Page 34 of Merry Pucking Christmas

“York?” My dad prompts, waiting for his input. “What do you think? We could say it just didn’t work out, that you both decided to part as friends. It’ll be clean, no drama. Then nobody will bother Noelle when she goes back to school.”

I want to scream, to stand up and tell them both that this isn’t fake anymore, that York and I are really together, that we don’t want to break up. But the words won’t come. Not with York sitting there, silent. If he’s not going to say anything, how can I?

I force a tight smile, nodding along as if I’m okay with this whole ridiculous plan. “Yeah,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds far away. “That could work.”

York finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine, but I can’t read his expression. There’s something there, something I can’t quite place, but he doesn’t speak. He just nods, agreeing with my dad’s plan as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if the idea of publicly breaking up doesn’t tear me apart inside.

The conversation drifts after that, my dad satisfied with the plan as he leans back in his chair, talking about logistics and timing. I barely hear him. All I can think about is the silence between York and me, the opportunity slipping away, and the ache building in my chest.

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. Theweight 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 wordsblurring 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.

There’s this moment, right before he takes a shot, where everything goes still, and I can see the focus in his eyes. It’s like he’s in his own world, blocking out the noise, the crowd, the pressure. I love watching him in those moments. He’s so intense, so driven. He makes it look effortless, like the puck is just an extension of him.

And then, when the game is over, he’s back to being York—smiling, joking with the other guys, like none of it was a big deal. But it is a big deal to me. Because every time I watch him out there, something stirs in me that I can’t explain. I get this flutter in my stomach whenever he skates by, and I hate that I can’t look away.It’s embarrassing how much I think about him. I mean, he’s practically family with how close he is to Dad.

But here’s the truth: I’ve got the biggest crush on York Steele. There, I said it.

I flip to the next page, and am stunned speechless by what’s written there.