Page 119 of Pucking Forbidden

Carson: Sorry, Hads No clue where he is.

Zander: No idea. I’ll try reaching out to him and see if he responds to me.

Theo: He did seem off today, but he didn’t say anything about going anywhere.

Something’s wrong. I know it. I can't just sit here. I feel sick to my stomach, the walls of the apartment closing in on me until I can barely draw air into my lungs. I grab my keys and my jacket, running down to my car. My hands are shaking so badly I drop the keys twice before I can get the engine to turn over. There’s only one place I can think of that he might be, even if the other guys say they lost track of him.

The rink.

I quickly open the second letter, expecting it to be junkmail I can just toss, but when I see what’s inside, my jaw drops in shock.

What the hell? How…how is this possible?

Heart in my throat, I quickly fold the letter and stuff it back into the envelope.

I need to find Julian. Now.

By the time I pull into the security lot of the arena, the gray winter twilight has fully swallowed the city. The arena is mostly dark, the massive glass entrance doors locked to the public, but I slip through the side athletic bay. The concrete corridors are silent except for the deep, industrial hum of the refrigeration units keeping the ice frozen beneath the floorboards.

I push open the heavy double doors leading into the main bowl of the stadium.

The arena is cast in a deep shadow, lit only by the low-voltage amber safety lights hanging from the high rafters. The ice sheet below looks like a massive mirror, untouched and smooth.

I pause, sweeping my gaze over the space, and when I spot him, a wave of relief washes over me. He’s sitting alone in the third row of the empty lower bowl stands, right behind the home bench. He’s wearing his grey team sweatshirt and dark jeans, his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands clasped together as he stares out at the ice.

I walk down the concrete stairs, my boots making a scraping sound in the vast silence. The second my shadow breaks the amber light, his head snaps up.

Something in my chest tightens, a sharp pain lancing through my lungs when I see his face.

He looks miserable. His face is pale, his dark eyes hollowed out and rimmed with exhaustion. What’s going on? What’s happened since he left my apartment this morning?

I slide into the seat beside him, my heart hammering against my ribs. He doesn’t say a word. Maybe hearing my good news will help break the ice. I think of the second letter, and looking at his distressed demeanor, decide to wait to talk about it.

“Julian, I got a letter from school,” I murmur, my voice cracking. “I got a scholarship if I switch to Education. My full tuition paid for. Funny thing is, I didn’t apply for it. I know it was you. I know you did this for me, and I wanted to say thank you…”

I stop. The words die in my throat.

Julian swallows before turning to me at last, and a clearly forced smile touches his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes. They remain dead and flat.

Dread freezes the blood in my veins. I pull the letter back, my brow furrowing as I lean closer to him.

“Julian,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “What’s wrong? What happened? Please talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

He looks away again, hands tightening until his knuckles turn white. The silence stretches between us until the hum of the arena feels loud enough to split my head open.

Finally, he lets out a slow, ragged breath that sounds like it was dragged through broken glass. He turns his head, his eyes locking onto mine.

“I love you, Hadley,” he murmurs.

For a second, I forget how to breathe. My heart does an ecstatic leap, but the joy is overshadowed by the gravity of his expression. It doesn't sound like a declaration.

It sounds like a goodbye.

“Julian…” I reach out to grab his heavy forearm. “What’s going on?”

To my shock, he shudders and drops his face into his hands. When he speaks, his voice trembles.

“They have pictures of us, Hadley. They’ve been watching us, and they know exactly who you are. They know you’re Coach Sullivan’s granddaughter, that you’re twenty-one, that you’re connected to the team.”