Page 28 of Broken As Puck

I sighed but didn’t press for an answer. Honestly, I’d already gotten more out of her than I’d expected. “Keep me updated about the documentary.”

“I will.”

I hesitated before leaving. “Is there anything that would be helpful for me to do before filming starts?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

I turned to leave. I recognized a dismissal when I heard one. I dropped by Coach to pass along the news and paused to watch the amateur team that was practicing on the ice.

Someone leaned on the railing beside me.

I looked over, then did a double-take and backed away from Jesse. “Too close, man.”

He grinned. “No such thing. So, are you chasing after a pretty blonde, by any chance?”

I stiffened. “No, I was just talking to her to follow up on something for Coach.”

“Uh-huh.” His grin broadened. “Sure you were. How is Chelsey?”

“She’s a professional,” I snapped, irritated with him for seeing more than I wanted him to. “I hope you’re not spreading gossip about us. She deserves to be treated with respect.”

His grin fell away and his eyebrows knitted together. “Of course I’m not. I’d never want to make life harder for her. I just like to tease.”

I sighed, knowing I’d been too hard on him. “Sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.” One side of his mouth hitched up mischievously. “You’re just protective of your boo.”

I snorted. “Seriously, shut up.”

“All right, all right. I’m leaving.”

I pushed away from the boards. “I should get a move on too.”

We were side by side as we left the stadium. I unlocked my car and got in. Unfortunately, school had recently let out, so the roads were clogged as I navigated between rows of traffic to my place in the suburbs.

When I arrived, I was grateful to escape the traffic, but the deafening silence inside made me almost miss the chaos. I knew some people liked having quiet and order at home to counteract how full-on our professional lives were, but the contrast only made me aware of exactly how alone I was.

With a tight chest, I put on a load of laundry, started a podcast over the Bluetooth speaker in the living room, and settled on the sofa. I scrolled through social media on my phone, replying to a few comments and sending memes and funny videos to my friends.

Then, as if drawn by a magnet, I found myself opening the folder where I’d stored all my photos of Chelsey and me together. The most recent ones—still nearly a decade old—appeared first. We were at a campsite we’d visited during the semester break of our senior year, not long before we’d broken up. She was smiling at the camera, wearing a tank top with her hair loose and her eyes sparkling.

She looked so happy.

Hell, we both looked happy. While she was focused on the camera, I was looking at her with big, sappy eyes that made it clear just how smitten I was.

My heart squeezed painfully. Back then, I thought we’d be that happy forever.

I kept scrolling, passing over pictures of us at hockey games, parties, and a few of us with our families. Her cheeks had been a bit plumper from the softness of youth. Mine had been too, despite the strict training regimen I’d already been adhering to.

We were touching in almost every photograph.

When I finally reached the very first one, I glanced at Chelsey’s bare hand. I stood as if on autopilot and made my way to the bedroom. I opened the top drawer of the nightstand and withdrew a small, black box.

Dropping my ass on the edge of the bed, I flipped the box open and stared at the ring nestled inside. It wasn’t anything flashy. In fact, it was quite simple. I’d saved for months, and even then, I hadn’t been able to afford much.

I’d been determined to show Chelsey how committed I was before I entered the NHL draft. I didn’t want her to think I’d run off with a puck bunny.

Unfortunately, I’d never had the chance to give it to her.