Chapter 1
Chapter One
DECLAN
It’s been three days since I told Sutton I love her, and it just gets better and better.
I wake up feeling like I can take on the world.
Sutton's still asleep, her hair spread across my chest. Her soft breathing is the best soundtrack in the world.
I can't remember the last time I felt this good.
Actually, I can. Freshman year. Before everything went to hell.
But this feels different. Better. We know what we almost lost.
"Morning," she murmurs against my chest when she stirs.
"Morning, beautiful."
She tilts her head up. "What time is it?"
"Early. You've got practice in an hour."
"Ugh." But she's smiling.
I lean down to kiss her, and she melts into me. She’s athletic, toned, but soft where it matters. Her skin is like silk, and she smells amazing.
She smells like me.
Eventually, she pulls away. "I really do have to go."
"Five more minutes."
"You said that ten minutes ago."
She laughs and swats my chest. "If I’m late, you can take this off your list of things we’ll be doing. She’ll make sure I won’t be able to move for a week.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “Why do you guys have practice so damn early?”
She shoots me a dirty look. “Because the hockey gods, aka the boys’ team, get the rink all afternoon. We lowly ladies have to sneak in while you guys lie around in the morning.”
I flash a grin. “Sorry.”
“You’re definitely not sorry.”
“I’m sorry I don’t get to keep you in bed longer.”
She scowls and quickly dresses for practice while I watch with a lazy smile.
After she leaves, I float downstairs on pure adrenaline. Ashton takes one look at my face and groans.
"You're disgustingly happy."
"Yep." I pour myself coffee, still grinning like an idiot.
"This better not affect your game."
"Are you kidding? I'm going to destroy practice today."
He arches a brow. “You didn’t tell her.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
He shakes his head. “Be careful. You’re playing with fire.”
“I still have time. Nothing is set in stone.”
“All right. I’ve got to go. See you at practice.”
Practice is the best I've had in months.
Every drill, every play, every shot feels effortless. I'm reading the ice like a book. My stick feels like an extension of my body.
I'm in the zone.
"Hayes!" Coach Davis blows his whistle, skating toward me. When he gets close, he's smiling. "Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. That was some of the best hockey I've seen from you."
"Thanks, Coach."
"I mean it. If you bring that energy to the season, we're going all the way." He claps me on the shoulder.
Pierce skates up beside me as Coach moves on. "Show off."
"It’s not my fault I'm having a good day."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain blonde roommate?"
"Maybe." I can't stop grinning.
"Just don't let it mess with your head when things get complicated."
"Why would things get complicated?"
He gives me a look. "Because things always get complicated."
"Not this time." I'm sure of it. "We're different now. We talked. We're actually going to communicate."
"I hope you're right."
I’m not right. I’m a damn liar. I haven’t been honest with Sutton. I’m pretending nothing is happening. Life is good. My father and his damn control aren’t looming over my head.
I head to the locker room feeling invincible.
My phone buzzes as I'm pulling off my gear.
Dad: How was practice?
I look around, like he might be standing in a corner. It feels like the dude is everywhere.
Me: Fine.
Dad: Don't screw this up like last time.
Like last time.
I know exactly what he means. Freshman year. When I was too focused on Sutton to give hockey my full attention. When I missed practices because I wanted to spend time with her. When my grades slipped because I was more interested in making her laugh than studying.
Dad made it very clear back then: hockey came first. Always. Relationships were a distraction I couldn't afford.
And he was right—to a point. After Sutton and I broke up, my game improved. I threw myself into training, into being the player everyone expected me to be. The player my grandfather was. The player Dad needs me to be to prove his sports management empire can produce NHL talent.
But I was also miserable.
Another message comes through before I can even think about responding.
Dad: The scout specifically requested you. They're looking at centers. This is YOUR shot.
Dad: Focus. No distractions. I don't care what's going on in your personal life right now.
I delete the messages.
All of them.
"Hey, you good?" Ashton's watching me from across the locker room, his expression concerned.
"Yeah. Fine."
“Sure?”
"It's nothing. Just my dad being my dad."
He nods slowly. "If you need to talk, I’m here."
"I don't." I shove my phone in my bag. "It's handled."
But it's not handled. Not even close.
A Pacific Northwest scout in three weeks. That means Seattle or Vancouver. Both are about as far from Massachusetts as you can get without leaving the continent. Both put me on the opposite side of the country from Sutton.
I could tell her now. Should tell her, probably. We just promised each other no more secrets, no more assuming the worst. Communication and trust.
But if I tell her about the scout, everything changes.
She'll start worrying about what happens after graduation. About whether this is worth it if I'm leaving anyway. About whether we're just delaying the inevitable heartbreak.
And worst of all, she'll think I'm choosing hockey over her.
The panic starts creeping in, but I push it down.
It's not guaranteed. Scouts come to games all the time.
They watch, they evaluate, and they move on.
Just because someone's coming to watch doesn't mean I'm getting an offer. I’m old. Twenty-two means I’m older than probably half the guys playing. Okay, maybe not half, but given the average age is mid-twenties, I’m certainly not a prime target for teams. They want the kids kicking ass in high school.
But I know I have a reputation. I come from hockey royalty. And my dad is out there pushing me to anyone who will listen. I love hockey. I do, but I don’t see it as my whole future.
I’ve just never mentioned that to Dad.
Well, I have, but he didn’t hear me.
He’s putting all my eggs in the West Coast basket.
Even if I do get an offer, it doesn't mean I have to take it.
There are other teams. East Coast teams. Teams closer to Avalon. Hell, at least on the same side of the damn country.
I'll tell her eventually. After the first game, once I know if there's actually news. There’s no point in making her worry about something that might not even happen.
It's not lying. It's just... timing.
I'm still trying to convince myself of that when I text her.
Me: Dinner tonight? Somewhere off campus. Just us.
Sutton: Like a date?
Me: Exactly like a date. Our first official one.
Sutton: Okay. But I'm not putting out on the first date.
Me: Too late for that.
I put my phone away before she could say anything more. The whole dating thing isn’t going to be exactly traditional, considering we live together, but I’ll knock on her bedroom door.
Which reminds me, I need flowers.
I’m going to do this right. I’m going to show her why I’m worth holding onto—even if I do end up on the other side of the country.