Chapter 5
Josie
The boardwalk stretches out before me, bathed in sunshine, and I can't help but pause at the edge of it, my breath catching in my throat.
Because holy shit.
I did this.
The Yard, normally just a flat stretch of concrete overlooking the beach, has been transformed into a full-scale hockey carnival.
Blue and gold bunting hangs from every available surface, snapping in the ocean breeze.
A temporary rink has been set up, its boards gleaming white under the afternoon sun.
Tents line the perimeter, each one offering something different: a stickhandling station, a shooting accuracy challenge, a face-off clinic.
And the crowd.
There are people here. Families with kids in tiny Bears jerseys. Teenagers in group huddles, phone cameras ready. Elderly couples sitting on benches, watching the chaos unfold with amused smiles.
My chest swells with pride my mother would never let me feel.
I did this. In two days.
"Josie! Josie! Over here!"
I turn to find Darcy waving frantically from behind a table stacked high with foam fingers and rally towels. Rose, who I only officially met today but love already, is beside her, looking frazzled but triumphant.
"Okay, first of all," Darcy says as I approach, her eyes wide, "you're a fucking wizard. Second of all, how did you get the permits for the taco truck in under forty-eight hours? I've been trying to get that guy to cater an event for months."
I shrug, trying to play it cool even as a warm glow spreads through my chest. "I may have mentioned that the team would pay his parking fees for the next six months."
Darcy's jaw drops. "You what?"
"Don't worry, I cleared it with Colin. He didn't even flinch."
Rose lets out a low whistle. "Remind me never to play poker with you."
"Noted." I grab a stack of schedules from the table, fanning them out. "Alright. Status report. How are we looking?"
"Good. Really good." Rose ticks off on her fingers. "The stickhandling station is drawing a crowd. The shooting accuracy challenge has a line forming. And Brooke's been handing out merchandise like candy. I think she's single-handedly converted three families into season ticket holders."
As if on cue, Brooke Kessler appears, her blonde ponytail swinging as she weaves through the crowd. She's carrying a box of those cool mini hockey sticks she sells at The Vault, and there's a smear of face paint on her cheek.
"Whitfield!" she calls out, her voice bright. "You're a goddamn miracle worker. I've moved more merch in the last hour than I did at the arena all of last week."
"Just doing my job," I say, but I can't help the smile that breaks through.
Brooke sets the box down, dusting off her hands. "Seriously though. The energy out here is insane. I've had three marriage proposals, two job offers, and one very persistent grandmother who wants to set me up with her grandson."
"Did you take the grandmother up on it?" Darcy asks, grinning.
"Absolutely not. But the grandfather was hot." Brooke's eyes sparkle as she waggles her brows.
"Ewwww!"
We all laugh, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy it. The camaraderie. The sense of accomplishment. The knowledge that I'm actually good at this.
But then my mind drifts to a pair of stormy blue eyes that bore into me a few hours ago.
My brain is still buzzing from the morning's media training disaster, from the confrontation with Declan, from the way his eyes had looked when I said that night meant nothing.
Because it did mean nothing.
Right?
"You know what we need?" Brooke says, breaking through my thoughts. "Coffee. I'm running on fumes."
"And kinky thoughts about old men?" Darcy raises an eyebrow.
"Hey. Don't knock it till you've tried it," Brooke says, completely unbothered. "There's something about a man who knows exactly what he wants and isn't afraid to take it. Age is just a number."
"Or a retirement plan," I mutter, and Rose chokes on her water.
"I'm heading to Goldie's." Brooke nods, already turning. "Josie, you in? I need a second opinion on something."
I hesitate, glancing at the crowd. "I should probably—"
"Stay here and micromanage?" Darcy cuts in, shooing me away. "Go. You've earned a break. I'll hold down the fort."
"Seriously, go," Rose adds. "If anything explodes, I'll text you."
I look between them, then shrug. "Fine. But if I miss the taco-eating contest, I'm holding you both personally responsible."
Brooke and I head down the boardwalk, and the peace and quiet while waiting in the line at Goldie's is a nice change from the chaos outside.
The converted surf shack is quieter now, the lunch rush having faded into the lazy afternoon lull. We grab a table by the window while Kai gets to work on our drinks.
"So," Brooke says, kicking her long legs up on a nearby chair. "How are you really holding up? Looks like you've been working hard this week."
I take a sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest. "Honestly? This week has been... a lot."
"Understatement of the century." She shakes her head. "I've been here for a year, and I still don't know if I've fully adjusted to the Beachside pace."
"Tell me about it. I came here for a fresh start, and instead I got... this."
I wave a hand towards the open window.
The boardwalk is a riot of color and sound. String lights crisscross overhead, a busker is playing an acoustic cover of some pop song near the pier, and the smell of Mexican food drifts all the way up from the hockey festival.
I look down the boardwalk toward The Yard in the distance, where the temporary rink is already buzzing.
A group of kids are playing a pickup game on the far end of the rink. One of them, a girl with pigtails and a jersey that's way too big for her, is absolutely dominating the puck, weaving through the other kids like they're standing still.
She takes a shot, and it dings off the crossbar.
"OHHH!" The crowd groans in sympathy.
The girl just shrugs, picks up the puck, and sets it back down for another go.
She's got that fire. That competitive edge.
I wonder where she got it.
Probably from a father who taught her that she could be anything she wanted, even if it meant being better than the boys.
Lucky girl.
Brooke laughs as she follows my gaze. "Yeah, the Morrison brothers have that effect on people."
"You've known them long?" I ask, keeping my voice casual.
"Long enough." Brooke bites her lip in thought, her eyes distant. "I actually used to date Declan. Briefly."
I choke on the cool breeze passing through the café.
"What?"
Brooke's clearly amused by my reaction. "Yeah. It was a while ago. Before the team really got going. He was... intense."
"Intense how?" I ask, trying to sound merely curious rather than desperately hungry for small town gossip.
"He's not the kind of guy who does casual well.
Even when he tries to be. He's all in, one hundred percent, or he's not in at all.
" She pauses, contemplating. "We had fun.
A lot of fun. But we both knew it wasn't going anywhere.
He's got too much on his shoulders to let anyone close enough to see the cracks. "
I think about the way Declan looked at me in that conference room. The hurt in his eyes when I said our night together meant nothing.
Is that what I am? Another crack in his armor?
"We ended things amicably," Brooke continues, oblivious to my internal spiral. "He's a good guy, Josie. Complicated. But good."
Brooke tilts her head, studying me with a lazy curiosity.
"So." She drags the word out. "You gonna tell me what happened in that media session this morning? Because I heard from Rose that you and Declan came out of that room looking like you'd just had a very intense conversation."
I freeze.
Shit.
"Nothing happened," I say, too fast. "We just… cleared the air. That's all."
Brooke's eyebrows climb toward her sun-bleached hairline. "Mm-hmm."
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Because how do I explain it?
How do I explain that I spent one night with this man, and it was the most alive I've felt in years? That I've been trying to convince myself it meant nothing, but every time I see him, my body remembers exactly what it felt like to be wrapped around him?
"Look," Brooke says, her voice softening. "I don't know what happened between you two. And honestly? It's none of my business. But I've known Declan for a while now. He's not the kind of guy who does things without a reason."
I frown. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs, as Kai calls out our order from behind the espresso machine and we get ready to collect them.
"Like I said, yes, he's intense. And yes, he's got more walls than a fortress." She shrugs her shoulders. "But he's also the guy who stayed late after practice to help a kid find his lost puck. And the guy who carries both his brothers out of the club when they've had one too many drinks."
I blink. "He does that?"
"Don't tell him I told you. He'd kill me." Brooke winks. "But yeah. He's got a good heart. He's just… bad at showing it."
"Thanks, Brooke," I say, my voice quiet as we thank Kai for our drinks and head back down the boardwalk. "I think I needed to hear that."
"Anytime." She sips her latte and shoots a wink at me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a very large shipment of foam fingers. The people need their merchandise."
She heads off, and The Yard is buzzing when I return.
The crowd has swelled, spilling out onto the boardwalk as families and fans gather to watch the chaos unfold. The temporary rink is the main attraction, with a handful of Bears players running drills with a group of wide-eyed kids.
I spot Beck immediately, because of course, he's attracting the biggest crowd.
He's at the taco truck, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, a plastic bib tied around his neck. A massive platter of jalapeno-laden tacos sits in front of him, and he's working through them with the enthusiasm of a man who has no regard for his own digestive system.
"FOURTEEN!" the crowd roars as he finishes another taco, pumping his fist in the air.
"FIFTEEN!"
I shake my head, laughing to myself. That idiot's going to regret this in about three hours.
But my eyes are already scanning the rink, searching for a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette.
There.
Declan is on the ice, and he's... laughing.
Laughing!
The sound is so unexpected, so unlike the grumpy captain I've come to know, that I almost stumble over my own feet.
He's surrounded by a group of kids, all of them clutching mini hockey sticks. One of them, the girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed grin, is trying to deke around him. Declan is playing defense, but he's barely trying, letting her get closer and closer before making a half-hearted poke at the puck.
She squeals in delight, dodging past him and shooting.
The ball, because they're using street hockey balls, not pucks, slides past Corbin, who's in net, and the girl throws her arms up in victory.
"GOAL!" she screams, and Declan's laugh rumbles across the ice, deep and genuine and fuck me.
It's devastating.
He scoops her up, spinning her around, and she shrieks with laughter. The other kids mob him, piling on until he's buried under a mountain of mini-jerseys and mittens.
I'm rooted to the spot, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
That's not the man I met in the conference room.
That's not the man who called me 'woman' like I was beneath him.
That's someone else entirely.
His laugh rumbles across the rink again, a deep, unfiltered sound of pure joy, and a memory slams into me with the force of a tidal wave.
I remember when I was six years old, standing on a frozen pond behind our house, my dad’s hand steady on my shoulder. My skates were laced tight, my breath a cloud in the air.
“Alright, Jojo. Show me what you got.”
I’d taken off, wobbling but determined with a stick in my hand, the scratch of my blades the only sound in the world as I took my shot. I’d missed the makeshift goal, and the puck sailed into a snowbank.
I’d hung my head, the sting of failure immediate for a little girl who got told she shouldn't be out there in the first place.
But before the first tear could even form, my dad was there, scooping me up just like Declan is doing with that little girl right now.
He spun me around until I was dizzy with laughter, then he helped me try again.
I scored the goal on the next shot.
“Atta girl!” he’d roared, his scruffy cheek against mine. “You didn’t quit! That’s my girl.”
I didn't shut up about it for a week, and still, my mother never once said 'well done.'
My father was the only person who never made me feel out of place. Who saw my obsession with hockey stats and my scraped knees not as something to be corrected, but as something to be celebrated.
He was my first coach, my biggest fan, my safety in a family that made me feel like a puzzle piece from the wrong box.
He’s been gone for eight years.
And right now, watching that little girl’s face light up with the same uncomplicated joy I felt on that pond… it’s like seeing a ghost.
A beautiful, heartbreaking ghost.
Darcy appears at my elbow, pulling me back from the darkness. "So. You got the big bad wolf to smile."
I tear my gaze away from the ice, my cheeks flushing. "Seems that way."
She smiles and gives me a bump with her elbow. "Is there anything you can't do?"
I don't have an answer for that.
Because watching Declan Morrison laugh, watching him play with those kids, watching him be human...
It changes something.
It makes him real.
And that's the most dangerous thing of all.