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)
After what feels like an eternity, I stand up, my legs shaky. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” I mumble, avoiding everyone’s gaze. I can’t stay here any longer, pretending like everything’s fine when it feels like everything is falling apart.
My mom gives me a gentle smile, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper as I head down the hall.
I get to my room and close the door softly, but the second I’m alone, the tears come. I slide down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.
York and I were supposed to be real. But right now, it feels like we’re slipping into something we can’t come back from.
Chapter 21
York
I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the shadows shifting as the light from outside filters through the curtains. Sleep isn’t coming, and it hasn’t for hours. My thoughts are tangled, circling the same thing over and over again: Noelle. I can’t stop thinking about her—about the way she looked at me tonight, waiting for me to say something, to speak up. And I didn’t. I froze.
I want to go to her, to tell her that I do want to be with her. Hell, I’ve never wanted anything more. But the life I lead? It’s not what she deserves. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you drag someone into this world—this messy, chaotic life filled with paparazzi, speculation, and rumors. It’s ugly. Noelle’s parents don’t even know the half of it. If they did, I doubt they’d ever be okay with me being in her life for real.
I turn onto my side, staring at the soft glow coming from under the door, the house quiet now that everyone’s gone to bed. The weight of this whole situation presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I see how the other guys on my hockey team deal with it—their relationships are constantly splashed across the tabloids, every little fight or rumor blown out of proportion. Half of them end up broken, torn apart by the pressure, the constant scrutiny. I’ve watched it ruin good things, solid things.
And Noelle… she deserves better than that. She deserves more than hiding from cameras or pretending things are one way when they’re something else entirely. She deserves someone who can give her a life free of all the baggage I come with.
But the problem is, I can’t escape her. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing by keeping my distance, I keep getting pulled back to her. I keep wanting more. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and the thought of letting her go makes my chest ache in ways I didn’t think were possible.
I sit up, running my hands through my hair, trying to shake the restlessness. Maybe I should just talk to her. Lay it all out. Tell her that I want to be with her, but that this life—the constant eyes on us—won’t be easy. She deserves to know the truth.
I push myself off the bed, pacing the room, but I stop when my gaze catches on the closet across the room. There’s a box there, and I don’t know what draws me to it, but something does. I open it, my eyes landing on something worn.
A diary. It’s old, the leather cover cracked and faded. I shouldn’t—I know I shouldn’t—but I find myself reaching for it anyway. When I open it, the pages are filled with neat handwriting. My heart stumbles in my chest when I realize it’s Noelle’s diary.
I know I should put it back, leave it alone, but my fingers are frozen on the pages. I flip through them slowly, the words blurring together as I catch glimpses of her thoughts, her dreams. This was before I ever really knew her. Before all of this.
I stop on one page, her handwriting slightly messier, as if she wrote it quickly. And that’s when I see my name.
York Steele.
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening as I stare at the words in disbelief. She wrote about me—about how she felt back then.
I get comfortable on the bed, and read;
I don’t even know why I’m writing this down—it feels silly, but I can’t stop thinking about York. He’s been on the team for a while now, and I’ve always watched him from the stands, but something’s changed this year. I’m starting to notice more than just how good he is on the ice. He’s... well, perfect. And the way he moves, so fast and precise, it’s like he was born for this sport. Watching him play for the Colorado Blizzard, with my dad coaching him, I feel like I’m getting a front-row seat to something amazing.