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)
The worst part? I know I’m never going to stop thinking about her. No matter how far I go, or how much I try to focus on my career, she’s always going to be there, in the back of my mind, the one person I can’t let go of.
But for her sake, I have to.
Chapter 24
Noelle
A Few Months Later
It’s been months since Christmas, and yet here I am, back in York’s world. I can’t believe how much has changed in such a short time. I’ve graduated college, started my new job as a hockey blogger and now, I’m sitting here at a game, staring at the ice, knowing he’s about to step out there any minute.
York Steele.
I thought avoiding his calls would make things easier, that if I just put enough distance between us, I’d forget the way he made me feel. But even now, sitting here in the stands, surrounded by the buzz of the arena, I can’t shake the nerves twisting in my stomach. He tried to call a few times after Christmas, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. What would I say? What could I say? That I’m still hurt? That I still think about him? That I can’t seem to let go, no matter how much I’ve tried?
I shake my head, trying to focus on the game, on the job I’m supposed to be doing. This is my big break—my first real shot at proving myself as a blogger in the hockey world, and of course, it has to be at this game. The game where York is playing.
The energy in the arena is electric, fans cheering as they wait for the teams to take the ice. I glance down at my notebook, where I’ve scribbled some notes about the team’s recent stats, but none of it seems to register. My thoughts keep drifting to York, to the last time I saw him, to the way things ended. The breakup was supposed to be clean, easy, for the media’s sake. But it never felt clean to me.
A part of me wonders what he’s thinking, if he’s even noticed I’m here. Does he still think about me the way I can’t stop thinking about him? Or has he already moved on, putting the past behind him like he said he would?
I stand up, smoothing out the nerves from my shirt as I make my way toward the stands. The game’s about to start, and I need to be in position to watch. I try to focus on the job, on the fact that I’m here as a professional now, not just some girl with a crush. But as the players skate out onto the ice, my heart stumbles, and I spot York immediately, like I always do.
There he is, gliding across the ice like it’s second nature. He’s as focused as ever, his movements fluid, powerful, commanding. Watching him play is like watching an artist at work—he’s in his element, completely in control. And for a moment, I’m transported back to when he first started, and I’d sit in the stands, watching him with awe, my crush growing stronger every time he scored a goal.
But now, it’s different. Now, the weight of everything we’ve been through hangs between us, unspoken. And I’m not just the coach’s daughter anymore. I’m a hockey blogger, sitting in the stands, trying to hide the fact that my heart is racing just at the sight of him.
The whistle blows, signaling the start of the game, and I force myself to focus. I’m here to work. But as York skates across the ice, his eyes briefly scanning the crowd, I wonder if he’ll see me. And if he does, what will happen next?
The puck drops, and the game kicks off with an intensity I’m all too familiar with. York, as always, looks like he’s in complete control, his every movement smooth and effortless as he glides across the ice. But something’s off. I’ve watched him play enough games to know when he’s fully in the zone—and tonight, he’s not. He’s missing passes, taking shots that aren’t hitting their mark, and the sharpness that usually defines his game just isn’t there.
The crowd cheers, oblivious to the subtle signs, but I see it. York’s frustration is building. Every time he circles the ice, his shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched in a way that tells me he’s not just playing against the other team—he’s fighting something inside himself.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the game for my blog post, but it’s hard to ignore the way my stomach twists with every mistake he makes. I scribble down a few notes, the words coming slowly as I find myself watching York more than I should.
The first period ends, and the buzzer sounds for intermission. The teams skate off the ice, and I stand, stretching my legs and trying to shake off the tension that’s been building inside me. I glance at my phone, half-expecting a message from someone—anyone—that might distract me from this strange sense of unease. Nothing.