now. Guilt and hesitation, and something that makes dread crawl slowly down my spine.
The boy steps slightly forward before stopping himself, one tiny hand still clutching Camille’s coat sleeve.
“How old is he?” I hear myself ask quietly.
Camille’s face changes instantly, and that’s all the answer I need. My pulse starts hammering so violently I can hear it in my ears. Two years old.
Two.
The timing crashes into me all at once like a body check straight to the chest. The last months before I left Québec.
The distance between us is growing because I put hockey before our relationship.
Camille refusing to move to England with me because her art career was finally taking off back home.
The breakup was already messy and painful enough.
And now this.
Jesus Christ.
Kate takes a small step closer behind me, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice it. It’s support without pressure. Warmth at my back, when suddenly the entire ground beneath me feels unstable.
Camille sees it too.
Her eyes flick toward Kate again before settling back on me carefully. “His name is Félix.”
The little boy peeks at me again from beneath his hat.
Félix.
My throat tightens. I don’t know what expression crosses my face, but something in Camille sharpens immediately afterwards. “I was going to tell you,” she says quietly. “I just…”
“You just what?” The words are harsher than I intend.
She flinches, and the little boy looks between us now, confused by the tension he clearly doesn’t understand. And that’s the part that cuts through everything else instantly, because none of this is his fault.
Not one piece of it.
I drag a hand over my face slowly, trying to get control of my thoughts, but they’re everywhere now. Kate. Hudson. Hockey. Camille. This child standing in front of me, who might be… No.
Not might. Deep down, I already know.
I look at Félix again, and it hits me harder this time. Something primal and terrifying unfurls in my chest before I can stop it.
Kate’s voice comes softly from behind me. “Lukas?”
I close my eyes briefly because I have absolutely no idea how my life just changed in the space of thirty seconds.