Chapter 19
Colt
The ice under my skates feels different today. The way my edges bite, the way my body remembers the rhythm of a full-contact drill after a month of sitting on the fucking sidelines.
It's all different, or maybe, it's because I had Zoey wrapped around me last night, and I can't stop thinking about it.
“Last one, Lane. Give me a full lap, then hit the net. No holding back.”
Willa stands at the boards, tablet in hand, watching me like I’m a bomb she’s finally about to finish defusing.
"Alright," I nod, my breath fogging in the cold arena.
Around me, the guys are finishing their own drills. Cade’s doing ridiculous between-the-legs puck tricks near center ice, showing off for no one. Gabe’s a mountain of quiet intensity by the blue line, his dark eyes tracking my every move.
This is it. The final test.
I push off, my skates carving deep into the ice. The speed comes back like muscle memory, the rush of air, the burn in my thighs, the perfectly balanced glide.
I take the corner tight, my body leaning into the turn, and for a second, I’m just a kid again, flying across a frozen pond with nothing to worry about except whether I’d beat my parents home for dinner.
Newsflash. I always did.
I shake the thought away and focus on the net. Theo’s in goal, his mask tilted, waiting. I pick up a puck from the corner, stickhandle through the imaginary defense, deke left, then pull right at the last second.
The puck sails top shelf, ringing off the crossbar with a ping.
A cheer goes up from the bench. Cade whistles, loud and obnoxious. “Holy shit, he's back! He's back!”
Coach Ashford watches from the bench, his arms crossed while a rare smile touches his lips. “Nice, Lane.”
Willa taps at the screen of her tablet, then looks up, her expression serious.
"Alright, Colt. You want the good news, or the bad news?"
"Bad news first. Always."
"The bad news," Willa says, tapping her tablet with a perfectly straight face. "You left a very nice lip balm in the training room. The cherry-scented one. It's mine now."
I blink. "That's it? That’s the bad news?"
Cade cackles from the bench. "She's hoarding your treasures, man!"
Willa’s mouth twitches. "And the good news… Medically, you’re cleared. You're available for full team selection. I'll let Coach know you can resume full contact."
Cleared. Full contact. My career finally snapping back into place.
The words should feel like a victory. Like a fucking parade.
This is what I’ve been working for since I woke up in that hospital bed with Zoey’s pretty face slowly swimming into focus.
I look up automatically, to the section where Zoey and Morgan sat at the game.
To where Morgan stood on her seat, her tiny hands waving that damn foam finger that was bigger than her head.
I chuckle to myself, remembering when Zoey reached over in the third period and threaded her fingers through mine like it was the easiest thing in the world.
The seats are empty now. Just purple upholstery and the ever-present lingering smell of popcorn.
“Dude, you okay?” Cade skates up beside me, bumping my shoulder. “I'm sure you can buy another lip balm.”
"What?" I shake my head, forcing a grin. “I'm fine. Just… taking it in.”
“Taking in the fact that you’re about to get your ass kicked in drills again?” Gabe rumbles from my other side, a rare smirk on his face. “Welcome back, pretty boy.”
I laugh, but my eyes drift up again, drawn like a magnet to the executive box now. Because there she is.
Zoey is waving down at me from behind the glass, standing with Delaney and Big Mike. She’s waving and smiling, but there's a weird expression on her face.
What the hell is she doing here?!
My chest squeezes tight.
Willa finishes tapping at her tablet, then smiles up at me and pats my arm. “Go hit the showers, Lane. I'll tidy up the paperwork. Well done. You earned this.”
“Thanks, Willa. For everything.”
I lean in and pull her into a quick, hard hug. She chuckles, pats my back, and then she slips away toward the tunnel.
I look back up to Zoey and lift a hand, my smile feeling more real now. Zoey waves back, her smile widening, but still… it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s a weird tension in her shoulders, a look on her face I can’t quite read.
I hope everything is okay.
I left in such a rush this morning, when I woke up and she was still beside me…
I didn't have time to leave a note. All I could think about was getting to the bakery and helping out without waking her.
Maybe I could have texted her?
Shit.
I spin on the ice and head for the locker room, but I’m about halfway to the showers while rehearsing my apology, when Delaney appears at the end of the corridor, practically sprinting in heels.
Her cheeks are flushed, her icy blue eyes bright with excitement. “Colt! Oh my God, there you are.”
“Delaney.” I brace myself while wondering how the hell she got down here so quick. “What’s on fire? And why is Zoey here?!”
“Nothing’s on fire. Everything’s perfect. Better than perfect, actually.” She grabs my arm, her claw-like fingernails digging in. “The voting closed. The twists won. By a landslide.”
A grin spreads across my face, genuine this time. “No shit?”
“No shit! And Big Mike is upstairs with Zoey right now. He showed her the prototype packaging. It’s gorgeous, Colt. It looks like a fucking Tiffany’s box for pastries.”
I start picturing Zoey's face when she saw it. That look of stunned wonder, those warm caramel eyes wide. She would have been speechless for once, her mind already racing with possibilities.
My chest swells with pride.
"How is she?" I ask.
“She’s… emotional,” Delaney says, her eyes suddenly shifting all over the place. “Like, happy-crying emotional. But she asked for you. So you need to get your sweaty ass upstairs and control your woman. Now.”
I wave a hand down my sweat-soaked practice gear. “Um, I need to shower first.”
“Then shower fast. And don't even think about doing that thing where you flex in the mirror for ten minutes." Delaney winks and slaps my arm. "Trust me, Lane. You don’t wanna keep her waiting today… Celebration sex is the best.”
She gives me a wink and a shove toward the locker room, and with that kind of mouth-watering incentive dangling in front of me, I don’t need to be told twice.
Ten minutes later, I’m clean, dressed in my jeans and a white Leopards polo, but my hair is still dripping. I take the private elevator up to the executive level, my pulse kicking with every floor.
The doors slide open to a corridor lined with framed jerseys and team photos. At the end, the double doors to the box are still open.
I push them open, and step inside.
"Hi everyone," I call out, looking around.
“Ah. The man of the hour.” Big Mike is across the room, sipping from a crystal tumbler. He sees me first, a slow smile spreading across his face.
On the central table, there’s a spread that makes my stomach growl, but all I notice are the delicate pastries that I recognize from Butter Batch. And in the center, like a crown jewel, sits a single white box, its purple velvet ribbon untied to reveal something incredible.
Zoey is still over by the window, her back to me. She’s holding an envelope, kind of smiling but looking… tense.
When she turns, her eyes are red-rimmed, her mascara smudged. But she’s smiling a wobbly, breathtaking smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
"Hey Zo," I say softly.
“Colt,” she breathes, eyes starting to water as she shakes her head.
What the hell.
She doesn't look happy. She doesn't look like a woman about to engage in.. celebration sex… or whatever Delaney said.
She looks… sad.
I cross the room quickly, pulling her into my arms without even thinking, or caring, about who's in the room.
"Zoey, what's wrong?" I ask, holding her against my chest.
But she doesn't say anything… she just launches herself into my arms and…
Kisses me.
It’s not a shy kiss either. It’s a desperate kiss, full of a joy so fierce it steals the air from my lungs. Her lips are soft and warm against mine, but there's a raw hunger in the way she presses into me, her fingers fisting in my polo.
She still tastes like whatever we shared last night, and I just want to drown in it all over again. My hands slide down her back, feeling every curve through her soft sweater, and when she pulls back, her eyes are shining.
“Colt… you won't believe it," she breathes, eyes twinkling in front of me. "They want to expand Butter Batch, Colt. A franchise. It’s… it’s everything I wrote in the notebook.
“Oh my God. Are you serious?!” I brush a thumb over her cheek, catching a stray tear. "That's amazing!"
She laughs, a wet, happy sound, and presses her forehead to my chest. “I can’t believe it.”
“It’s real,” I agree, my lips brushing her temple. “So why the sad eyes when I walked in?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” She holds up the crisp envelope in her hand. “This is… um—"
Zoey pulls back, swiping at her eyes with a laugh. Over her shoulder, I see Big Mike watching us awkwardly, swirling his drink while Delaney is practically dancing by the pastry spread.
He clears his throat, sensing the moment. “I’ll give you two a moment. Delaney, let’s go check on those production numbers.”
Delaney winks at me before following him out. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving us alone in the quiet, luxurious box.
Zoey steps back, still holding the envelope like it’s made of glass. She goes to open it, but closes her eyes for a moment too long.
“Look.” She gestures to the table where the white box lays open. “This is the prototype Delaney's come up with. Isn't it beautiful?”
Following along with the clear attempt at prolonging whatever it is she has to say, I pick up the sage-green sleeve holding one of Zoey's creations.
The pastry smells incredible, of course, but the packaging… It’s sturdy, elegant. The Snow Leopards logo is stamped in gold on one side, the Butter Batch script on the other.
Inside, the twist is perfect, better than anything I ever made.