Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Instead of hanging around the stands, I decide to head down to the locker room area to say hi to my dad. I haven’t seen him yet tonight, and I know he’ll be in his usual place, barking orders at the team and trying to figure out what’s going wrong. As I make my way through the crowded concourse, weaving between fans and vendors, I feel a nervous energy building in my chest. I haven’t talked to my dad about York since everything went down, and I’m not sure what to expect.
When I finally find him near the locker room, he’s leaning against the wall, clipboard in hand, his usual intense expression softened slightly when he sees me.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, giving me a quick smile. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m here for work,” I explain, gesturing to my notebook. “Trying to get some coverage for the blog.”
He nods, his eyes scanning the hallway as if he’s still half-focused on the game. “Good to see you, though. How’ve you been?”
I open my mouth to give the standard answer—“good,” “fine,” “busy”—but before I can respond, I sigh, shaking my head. “York’s off tonight, isn’t he?”
The question catches him off guard, but he nods. “Yeah. He’s not playing like himself.” Dad runs a hand through his hair, his expression darkening. “He hasn’t been the same since Christmas. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he’s been miserable. Different.”
I blink, surprised by his bluntness. “Miserable?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, leaning against the wall. “He’s usually the most focused guy on the team, but lately… I don’t know. Something’s eating at him. And it’s messing with his game.”
My heart twists at the thought. York? Miserable? I try to swallow the knot in my throat as I force myself to ask, “Did he… did he say anything about what’s bothering him?”
Dad gives me a sideways glance, his expression thoughtful. “He didn’t have to say anything, Noelle. It’s obvious. He’s been different ever since… well, ever since you two stopped pretending to be together.”
His words hit me like a snowball to the face. I look away, suddenly feeling exposed, like my dad can see right through me.
“I thought it was just for the cameras,” he continues, his voice softer now. “But maybe there was more to it. Either way, York’s not the same. He misses you.”
I want to say something, to brush it off or deflect, but the truth is, I don’t know how to respond. Because a part of me misses him too, and hearing that he’s been struggling, that he’s different, makes it harder to keep pretending I’m okay.
Chapter 25
York
I’m sitting in the locker room, my head buried in my hands, trying to shake off the frustration that’s been building since the puck first dropped. I know I’m off my game. It’s not just tonight—it’s been like this for months. Every pass feels wrong, every shot just a little off, and the harder I try to focus, the worse it gets.
The guys are messing around, like they always do during intermission, but I’m not in the mood to laugh it off this time. I can feel their eyes on me, even when I’m not looking.
“Yo, Steele,” Bryce calls out from across the room, his tone light but pointed. “What’s up with you tonight, man? You playing with one skate tied or something?”
A few of the guys snicker, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. I know they’re just giving me shit like usual, but it’s harder to let it slide when I’m already wound so tight.
Another teammate, Drake, chimes in, grinning like he’s about to drop the punchline to a joke. “Maybe he’s distracted by something. Or someone.”
I don’t look up, but I can feel the room shift, the other guys waiting for him to elaborate. Drake leans back, his grin widening as he says, “I saw Noelle in the stands tonight. Maybe that’ll turn your game around, huh?”
My heart stops. I glance up, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. Noelle? Here?
The room erupts in laughter, and someone slaps me on the back, but I’m not paying attention. My mind’s racing, the thought of her here—watching—hitting me harder than any of the chirping from the guys.
Noelle. The one person who’s been on my mind constantly since Christmas, the one I can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard I try. And she’s here? In the stands?
I’m on my feet before I even know what I’m doing, the adrenaline kicking in hard and fast. I can’t stay here. Not when I know she’s out there. Not when I’ve spent months trying to push her out of my head, only to realize that the past few months without her have been miserable.
“What the hell, York?” Bryce calls after me as I start heading for the door. “You’re just gonna leave?”