Chapter 11 Collin
COLLIN
Six hours. That’s how long it’s been since I last saw Iris, and I can’t get her out of my head.
Monday’s practice feels years away, even though I know it’s tomorrow.
I want to see her smile again, to brush that one stubborn curl back from her face, to finally know if her lips are as soft as they look.
Jesus. It hasn’t even been a full day and I’m already having withdrawals.
This is getting ridiculous. Pathetic, really.
Sunlight streams through my floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long rectangles of warmth across the hardwood where Ace and I are sprawled out in our usual spot.
I lean back against the smooth leather of my couch, absently working the rope toy between my hands as Ace’s teeth lock on with playful determination.
His dark eyes watch me intently, waiting for any sign of weakness he can exploit to win our eternal tug-of-war game.
It’s a rare day off, and here I am, getting the third degree from my mother.
Her face fills my phone screen propped against the coffee table, the familiar kitchen a sunny blur behind her.
She has flour on her cheek and her reading glasses pushed up into her brown hair like always.
Those blue eyes of hers miss nothing, never have.
As a kid, I wished I’d inherited them instead of my dad’s dark ones.
Would’ve given anything to look more like her and less like him.
Sometimes I still wonder if it hurt her, looking at me and seeing his face staring back.
“So, Christmas,” she says, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Will you be making it home this year?”
“Always do.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, fiddling with something off-screen.
” Right, of course you do. Ever my reliable boy.
” She clears her throat, with all the subtlety of a brick through a window.
“I was just wondering if... well, if maybe you might be bringing someone with you this year?” Another pause, and then with poorly concealed hope, “Like, I don’t know.
.. maybe a pretty little curly-headed thing?
” I let my head fall back against the couch, studying the high arches of my ceiling.
I don’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling at me.
Grinning ear to ear. Thing is, even if I hadn’t told her about Ice Breakers, she would’ve found out anyways. She always does.
“It’s not like that. We’re not—we’re not dating.” The words come out weird, almost stuck in my throat. “And I’m not about to give the Mackinac gossip mill any more material to work with.” God knows they have enough already.
“Oh honey, that ship has sailed, hit an iceberg, and is currently doing its best Titanic impression. The whole island is already talking about it.”
“Mom—”
“You hesitated,” she cuts in, leaning closer to the screen, that look on her face telling me I’m not fooling anyone.
“I did not—” But I had, and Ace took advantage of my distraction to yank the rope free, trotting around the coffee table with his prize.
“You did.” Her mouth curves into a knowing smile. “Oh my goodness—” She presses her hands to her cheeks, looking absolutely delighted. “You have a crush!” She spins away from the phone, calling off-screen, “Hal! Hal, he has a crush!”
“Moooom,” I groan, feeling like I’m sixteen again, trying to explain why Jenny Pates’ lip gloss was on my collar. “Come on, I’m not in high school.”
“Leave the poor boy alone, Julie.” Hal’s chuckle comes through the speaker.
I can picture him in Mom’s kitchen, probably leaning against the counter like he has since I was a kid.
He’s been around as long as I can remember—my first hockey coach, the guy who drove me to every early morning practice, who taught me how to take a hit and get back up.
Pretty sure he’s been in love with my mom just as long.
Not that either of them will ever admit it.
“I will not,” Mom declares, spinning back to face me. “Sorry, honey, I just never thought I’d see the day. Hal and I honestly thought you might knock someone up before that happened and—”
“Jesus, Mom!” I scrub a hand down my face, feeling the heat creep up my neck.
Trust her to go straight for maximum embarrassment.
The worst part is, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
I’ve spent years dating around, keeping things casual, never letting anyone close enough to matter.
One-night stands and brief flings were easier than risking something real. “Can we not?”
“Jules,” Hal warns, but he’s laughing. Traitor.
“What? I’m just saying, sweetheart. All those road games, those girls in the bars—”
“I’m hanging up now.” The memory of all those meaningless encounters sits heavy in my stomach, making me feel slightly nauseated. None of them made me feel the way simply talking to Iris does.
“No, no, wait!” She’s still grinning, but softens a little. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I’m just happy to see you interested in someone who isn’t just interested in your hockey stats.” I sigh, reaching down to scratch Ace behind the ears, his fur warm from the sunlight.
“It’s not—we’re just friends. She probably doesn’t even—” I stop myself, realizing I’m about to dig this hole even deeper. But the truth is, I have no idea what Iris thinks about me. Sure, there were moments when I thought maybe... but she’s always so guarded.
“Doesn’t even what?” Mom pounces, eyebrows shooting up. “Think about you that way? Because from what you’ve told me about Ice Breakers—”
“Nope. We’re done here. Ace needs a walk.
” Ace’s head shoots up at the W-word, tail thumping against the floor.
I end the call before Mom can start planning our wedding, letting my phone drop onto the couch with a soft thud.
Only my mother could turn a simple FaceTime call into an episode of The Bachelor.
“Come on, boy.” I grab Ace’s leash from the hook by the door.
The walk helps clear my head, even if half the people we pass seem to do a double-take.
Being recognized wasn’t anything new—that’s what happens when you play for the home team, but something feels different today.
More eyes than usual. More phones coming up.
I chalk it up to paranoia until my phone buzzes with a text from Marcus.
Marcus: My office. Now.
Oh, what the fuck now? What could I have possibly done?
I’ve been a goddamn Boy Scout lately. No fights, no late nights before games, haven’t even looked at a woman since—Oh.
Well, this can’t be good. Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting across from Marcus, watching that familiar vein in his forehead throb in time with his pulse.
He spreads a handful of tabloid printouts across his desk, one by one.
“Care to explain these?” My stomach hollows.
There we are, me and Iris at O’Malley’s, her body curved toward mine on the dance floor, faces inches apart in what looks a whole lot like a moment before a kiss.
Another shows her hand on my chest, both of us laughing at some joke I can’t remember through the haze of beer and her perfume.
In the last one, my fingers are brushing her hair back from her face with a look in my eyes that makes me want to crawl under Marcus’s desk and die.
Marcus repeatedly jabs a stubby finger at the photo.
“Does she look like one of the guys to you, King?” Definitely not. God, she looks gorgeous.
“Well, technically she is a teammate, so...”
“Don’t get smart with me.” The vein throbs harder. “We put you on Ice Breakers to clean up your image, not so you could get handsy with your skating partner.”
“Nothing happened,” I insist. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends.” Marcus’s eyebrows raise up. “You want to tell that to CBS Sports? Because they seem to think you two are the newest power couple.” He slides another printout across the desk.
The headline makes it hard to swallow: NHL Star Collin King Scores Off the Ice with Ice Breakers’ Favorite Olympian.
“I swear, it’s not—”
“Need I remind you what’s at stake here?
The sponsors are already nervous about your reputation.
One more scandal, one more headline about the bad boy of hockey—” He taps the stack of photos.
“Ice Breakers was supposed to fix that image, not give them more reasons to drop you.” The photos scattered across Marcus’s desk might as well be evidence at a crime scene.
Looking at them now, I can see exactly what the media sees—what everyone would see. Another headline waiting to happen.
The worst part? I don’t regret a single moment captured in those grainy shots.
Not the way she’d leaned into me on the dance floor, not the way her laugh made my chest warm.
Hell, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, sponsors be damned.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be smarter than this.
Supposed to have learned my lesson about letting my personal life bleed into the headlines.
For years, I've told myself it's easier this way—keep things surface-level, don't get invested, don't give anyone the chance to expect more than I can deliver.
Clean. Simple. Safe. It's worked, too. No messy breakups, no disappointed faces when I inevitably screw things up, no one looking at me like I'm my father's son when I fall short of whatever version of me they'd built up in their heads.
But Iris... she makes me want to be better.
She makes me want to try. She makes me think that maybe some people are worth the risk of falling.
“Collin,” Marcus’s voice pulls me back. “Are we going to have a problem?” I stare at the photos spread across his desk. At her smile. At the way my hand fits against the small of her back like it belongs there.
“No.” The word tastes like ash. “No problem.” Marcus nods, satisfied.
“Good. Because if these sponsors pull out, Ice Breakers won’t be the only thing you’re getting cut from.
” The threat hangs there. Clear as glass.
“Look, I’m not saying you can’t be friends.
Hell, the show benefits from good chemistry between partners.
But keep it professional in public. Friendly.
No more intimate moments that can be twisted into something they’re not.
Keep it PG.” When I don’t move, he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You can go.” I stand, legs wooden, and head for the door.
The photos are still spread across his desk, showing me exactly what I can’t have. What I shouldn’t even want.