Chapter 11
York
I pull into Coach’s driveway and kill the engine, the sudden silence inside the truck almost deafening. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I sit there, staring at the dimly lit porch ahead. All I can think about is what I just said to Noelle. How lonely I feel. I can't believe I let that slip. That was such a rookie mistake.
But the truth is, I didn’t even realize how lonely I’ve been until Noelle was sitting beside me, filling that empty space in ways I didn’t even know I needed. She’s like a bright light in the dark, and now that she’s here, the loneliness I’ve carried around for the past year feels louder, heavier, like it’s suddenly come alive and is clawing at me from the inside. It’s unsettling, and it makes me want to cling to her, hold her close, and never let her go.
But that would be a really bad idea.
Coach would have my balls if he ever found out. And just thinking about how pissed he’d be if he knew I’m even thinking about his daughter like that? Yeah, that has me sitting here uneasy as hell. My pulse quickens, and my chest tightens at the thought. Noelle isn’t just some girl I can get close to and hope for the best, no, she’s the coach’s daughter. The one person who should be off-limits. But the more I’m around her, the harder it gets to pretend that keeping her at a distance is even an option.
Maybe it’s the holidays. The festive lights strung up everywhere, the snow falling around us, the warmth of being with someone during a time of year that’s supposed to feel full of love and connection. Maybe it’s messing with my head, making me want something more than I should.
Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s Noelle.
I sigh heavily, shaking my head, and finally step out of the truck. The cold air hits me, but it does little to clear my thoughts. I keep my head low, the weight of it all hanging on me like a thick, invisible blanket as I walk to her door. Every step feels heavier, like I’m dragging something with me. Something I can’t shake.
But as much as I try to convince myself that getting close to Noelle is dangerous, I know deep down that there’s a part of me that wants to keep her around. Wants to see where this could go. I shove my hands deep into my coat pockets, trying to bury the thought, but it lingers.
We step into the house, and the first thing I notice is the quiet. Her parents must have already gone to bed. The soft glow from the kitchen light spills across the hardwood floor, casting shadows as we move silently through the house, like we’re intruding on something. I close the door behind us gently, careful not to make a sound, and follow Noelle into the kitchen. The warmth inside does little to thaw the thoughts swirling in my head.
Noelle shrugs off her coat first, her movements slow and deliberate as she hangs it on the hook by the back door. I do the same, unwrapping my scarf and pulling off my gloves. The routine feels oddly domestic, like we’ve done this a hundred times before, but the air between us feels heavier now, thick with the weight of unsaid things.
“I’m going to get some sleep,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes as she turns toward the hallway that leads to her room.
I nod, though a lump forms in my throat. “Night.”
She pauses for a moment, her back still to me, before disappearing down the hall. The soft click of her bedroom door closing feels louder in the stillness of the house.
I stand there for a minute, staring at the spot where she’d been just a moment ago. The warmth of her presence lingers in the air, but it’s quickly replaced by a hollow ache in my chest. I want to apologize to her. For everything. For this whole messed-up facade we’ve been tangled up in. For dragging her into my world of flashing cameras, fake smiles, and expectations she never asked for.
If I wasn’t famous for playing hockey, none of this would be happening. No pretending. No media frenzy over our every move. No worrying about what people will think or how this will all end. Just... us. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this overwhelming guilt pressing down on me. Maybe then I could tell her how I really feel, without all the complications.
But I can’t, and that’s the problem. Every time I look at Noelle, I’m reminded of the life I lead. The life that’s pulled her into this whirlwind of publicity. And as much as I want to keep her close, to be the one who holds her at night and makes her smile in the morning, I know deep down I’m doing more harm than good.
I sigh and lean back against the kitchen counter, running a hand through my hair. The house is so quiet it’s almost eerie, and without the usual noise of a crowded arena or the hum of city life, I feel the weight of everything more intensely. I wish I could go back, just for a moment, to before all this. Before I became someone who had to fake relationships to keep the media at bay. Before I had to lie to the one person who deserves the truth.
I glance toward the hallway again, tempted to go after her. To knock on her door and tell her I’m sorry. To confess that this is all more real to me than I ever expected. But instead, I stay rooted to the spot, my hands gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
“Goodnight, Noelle,” I whisper, knowing she can’t hear me.
I head to the back of the house where the guest quarters are, quietly slipping into the room I’ve used in the past when I’ve stayed here. The bed’s already made, my suitcase still half-unpacked in the corner. I change into the usual . Gray sweatpants and a plain white tee.
I should be exhausted, but sleep’s the last thing on my mind. Instead, I end up tossing and turning, unable to shake the feeling that tonight didn’t go as I’d planned. The whole night’s been a tangled mess of emotions. Between the fake smiles, the awkward run-ins, and the weight of pretending with Noelle. I can’t seem to get comfortable.
Frustrated, I push the covers off and get out of bed, padding down the quiet hallway toward the kitchen. Maybe a drink of water will help settle my mind.
But when I get there, I stop dead in my tracks.
Noelle is standing by the open fridge, bathed in the soft glow of the light. She’s wearing light pink sweats that hug her hips and a tiny white tank that shows off just enough of her smooth skin to make my heart pound. Her hair’s loose, tumbling over her shoulders in messy waves. And for a second, I’m not prepared for the sight of her like this. She’s so casual, so natural, and so unbelievably stunning.
I blink, trying to gauge if this is some kind of dream. But no, she’s real, standing right there, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that knocks the breath right out of me. It’s a far cry from the put-together Noelle I’ve been around all day, and it does something to me. It hits me hard.
My gaze locks onto her, and for a second, I don’t know what to say. My throat tightens as I try to swallow the rush of emotions crashing over me. I’ve been trying so hard to keep my distance, to maintain the facade, but seeing her like this—just Noelle, with no pretense, no cameras—it makes the line between what’s real and what’s fake blur even more.
She looks up, noticing me, her eyes wide with surprise. And suddenly, I feel like I’ve been caught staring at something I shouldn’t be, but I can’t look away.
"Hey," I manage to croak out, my voice rougher than I’d like.
"Couldn’t sleep either?" she asks softly, a small, sleepy smile tugging at her lips.
I nod, still feeling like I’m in some kind of daze. "Yeah. Thought I’d get some water."
But really, the last thing on my mind right now is water.