Page 38 of Merry Pucking Christmas

So, I stand there, watching her from a distance, the unease growing inside me like a storm I can’t stop.

It’s late, and the house feels eerily quiet now that all my teammates have left. The laughter, the noise from the earlier gathering—all of it has faded, leaving only this hollow silence in its wake. I sit in the living room, nursing a drink I don’t really want, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Noelle is nowhere to be seen. She slipped off to bed hours ago, still avoiding me, still not willing to face what’s really going on between us.

Coach comes in, his footsteps heavy against the wooden floor as he enters the room. He stands near the fire, rubbing his hands together before looking over at me. His expression is thoughtful, and I can already tell he’s about to say something I’m not ready to hear.

“Well, it’s done,” he says, his voice cutting through the quiet. “I fed the paparazzi the story of your breakup. They’re all over it.You should see the headlines already.” He shakes his head with a small chuckle. “I guess you’re relieved it’s finally over, huh?”

I freeze, my throat tightening. Relieved? That’s the last thing I feel. But I manage to nod, my face carefully blank as I meet his gaze. “Yeah, sure.”

Coach moves to sit across from me, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. He watches me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly like he’s trying to read something in my expression. “You know,” he says, his voice softer now, more personal, “I kind of liked the idea of you and Noelle together.”

I swallow hard, not sure what to say. His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I mean, I know it wasn’t real,” he continues, “but the thought of her with a guy like you… someone I trust, someone I know would take care of her... I don’t know, it seemed right.” He pauses, his eyes drifting to the fire. “But I also know it could never last. You two… you live in different worlds. And she deserves better than the chaos that follows a guy like you.”

The words hit harder than I expected, and I nod, trying to keep the emotion from showing on my face. “Yeah, I know,” I say quietly. “You’re right.”

But the truth is, every word feels like a dagger. Because it’s not just that it couldn’t last—it’s that it could’ve been something. Something real. Something more than just a fake relationship for the cameras. And the fact that I can’t have it, can’t have her, is killing me.

Coach claps me on the shoulder, giving me a sad smile. “I’m proud of you, York. You handled this whole situation like a pro. But now it’s time to move on, focus on hockey.”

I nod again, forcing a smile, even though I feel like I’m dying inside. “Yeah. Time to move on.”

The conversation ends there, but the weight of it lingers as Coach gets up and heads to bed. I sit there for a while longer, staring into the fire, thinking about Noelle, about what we could have had if things were different.

The next morning, I’m in an Uber, heading back to my place in Denver. The sun is barely up and I stare out the window, but all I can think about is her. Noelle. I can’t get her out of my head, no matter how hard I try. Her laugh, her smile, the way she looked at me when she thought no one was watching.

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 thecoach’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.