Chapter TWELVE Lexi

The mind is a treacherous place when it's cluttered with the heart's indecisions. Noah's warm, reassuring smile flickers in my thoughts, battling against Wes’s smoldering, mischievous gaze. Both stir something in me, churn the waters of my usually calm emotional sea. It shouldn't be this complicated, should it? But here I am, caught in the middle of my own romantic power play, and I can't seem to find the right strategy to score the winning goal for my heart.

I was so caught up in Wes’s vulnerability, in our kiss—had I said too much?

I step outside the morning after that kiss, the campus nearly deserted during winter break, enveloped in a quiet hush that seems to echo my internal solitude. Snowflakes dance lazily from the sky, a delicate waltz that blankets the world in soft white. The familiar crunch beneath my boots is the only sound, a rhythmic beat punctuating the stillness of the leafless trees standing like silent sentinels guarding the grounds.

I’m due at my Dad’s house for Christmas. I’m glad—all this alone time is making me overthink things. The chill nips at my cheeks, turning them rosy—a stark contrast to the tangled web of warmth and confusion brewing inside me. I wrap my arms tighter around myself, as if the pressure could squeeze out the answer like juice from an overripe fruit.

Why does love feel like a game where no one fully understands the rules?

Finding my way to the university's central courtyard, I spot the familiar bench by the frozen fountain, its edges lined with icicles, nature's own holiday decorations. My breath forms tiny clouds in the air as I sit down, my jeans instantly soaking up the cold. But I barely notice; there's warmth in the solace of being alone with my thoughts, even if those thoughts are skating circles around me.

Noah would probably say something poetic about the beauty of winter, while Wes would challenge me to a snowball fight with no boundaries or rules, just the thrill of the moment. Both images bring a smile to my lips, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Get it together, Turner," I murmur, brushing away a rogue snowflake from my eyelash. A determination simmers within me, slow and steady. I'm inching closer to the decision that's been eluding me, the one that feels like it could change the trajectory of my life.

I'm not just choosing between two guys. I'm choosing the path I want my heart to skate on, and hoping against hope, I don't fall through the ice.

I lace my fingers together, pressing the palms down hard against the frigid metal of the bench, as if I can squeeze out the indecision that's taken root deep within me. The icy air bites at my cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the tangled thoughts about Noah and Wes swirling in my head.

Noah’s the guy who remembers everyone's birthday, who stops to help a stranger change a tire, even if he's running late. His blue eyes don't just sparkle; they hold promises of safety and shared laughter over cups of steaming hot cocoa. With him, love seems like a partnership, steady and sure.

But then there's Wes, an enigma wrapped in a snowstorm. He's the rush of adrenaline when you're barreling down the ice, the puck at your stick, the goal in sight. His intensity, that smoldering look — it's magnetic, pulling me into a dance that's both dangerous and alluring. Loyalty to his team, his friends, it's etched into every fiber of his being, but he doesn't make promises lightly. Life with Wes would be a whirlwind, unpredictable and fiercely passionate.

I stand up abruptly, my movements jagged, mirroring the chaos inside me. Pacing back and forth, I leave footprints in the freshly fallen snow, each step a silent argument between heart and mind. The pros and cons list forms in my head, as methodical as a well-planned training regimen. Noah's reliability, Wes' fiery independence. Noah's gentle support, Wes' challenging push.

Noah is with someone—even if it doesn’t seem something that will go the distance—and Wes isn’t.

"Ugh," I groan out loud, my voice breaking the silence around me. There's no clear answer, no flashing sign pointing me where to go. It's like trying to predict where the puck will land on a chaotic face-off — impossible. My heart feels like it's caught in a never-ending overtime, fatigued yet unwilling to concede.

I stop pacing and close my eyes, taking in a deep breath that does little to ease the tightness in my chest. It's a tug-of-war of emotions, each man embodying qualities that I admire, that I long for. How do you choose when part of you will be left on the ice, regardless?

I need to make a choice. But right now, my heart is still undecided, skating on thin ice between two futures, and I'm the only one who can pull it to safety. I stand abruptly, restless energy coursing through me. I pace before the bench, the ghost of each moment with Noah and Wes shadowing me.

"Focus, Lexi," I command myself, feeling the tickle of frustration. "What do you want?"

And it hits me, swift as a breakaway goal. What I want isn't safety or a constant challenge. It's not about being cared for or pushed to excel. It's about partnership, about finding someone who offers both shelter and freedom.

The realization sweeps through me, clearing the fog of hesitation. I want Wes. I want the exhilarating rush of unpredictability he brings, tempered by the depth of connection we share. With him, every day promises a new adventure, a chance to be my most authentic self.

"Okay," I breathe, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders. A smile tugs at my lips, one that feels like the promise of spring in the depths of winter. There's a sense of rightness that settles deep within me, as if all this time my heart knew the answer, and I've finally caught up.

Wes is the risk I'm willing to take, the chapter I'm ready to write. Sure, there will be challenges, but what's love without a little bit of ice to keep things interesting? The possibility of it sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the chilly weather. I picture us on a road trip to nowhere, the windows down despite the cold, music blaring as we sing off-key to classic rock anthems. We'd laugh at our own terrible voices, the sound lost to the wind and the rush of freedom.

I see us trying every hole-in-the-wall diner and quirky roadside attraction we come across, collecting memories. Wes would insist on snapping pictures, capturing my laughter in the split second before I realize he's taking a photo. And then there are the quiet times: him teaching me the finer points of hockey strategy, patiently explaining plays until I see the game through his eyes. There's depth to Wes that goes unnoticed by most, hidden beneath layers of bravado and charm. But I've seen it—the way he looks at the ice, not just as a player but as a true student of the sport. With him, I'll deepen my love for the game, understanding it not only from the sidelines but from the very heartbeat of the action.

This isn't just about choosing Wes. It's about choosing the version of myself that I want to be—fearless, passionate, and open to the adventures that lie ahead. And as I stand alone amidst the stillness of winter break, I'm filled with a sense of eager anticipation for the first time in too long.

"Ugh," I groan, letting out a laugh that sounds more like defeat than amusement. Here I am, wondering if I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life. Choosing Wes means embracing the unpredictable, but what if it's too much? What if I'm not cut out for a life that's one part thrill, nine parts chaos?

I close my eyes, take in a deep, steadying breath, and force myself to remember why I'm even considering giving my heart to Wes Jacobs. It's not just the way he makes me laugh, or how he challenges me to shoot for the top shelf every time. It's not solely because he looks at me like I'm the only person in the rink during a game. It's the fire he ignites inside me, the one that burns away all the shoulds and coulds until I'm left with pure want. He sees the fighter in me, the girl who got back up every time she was checked into the boards as a teen. He doesn't just accept my strength—he admires it.

Yet, even as I mull over this decision, I know it won't be easy. Relationships, like hockey games, face off against obstacles and opposition. But isn't that what makes victory worthwhile? The struggle, the effort, the work to reach a goal, together.

Can Wes and I do that—and does he even want forever?