Chapter 19 #2
It's perfectly golden, buttery, and sparkling with sugar. The scent of cardamom and butter wraps around me, warm and comforting, like I'm back in the kitchen of my apartment, desperate to make this recipe work for Zoey while still dreaming about getting back out on the ice for myself.
And now, it's all happened at once. In the same fucking day.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it.
“It’s real.” She’s pacing now, her boots tapping softly on the plush rug. “They want to start with dedicated kiosks here at The Den, but the offer… Colt, the offer—"
She pauses again, gripping that damn envelope.
I step in closer. "Zoey. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
She smiles nervously, then releases an enormous sigh that ends on a relieved smile.
“It’s the whole dream, Colt. The one I packed away when Morgan was born.”
Her face is lit up from within, all her usual stress and armour stripped away. She looks like the woman I pictured whenever I read her notebook, standing here like this. The one with the big, bold plans, the one who believed she could build an empire.
I want to freeze this moment. Bottle it and keep her exactly like this, forever.
"I knew you could do it, Zoey. You just needed reminding of how incredible—"
But her face has fallen into a frown. She's shaking her head, looking back down at the paper in her hands.
“But—”
“What?”
She points to a paragraph near the bottom. “There’s a condition.”
I step closer, so close I can smell the scent of her shampoo. My shoulder brushes hers as I lean in to read.
The investor group requests that, pending successful partnership, eventual headquarters and full relocation of bakery operations be conducted from their primary location.
The words blur. Then sharpen into focus.
Relocation.
My stomach drops.
“You need to relocate?”
“Big Mike said it’s just a meeting to begin with,” she says quickly, her eyes darting to mine. “But if it goes well… I guess… they want the headquarters to be central. It would mean…”
She trails off. But she doesn’t have to finish.
I know exactly what it means.
It would mean leaving Chilmore.
Leaving the bakery. Leaving the life she’s built here.
Leaving me.
My mind races. She could be moving. Fucking far away.
A different time zone. A different life.
And I just got cleared to play. Not just practice drills or light skating sessions anymore. Actual game time. The green light I've been waiting weeks for, the moment I've been counting down to since that hit rattled my brain and benched me indefinitely.
My life is here. On this ice. With this team.
The Snow Leopards aren't just my career… they're the closest thing I've ever had to a family. The locker room banter, the grueling practices, the rush of sixty minutes of chaos with my brothers beside me. Brother I always wanted, but never had.
This is everything I've worked for since I was four years old.
Before I can form a single coherent thought, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I ignore it, because this is just too huge.
But it vibrates again. And again.
I sigh, pulling the phone out. UNKNOWN NUMBER flashes on the screen and a cold trickle runs down my spine as I slam the green button with my thumb.
“Call back later,” I answer, holding my phone to my ear and having zero patience for a phone call right now.
But the voice on the other line is so familiar, I can't help but pause.
“Colt! It’s Marty Fisk.”
My agent? Fuck. I haven’t heard from him in months. Not a word since I've been out of action.
“How are you, my man? You sound busy, so I'll be quick." He chuckles to himself.
I roll my eyes. “What’s up, Martin?”
“I just got off the phone with Willa Jameson. She's told me your news. You're good to go, huh? Managed to flip the switch back on in that pretty little head of yours?"
"Yep," I say, looking down to the ice where the ice cleaner is now patching up after practice. "Seems that way."
"Good, good. Then I've got some incredible news I've been holding back. You ready for this, kid?"
I swallow hard and look to Zoey. She's just standing there, eyes flicking between the envelope and me. I can't believe she might have to move. I can't fucking believe it.
"New York has been calling," Marty's voice pulls me back to the phone call, the words rushing out like he's been holding onto them for too long. "They’ve been watching your recovery. Now that you’re cleared for full contact, the offer is formal."
"What?" I say quietly, my legs suddenly like jelly. "What offer?!"
"They want you, Colt. A two-year contract." Another laugh from my agent, but laughing is the last thing I feel like doing right now. I think I'm going to be sick. "The numbers are… well, let’s just say your parents are going to need a bigger boat.”
New York?
The biggest team in the country?
“This is the dream, Colt,” Martin says, his voice buzzing with excitement. “This is what you’ve been working for since you were a kid! More money. More visibility."
More of everything my parents spent my childhood telling me was the ultimate goal. THEIR ultimate goal.
"This is your chance to play on a real stage, every week. Madison Square Gardens, kiddo!" Marty's practically singing now. "You'll be on national television every other night. Endorsement deals out the wazoo. This is it!”
I look at Zoey. She’s staring at me, her brows drawn together, her arms wrapped around herself like she doesn't know whether to be happy or cry.
“I, uh… Marty, this is great,” I say into the phone, my voice strangely calm. "I need to think about it, though."
“Think about it? Colt, this is a no-brainer! This is the kind of offer that changes careers. Changes lives. You’d be an idiot to—”
“I said I need to think about it.” The words come out sharper than I mean them to. “I’ll call you back.”
I hang up before he can protest.
The silence inside the Executive Box returns, deeper this time.
Zoey’s eyes haven’t left my face. “Who was that?”
“There’s… a trade offer,” I say, the words feeling like gravel in my throat. “Another team wants me. It's… it's New York.”
She just… blinks. Her arms tighten around herself, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
“New York,” she repeats softly, almost to herself.
“Yeah.”
“That’s… far.”
“Yeah.”
We stand there, facing each other in the luxurious, quiet box. Outside the window, the ice gleams under the arena lights, now empty and somehow even more perfect.
Zoey looks at the envelope in her hands, then back at me. The joy in her eyes from minutes ago has vanished, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.
I want to say something. To tell her it’ll be okay. To promise we’ll figure it out.
But the words stick in my throat, because for the first time since I woke up with her beside me…
I'm not sure if we will.