Chapter 5
Ben, February 28
I can pinpoint the exact moment I realized I was in love with her. It wasn’t some grand gesture or a heart-throbbing confession. It was just a Saturday morning, and Liz’s hockey games had become our routine. She’d always text me the score after a game, usually late at night—early in the morning for me. I’d leave my phone by my pillow, half-dreaming, just to wake up to her messages.
But this Saturday? I woke up to silence.
I checked my phone like a madman. No message. Nothing.
I figured she probably just forgot. So, I sent her a quick text.
Ben: Sleeping Beauty, you forgot to send me the score of your game.
I took a shower, got dressed, and still—nothing.
By noon, I was starting to get jittery. My thoughts were racing in that irrational way they do when you're suddenly terrified. What if she’d crashed her car on the way home? What if she was lying in some hospital bed alone, waiting for someone who never came?
Ben: Everything OK?
I was probably a complete arse that day. I know friends called, and I’m sure they heard about it—me snapping at anyone who came close enough to my phone. But I couldn’t help it. My stomach was in knots. Why wasn’t she answering? Had something happened? Was she hurt? I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.
Finally, around two in the afternoon, my time, I saw the dreaded notification.
Liz: I’m sorry I didn’t text you. Took a puck to the collarbone and fractured it. Hurts like hell. My phone was in my hockey bag in my car, and someone just brought it to me. I actually don’t know if we won the game, haha.
The relief hit first—like a wave of fresh air after holding my breath for hours. She was okay.
But then—anger. It came crashing in like an avalanche. Anger at whoever hit her with that puck. The kind of hot, irrational anger I didn’t even know I was capable of. I don’t care how it sounds, but if I had been there, if that person had been standing in front of me... I would’ve punched them in the face. No question.
Ben: Who hit you with a puck?
Liz: I don’t know, it was an accident.
Ben: What the hell? Aren’t there like penalties for that or something?
Liz: Not really. I was standing between some guy and the net. He took a shot. It hit me. Not really a big deal, I just got unlucky.
Ben: Are you okay?
Liz: Yes. They’re letting me go home today with painkillers and a sling to keep me from moving too much. I just have to give it time to heal.
Ben: Are you sure you’re okay?
Liz: Absolutely!
She managed to calm me down, eventually. But that anger? It was real. And it wasn’t just protectiveness. No, it was deeper than that. I wasn’t just angry at someone for hurting her. I was furious because I wanted to avenge her. I wanted to be the one to step in, to fight on her behalf. It was like this primal, protective instinct that I couldn’t shut down.
And the strangest part? I’d never reacted like that to anyone else before. Not family, not mates, not any of the girls I’d dated. It was new. It was raw.
And that’s when it hit me.
It was love.
I needed her safe, yes, but more than that—I needed her to be mine.
It scared the hell out of me. I’d built a life around never needing anyone that badly.