Page 15 of Merry Pucking Christmas

I feel like the whole world knows. Why would York Steele pick me?

After a few more awkward moments filled with forced smiles and the inevitable promise to call Annabelle later and give her thescoop, the whole scoop, and nothing but the scoop, York and I finally escape. We head toward the truck in the parking lot, the cold air nipping at my face as I breathe in deeply, relieved to be moving on from that encounter.

I’m ready to go home. Tonight’s been… something else. If I’m being honest, the whole day has been something else. A whirlwind of playing pretend, dodging suspicious looks, and keeping up this charade that feels more real with every passing hour. I try to think back to when York and I weren’t pretending, but it’s a blur now—the airport, my parents’ house, the sleigh ride through the park.

We climb into my father’s truck, and as we drive, the hum of the engine fills the silence. The windshield wipers swish rhythmically, brushing away the snowflakes as York navigates the windy roads back to my parents' house. I can’t shake thetension coiled in my chest, my thoughts bouncing around like stray snowflakes caught in the wind.

“Is this how it always is?” I finally ask, my voice cutting through the quiet.

York glances over at me, raising an eyebrow. “How what is?”

“Being famous,” I clarify, scrolling through my phone mindlessly until I land on yet another post. This time, it’s a picture of us from earlier, holding hands on the sidewalk downtown. The caption reads something like,‘New couple alert?’I roll my eyes. “Like this,” I say, holding up my phone for him to see.

He glances at the screen for a second before refocusing on the road, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s like that most of the time. Eventually, you start to ignore it. It all fades into the background.”

I let his words sink in, staring at the photo on my screen for another beat before shutting off my phone and slipping it into my coat pocket. I can’t imagine living like this. With every step scrutinized, every moment dissected. My stomach twists with unease. “I don’t know how you do it,” I murmur, shaking my head as the reality of his world starts to hit me.

He’s silent for a second, the only sound is the low hum of the truck’s tires on the snowy road. Then, in a voice softer than I expected, he says, “It’s lonely.”

That one word hangs heavy in the air between us, and I glance over at him, seeing York in a new light. The charm, the confidence—it all suddenly seems like armor he wears to keep people at a distance. To protect himself from the isolation fame brings. I want to say something comforting, something that will make him feel less alone, but the words catch in my throat.Instead, I just sit here, watching the snow fall outside, feeling the weight of it all.

Maybe pretending isn’t so far from the truth after all.

Chapter 11

York

I pull into Coach’s driveway and kill the engine, the sudden silence inside the truck almost deafening. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I sit there, staring at the dimly lit porch ahead. All I can think about is what I just said to Noelle. How lonely I feel. I can't believe I let that slip. That was such a rookie mistake.

But the truth is, I didn’t even realize how lonely I’ve been until Noelle was sitting beside me, filling that empty space in ways I didn’t even know I needed. She’s like a bright light in the dark, and now that she’s here, the loneliness I’ve carried around for the past year feels louder, heavier, like it’s suddenly come alive and is clawing at me from the inside. It’s unsettling, and it makes me want to cling to her, hold her close, and never let her go.

But that would be a really bad idea.

Coach would have my balls if he ever found out. And just thinking about how pissed he’d be if he knew I’m eventhinkingabout his daughter like that? Yeah, that has me sitting here uneasy as hell. My pulse quickens, and my chest tightens at the thought. Noelle isn’t just some girl I can get close to and hope for the best, no, she’s the coach’s daughter. The one person who should be off-limits. But the more I’m around her, the harder it gets to pretend that keeping her at a distance is even an option.

Maybe it’s the holidays. The festive lights strung up everywhere, the snow falling around us, the warmth of being with someone during a time of year that’s supposed to feel full of love and connection. Maybe it’s messing with my head, making me want something more than I should.

Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s Noelle.

I sigh heavily, shaking my head, and finally step out of the truck. The cold air hits me, but it does little to clear my thoughts. I keep my head low, the weight of it all hanging on me like a thick, invisible blanket as I walk to her door. Every step feels heavier, like I’m dragging something with me. Something I can’t shake.

But as much as I try to convince myself that getting close to Noelle is dangerous, I know deep down that there’s a part of me that wants to keep her around. Wants to see where this could go. I shove my hands deep into my coat pockets, trying to bury the thought, but it lingers.

We step into the house, and the first thing I notice is the quiet. Her parents must have already gone to bed. The soft glow from the kitchen light spills across the hardwood floor, casting shadows as we move silently through the house, like we’re intruding on something. I close the door behind us gently, careful not to make a sound, and follow Noelle into the kitchen.The warmth inside does little to thaw the thoughts swirling in my head.

Noelle shrugs off her coat first, her movements slow and deliberate as she hangs it on the hook by the back door. I do the same, unwrapping my scarf and pulling off my gloves. The routine feels oddly domestic, like we’ve done this a hundred times before, but the air between us feels heavier now, thick with the weight of unsaid things.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” she says quietly, not meeting my eyes as she turns toward the hallway that leads to her room.

I nod, though a lump forms in my throat. “Night.”

She pauses for a moment, her back still to me, before disappearing down the hall. The soft click of her bedroom door closing feels louder in the stillness of the house.

I stand there for a minute, staring at the spot where she’d been just a moment ago. The warmth of her presence lingers in the air, but it’s quickly replaced by a hollow ache in my chest. I want to apologize to her. For everything. For this whole messed-up facade we’ve been tangled up in. For dragging her into my world of flashing cameras, fake smiles, and expectations she never asked for.

If I wasn’t famous for playing hockey, none of this would be happening. No pretending. No media frenzy over our every move. No worrying about what people will think or how this will all end. Just... us. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this overwhelming guilt pressing down on me. Maybe then I could tell her how I really feel, without all the complications.

But I can’t, and that’s the problem. Every time I look at Noelle, I’m reminded of the life I lead. The life that’s pulled her into thiswhirlwind of publicity. And as much as I want to keep her close, to be the one who holds her at night and makes her smile in the morning, I know deep down I’m doing more harm than good.