Elijah?” Coach Schneider prompts.

All I can think is that this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This wasn’t the way I wanted it to happen. I can’t take my eyes off her, and so I see every moment of realization flash across her face. I watch her features tighten in shock and then slowly fall in defeat and then I watch the hard bitter resignation take hold. Her phone is still pressed to her ear and she turns away from me as she talks into it. “So press release? And announcements on social media?”

“When do you need me on a plane?” I ask, working hard to keep my voice confident and upbeat so the mixed emotions I’m currently experiencing aren’t evident. This was supposed to be the best day of my life, and now it’s not.

“You’ll get a call from management,” he explains. “I think they’re trying to book you on a noon flight.”

Coach pauses, his tone getting gentler but still firm. “You’re going to have to hit the ground running, kid. It’s a lot of pressure and unfortunately not a lot of room for error. We’re clinging to that last playoff spot, and we want to keep it that way, if not improve. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure you’re ready, but we need you. We don’t have another option right now, and we drafted you for a reason so…prove me wrong, Casco.”

“I will. I’m ready,” I confirm and lean against the sink. “I can help get us there. I promise.”

“Good. See you tonight,” Coach says and hangs up.

Holy shit, I’m an NHL goalie. I take one small moment, push away everything else—the fears over my injury, the sadness over what this means for me and Dixie—and just let that accomplishment fill me with pride. I’ve played one game for the Thunder so far, but it was preseason and so it doesn’t count, stat-wise. The game tomorrow night in Quebec will be my NHL debut. I’ve worked for this since I was eight and first strapped on goalie pads.

But then I step out into the main room of Dixie’s apartment and the rest of my feelings—the dark, depressing ones—come to the surface again. Dixie is still on the phone, bent over her desk in the corner writing something down on a notepad. Her back is to me, and my shirt that she’s wearing has risen up, revealing just the edges of her perfectly round, firm ass cheeks. It’s sexy as fuck. But then she hangs up and turns around and looks at me like I’m a stranger.

She smiles. It’s lovely and it’s bright but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Congratulations.”

She steps forward and hugs me fiercely, but she pulls back before I can even return the hug.

“Thank you,” I reply and feel hopelessly awkward.

She walks away from me toward the bed. She drops her phone there in the rumpled sheets and then turns and heads into the closet. I watch her go. When she starts to speak her tone is cool. Friendly but distant. “So I’m going to run into work and write up the press release. It’ll be out before your plane lands in Quebec City. And then I’ll handle the list of media requests. You’re probably starting tomorrow night, and everyone with a hockey blog will want to interview you post-game, so we preapprove certain media for—”

“Dixie. Stop,” I command.

She pulls on a pair of underwear and grabs a sports bra. I watch longingly as she turns her back to me, pulls off my Henley and pulls on the red sports bra. I step closer, but something stops me from entering the closet. Instead I put my hands above me on the thick wood doorframe and lean my body toward her. “Can we stop acting like this doesn’t suck?”

She turns, clutching my shirt to her chest like she’s trying to cover herself up. Like she doesn’t want me to see her naked. No, actually like I’m someone who shouldn’t see her naked. My chest feels tight.

“Your dreams are coming true. It doesn’t suck,” she reminds me. “And honestly, the timing is probably the best possible thing that could happen. The longer we let this go on, the harder it would have been to stop. And it has to stop.”

I want to argue with her. I want to give her a million reasons we can keep seeing each other. Fuck, I just want to be able to give her one. But I can’t think of any that won’t jeopardize her career or even mine. She waits a heartbeat for me to say something, but I can’t. There’s nothing to say. I have to catch a plane and she has to go to work and this has to end.

Knowing I’ve got nothing to add, she finishes dressing, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a black-and-white sweater. Then she starts to try to walk past me, but I’m blocking the whole doorway and I can’t seem to make myself move. She reaches out, my shirt still bunched in her right hand, like she’s going to physically move me. But that would mean putting her hands on my bare flesh, and she seems to realize that inches before she actually touches me and she pulls back. Instead she holds up my shirt between us.

“Take it. Get dressed,” she demands. “We have things to do, like pretend this never happened.”

“I know,” I reply firmly, but I still don’t move or take the shirt.

She looks up at me, emotion finally seeping into her face. Now she looks desperate, like a wounded animal. My chest feels like there’s a truck on top of it. She pushes the shirt out closer to me. “Take it and go. Please.”

I reach out but instead of grabbing the shirt I grab her wrist and pull her to me. She struggles to push me away but I push her up against the frame of the door and hold her there with my body against hers. I move a hand under her chin and force her face to angle toward mine. Then I kiss her. It’s long and slow and painful because I know it’s the last one.

She breaks the kiss first, pulling back and slipping out from my hold, dropping my shirt as she goes so it’s in a pile at my feet. My phone starts ringing again. I know it’s Levi without looking at it, so I ignore it. She glares at it and then at me. “You can’t ignore calls anymore. Especially if that’s team related.”

I pick up my shirt off the floor and pull it over my head. “It’s just Levi.”

“If so, he’s calling as your captain, not your brother,” she says pointedly. I really don’t like this. She sounds like a lecturing mom. “You have to answer his calls.” She shoves her feet into knee-high black boots and then grabs her coat off the hook on the back of the door.

“Until I skate across the ice tomorrow night to the net, he’s still just my older brother,” I reply and walk over to the couch where my pants ended up last night. “I’ll call him back in a sec.”

“He takes priority,” she tells me sternly. “I’m just a PR girl. My job is to help you avoid scandal, not create one. And it’s my only role in your life now. You need to remember that.”

I don’t speak. I kind of ignore her because I’m just not willing to admit that yet, to her or myself. That seems to anger her more because as I tug on my pants she huffs and waits impatiently by the door while I finish dressing.

Without speaking I step into the hall and wait while she locks her apartment. My phone buzzes again, and again I send it to voicemail and shove it in my jacket pocket. Once she’s locked the door she turns and brushes by me, scurrying down the stairs without even looking up to see if I’m following. It takes me a minute, because I’m so stunned, but I follow, making it out to the sidewalk a second before the door to her building shuts in my face. She’s already several feet up the street.

“Dixie!” My voice sounds raw and anguished.

She waves without turning around. “Have a safe flight! Knock ’em dead out there, Casco.”

She picks up her pace and makes it to the corner just as a trolley is stopping. She hops on, and in the faint morning light I watch the trolley take her away from me.

I walk back toward Levi’s place, which is too far to be walking to, but I don’t care. I don’t feel like being in an Uber or cab right now. I just want to stumble along, trying to get a grip on everything. For the hundredth time I think this is not how I thought it would be.

My phone rings and this time I pull it out. It’s Levi, just like the call log says it was the last two times. I sigh heavily and force my voice to sound upbeat. “Hey! Need a goalie?”

“Yes, I do. And I’m so proud it’s you, Elijah,” he says. I know this means almost as much to him as it does to me. He’s been my biggest fan, my biggest support and my biggest inspiration. “Tessa says you aren’t at home. You spend the night with your Julie girl?”

Right. The fake name. I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

“Hope she gave you a good luck blow job before you left.” He laughs at that and doesn’t notice that I don’t. “So you going to keep seeing her now that you’re going to be local?”

“Nah.” I have to force the word from my mouth, like it’s a piece of food lodged in my throat.

“Oh.” He sounds a little surprised. God, may he still hate talking about feelings because I’m not sharing these. “Well, it’s probably best if you focus on the game anyway. It’s a tough time to come into the season. Helping us make the playoffs is going to take all your energy and attention.”

“Yeah.” I pause on a corner waiting for the light to change. “You’re right.”

“Everything okay, Eli?” he asks. He’s gotten more intuitive since settling down with Tessa, unfortunately.

“Yeah. Of course. I’m just…It’s a lot,” I mumble and cross the street when the light changes. “I have to call an Uber and get my ass back to your house and pack.”

“Okay. I’ll let you go. See you in a few,” Levi says. “Eli, this is going to be fucking great.”

“It will be,” I say with conviction because it has to be. If I’m giving her up it has to be.