So I skate.
I push myself harder, faster, until my lungs burn and my legs shake. I push myself until all I can focus on is the physical exertion, not the hollowness in my chest.
I run drills. Work on my stick handling—practice shots on the empty net.
Anything to avoid thinking about how badly I've screwed everything up. If I don’t have Sutton, nothing is holding me back from going pro.
Except me.
I don’t want to think about that right now. It was never Sutton holding me back. It’s always been me. Maybe hockey has always been the way for me. And if it is, then I’m going to be the absolute best. I’m going to fill every space in my head with hockey. There will be no room for Sutton, Bree, or any other woman. I don’t want to think about my future dreams.
All hockey.
But Bree crept into my thoughts.
She was always flirty—I knew that. But I never realized how aggressive she was being. How calculated.
I never saw the pattern because I wasn't paying attention.
I take another shot. The puck slams into the back of the net.
Sutton saw it. She felt it. She tried to tell me.
And I made her feel crazy for it.
I made her doubt herself when her instincts were screaming that something was wrong.
I'm lining up another shot when I hear it.
"Declan."
Her voice.
I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.
Sutton is standing at the boards, wearing jeans and a hoodie. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. No makeup. She looks exhausted.
Beautiful.
I skate over slowly, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it over the sound of my blades.
"Hi," I say when I reach the boards.
"Hi." She's gripping the edge of the boards like she needs something to hold onto. "I got your letter."
"Oh." I don't know what else to say. "Did you read it?"
"Three times."
"And?"
"And I needed to see you." She looks down at her hands. "To hear you say it. Not just read it."
"It's all true. Every word." I lean against my stick. "I was a fool, Sutton. I didn't realize Bree was that nuts. I should have listened to you. You tried to tell me, and I made you feel like you were overreacting."
"You did." There's no accusation in her voice—just sadness.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." I wish I could touch her. Reach across the boards and pull her close. "You were right about all of it. And I was too stupid to see it."
