Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Colby
The Jealous Ex
I have taken hits from six-foot-four defensemen moving at full speed.
I have played through a separated shoulder, broken ribs, and a concussion nobody caught quickly enough because playoff hockey turns everyone temporarily insane.
None of that has prepared me for the specific rage of watching Darren Hale smirk at Sadie in an elementary school parking lot.
Snow falls steadily around us, softening the edges of Briar Cove beneath glowing streetlights. Parents continue loading children into SUVs nearby, but the energy around us shifts almost instantly. People notice tension about the way dogs notice storms, especially in small towns.
Jillie presses closer against my side, mittened hand still wrapped tightly around mine.
That matters more than anything Darren is saying.
He notices it too, and because he’s exactly the kind of man I already suspect he is, his eyes sharpen with ugly satisfaction.
“There it is,” he says lightly. “That protective family-man thing everyone online loves.”
I keep my voice even. “You should head home, Darren.”
He laughs once. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
No. But I do get to decide whether Jillie must hear another adult make her mother feel small. Sadie shifts beside me, shoulders tense enough to snap.
“Darren,” she says quietly, “this isn’t the place.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. “A school parking lot probably isn’t ideal for whatever publicity stunt this is.”
Jillie stiffens. I feel it immediately. That tiny little change in posture. Children hear everything. Even the things adults think they’re hiding.
I crouch slightly so my body blocks more of Darren from her view. “Jillie,” I say calmly, “didn’t you say Miss Angie gave everybody candy canes?”
Her attention flickers uncertainly toward me.
“Yes.”
“What color did you get?”
“Red and green.”
“Strong choice.”
“She said green tastes weird.”
“She’s correct.”
Jillie starts explaining candy cane politics in great detail.
Good. Keep her talking. Keep her distracted. Keep her from hearing the tension sharpening underneath the conversation.
Across from me, Darren watches the interaction with narrowed eyes.
Then he smiles. It’s not a nice smile.
“Wow,” he says. “You really commit to the role.”
I stand slowly again.
Still calm.
Still controlled.
Inside, though?
Not calm at all.
Because men like Darren mistake quietness for weakness. They think if you aren’t yelling, you aren’t dangerous.
Hockey cured me of that misconception years ago.
The truly dangerous players aren’t the loud ones, they’re the controlled ones.
“You should leave,” I repeat.
“And you should stop pretending this little fantasy is real.” Darren gestures loosely toward Sadie. “Come on. We both know how this ends. Guys like you don’t stay in Briar Cove baking cookies forever.”
The words land harder than they should.
Not because he’s right.
Because a part of me is terrified he might be.
I ignore that immediately.
Beside me, Sadie folds her arms tightly against the cold. “You lost the right to comment on my life when you cheated on me.”
Darren winces slightly.
Interesting.
So, he does have a functioning conscience buried in there somewhere.
“Sadie—”
“No.” Her voice stays calm too, but I can feel anger vibrating underneath it. “You do not get to show up now acting concerned about Jillie after disappearing the second things became inconvenient.”
Jillie goes very quiet beside me.
Damn it.
Sadie feels it too.
I see the exact moment that regret flashes across her face, not because she said something wrong, but because she never wanted Jillie to hear this conversation.
Darren notices the silence and softens his voice immediately. “Jillie, sweetheart—”
“No,” I say sharply.
The word cuts through the snowfall cleanly.
Darren’s eyes snap to mine.
“She doesn’t need to be pulled into this,” I continue evenly. “So, either lower your voice or end the conversation.”
The parking lot has gone strangely still around us.
A few nearby parents pretend not to watch. Badly.
Sadie stares at me for half a second like she’s trying to understand something.
Honestly? So am I.
Because this protectiveness keeps arriving faster than my ability to explain it.
Darren exhales sharply through his nose. “You really think this is helping her?”
My answer comes immediately. “Yes.”
Not because I think fake dating is ideal. Not because I think headlines are healthy. But because I have eyes.
I’ve seen Jillie relax over the past few days. Laugh easier. Stop checking Sadie’s face constantly like she’s monitoring adult moods for danger.
And maybe that says something terrible about how lonely both were before this.
Sadie steps closer to Jillie. “We’re leaving.”
Darren looks at her for a long moment.
Then: “You’re getting attached to somebody temporary.”
The sentence lands directly where he intended. I feel Sadie tense instantly beside me, and suddenly I understand something important about Darren Hale.
He doesn’t need to yell to hurt people either.
Interesting.
I take one slow breath before answering. “Goodnight, Darren.”
My voice stays completely level. That seems to unsettle him more than anger would have.
Because there’s nothing to fight against.
No dramatic scene.
No macho posturing.
No competition.
Just a very clear refusal to let him keep upsetting them.
After a long few seconds, he scoffs and steps backward toward his SUV. Vanessa watches the entire thing silently from the passenger side, her expression unreadable.
Then Darren leaves.
The second his taillights disappear, Sadie exhales shakily beside me.
Jillie leans against her leg quietly. Nobody speaks for a moment. Snow keeps falling.
The school doors swing open behind us as another wave of families exits into the parking lot.
Life continuing. Normal. Except nothing about the way Sadie looks at me right now feels normal.
“You didn’t escalate,” she says softly.
I blink once. “Was I supposed to?”
“Most men would’ve.”
I glance toward the road where Darren disappeared. “Most men aren’t thinking about whether a six-year-old can hear them.”
Something changes in Sadie’s face again. That vulnerable look, the one she tries to hide immediately after it appears.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. And for some reason, that affects me more than it should.
I could drive separately, but neither of us even suggests it. I leave my car parked beside the school gym and climb into Sadie’s, somehow unwilling to break whatever fragile warmth settled between us tonight.
Something changes in Sadie’s face again...
The drive back to her place feels softer after that. Jillie chatters sleepily from the back seat while Sadie drives through snow-covered streets lined with glowing storefronts and Christmas lights.
The town looks unreal at night.
Safe. Warm. Small in the best possible way.
I keep catching myself imagining what it would feel like if this were real. Not the fake dating. Not the headlines.
This. School concerts. Snowy drives home. Jillie kicking the back of my seat while arguing about candy canes.
The thought should alarm me more than it does.
My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I already know who it is. The Blizzards group chat has apparently become emotionally invested in my life.
Toby: heard u survived tiny chairs
Liam: internet already posted photos
Caleb: Why are there ALWAYS photos?
Jamie: Because Colby forgot how to be anonymous.
Toby: important question: when are we becoming uncles
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Sadie glances over from the driver’s seat. “What?”
“My teammates think they’re hilarious.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It is.”
Another text appears.
Jamie: You okay?
Simple. Direct. Captain behavior.
I stare at the message for a second longer than necessary.
Because the answer is complicated.
For months, maybe longer, “okay” has mostly meant:
functioning.
performing.
surviving.
But tonight? Tonight I stood in a school cafeteria listening to Jillie sing about winter lights while Sadie tried not to smile beside me. And for the first time in a long time, something inside me felt quiet. Not empty. Quiet. So I reply.
Me: Yeah.
Three dots appear immediately.
Jamie: Good.
Then:
Toby: SERIOUSLY THOUGH. ARE WE GETTING MATCHING UNCLE SHIRTS
I shake my head. Sadie notices again. “That smile means trouble.”
“I’m surrounded by idiots.”
“Ah. Hockey.”
“Exactly.”
She laughs softly. The sound settles warmly somewhere beneath my ribs.
We stop briefly at Sweet Seasons so Sadie can grab dessert trays for the Briar Cove Children’s Charity Auction happening that evening at the community center.
Apparently, my fake relationship now includes volunteering.
Honestly? Could be worse.
The event itself turns into absolute chaos almost immediately.
Tiny children high on sugar run between tables.
Tourists bid aggressively on gift baskets.
Mrs. Bellamy somehow wins three silent auction items and acts shocked every single time.
Jillie attaches herself to me within fifteen minutes. Not clingy. Not needy. Comfortable. Like she’s stopped questioning whether I’ll actually stay when I say I will.
That realization lands heavily, because temporary things are not supposed to feel this steady.
At one point during the event, Sadie disappears into the kitchen to help organize dessert tables. Jillie sits beside me coloring on the back of an auction flyer.
“Do hockey people do charity stuff a lot?” she asks.
“Sometimes.”
“Do you like it?”
I look around the crowded community center… at Briar Cove parents laughing near the raffle table, at Sadie through the kitchen window, sleeves rolled up while she argues with Mrs. Bellamy about frosting placement, at Jillie coloring tiny hockey sticks in blue marker beside me.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly.
“I think you smile more here.”
The words hit me unexpectedly hard. Because six-year-olds should not be emotionally perceptive enough to notice that.
“What makes you say that?”
She shrugs. “You smile with your eyes here.”
Good grief. I look away briefly before she notices the effect that had on me. Kids shouldn’t be this wise.
By nine-thirty, the event finally begins winding down. Jillie crashes hard. One minute she’s explaining why snowmen deserve names, the next, she’s curled against my chest half asleep while Sadie stacks empty trays nearby.
I shift her carefully in my arms. She makes a soft sleepy sound and burrows closer automatically.
Every instinct inside me goes strangely still. I’ve held nieces and nephews before.
Friends’ kids.
Fans’ children during charity events.
But this feels different. Not performative. Not temporary. Needed.
That realization scares me enough that I almost hand her back immediately.
Then Jillie sighs softly against my chest and settles deeper into my coat. And I can’t do it.
***
Outside, Briar Cove glows silver beneath fresh snow. Sadie walks beside me quietly as we leave the community center together.
Neither of us speaks much. The town feels hushed this late.
Streetlights reflect on snowbanks. The frozen lake glimmers beyond the downtown buildings. The bakery windows glow faintly ahead.
And Jillie sleeps through all of it curled against me, one tiny hand clutching my coat zipper.
“She trusts you,” Sadie says softly after a while.
The words feel less like praise and more like responsibility.
“I’m trying to deserve that.”
She looks at me then. Really looks at me. And whatever she sees there makes her expression soften in a way that completely wrecks my ability to breathe normally.
We reach her front porch. Snow crunches beneath our boots. Warm yellow light spills across the steps from inside the house.
I adjust Jillie slightly in my arms, preparing to hand her over carefully without waking her.
Then her sleepy voice murmurs against my chest.
“So warm,” she whispers. Sadie smiles tiredly. “Bug, we’re home.”
Jillie barely opens her eyes. Then, softly enough to break something clean through the center of me:
“Can you stay tonight?”
Silence. The porch light hums quietly overhead. Snow drifts around us.
And suddenly I understand exactly how dangerous this has become.