Chapter SEVENTEEN Wes

My skates cut through the ice, a sharp contrast to the turmoil that's anything but smooth in my head. Missed calls and texts while I’d been in class earlier had led to a rushed meet with Lexi between classes, and I her news. The internship offer—it’s a game-changer, not just for her career but for whatever it is that's been sparking between us. Part of me wants to drop the gloves and fight for her to stay, but I know that's not fair. She's got dreams bigger than this rink, and I'd be a real goon to hold her back.

I’d skipped my last class to have the rink to myself.

I flick the puck hard across the ice, watching it slam against the boards with a satisfying crack. Hockey's always been my escape, the one place where life's complications don't penetrate the ice. But even here, Lexi's dilemma follows me.

She's everything I never knew I wanted—fierce, independent, and as passionate about hockey as I am. Her laugh punches through the ambient noise of the locker room, even though she's not here. It's just a memory, a replay of one of our many verbal spars that always seems to end with her smile triumphing over my sarcasm.

"Yo, Jacobs! You hitting the bar tonight?" Dean Hartley hoots and hollers after the question, breaking my reverie with his usual lack of subtlety.

"Maybe," I grunt, not really in the mood for the playboy winger's brand of nightlife. What are he and the rookies doing here, anyway?

"Come on, man, you need to loosen up. Forget about whatever chick's got you wound up."

He's skating on thin ice, bringing up my personal life, especially when he has no clue who's in my head. But I let it slide. "We'll see," I say, shrugging him off and ignoring them until they all leave the arena, loud and boisterous.

I'm out the door before anyone else can show up and try to pry. The evening air bites at my skin, a reminder that winter's not done with us yet. I shove my hands into my pockets and start the walk back to my dorm. It's nothing fancy, but it's mine—a place where I can shut the door and pretend, just for a little while, that I've got everything figured out.

The streets are busy with students, all caught up in their own dramas and deadlines. I keep my gaze fixed ahead, dodging bodies like they're rival defensemen trying to check me. By the time I reach my front door, I've managed to convince myself that I'm focused on the next game, that Lexi's choice is hers alone and whatever happens, happens.

But who am I kidding? As I turn the key and step inside, I know I'm just biding time until I have to face her decision—and what it means for us—head-on.

The door to my apartment is up ahead, and there she stands—Lexi Turner in the flesh, looking like she's about to face off in the most crucial game of her life. Her whole demeanor suggests this isn't a casual visit.

"Hey," she says, and I can hear the edge in her voice. It's sharp enough to skate on.

"Lexi." I unlock the door, gesturing for her to come in. "C’mon.”

She takes a deep breath as she enters, surveying my modest living space like she's strategizing her next play. When she finally turns to face me, her expression is serious, a stark contrast to the playful banter that usually defines our interactions.

"I've been doing some thinking," she begins, folding her arms over her chest defensively. "About the internship."

I lean against the wall, trying to appear relaxed even though my heart's pounding like it's overtime and we're one goal down. "Okay."

"It's in Chicago, Wes," Lexi says, as if I could've forgotten. "That's not just a weekend trip away. And after we graduate, you’ll be working, presumably, and so will I—in addition to starting the new internship. It’s going to be a lot of work."

I can't help but admire her, standing there all fired up about her future. But it's the 'more' that tightens something inside my chest.

"It’s not that far. But, Lexi, you don't have to explain. I get it. It's an amazing opportunity."

"Is that it, then? Just... 'good luck, see you when I see you'?" There's a tremor in her voice now, one she's fighting hard to control.

"Of course not," I reply quickly. "You know I'm proud of you, right? You're going to do great things."

"Stop, Wes," she cuts in, shaking her head. "I need to know what this means for us. For whatever this is between us," she adds, gesturing vaguely in the space between us.

I push off from the wall, closing the distance. "I want you to go. You deserve this."

"But?"

"But nothing. I mean, sure, it scares the crap out of me—the thought of you being so far away. But that's my problem, not yours."

"Scared?" Lexi arches an eyebrow, a ghost of her usual humor flickering there. "Wes Jacobs, afraid of a little distance?"

"Hey, I never said I was invincible," I quip back, trying to break the tension.

"Good, because you're not Superman. And I'm definitely not Lois Lane waiting to be saved," she retorts, but the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes this time.

"Look, Lexi," I say, taking another step closer. "I don't know what the playbook says about long-distance relationships or how to be the perfect boyfriend while you're out there kicking ass at your internship. But I do know that I don't want to hold you back."

"Who says you're holding me back?" she challenges, her gaze softening just a bit.

"Nobody. I just—I don't want you to leave with any doubts. About me. About us."

"Even if it means I'll be in another city?" Her voice is soft, but there's a steel edge to it, the same one she uses when she's fighting for an injured player to get more recovery time.

"Even if." I nod, because what else can I do? Love her and let her go, or love her and hold her back? Not much of a choice. "We'll work through it, Lexi. Calls, texts, visits whenever we can swing it."

"Really?"

There's hope there, and something clenches in my chest. Yeah, really.

"Really. I want you to chase down every last dream you've got. And I'll be here, cheering you on the loudest." I mean every word, and I hope she hears that, too. I want her to soar, even if it means I'm watching from the ground.

"Thanks, Wes. That... that means everything." She steps closer, and I can't help but reach out, fingers brushing against hers. Solid, strong, capable—just like her.

I reach for her hand, our fingers intertwining with an ease that's become second nature. Lexi squeezes back, a silent acknowledgment of the whirlwind encircling us. We're standing in the midst of our own personal crossroads, her potential departure hanging in the air like the last stubborn leaf clinging to a winter branch.

"Hey," I say softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles, "come here."

Lexi steps closer, and I pull her into my arms, our bodies fitting together as perfectly as the final pieces of a puzzle. The warmth of her seeps into me, grounding me despite the chaos of my racing thoughts. It's moments like these—her head resting against my chest, my chin atop her hair—that I realize how much I've come to rely on her presence.

“Wes,” she whispers. “There’s something else…”

I tense. What else could she possibly have to tell me? The moment feels settled. I pull back slightly to look into her eyes, which are troubled.

“Yeah?”

“Noah…” she starts, but then stops.

“What about Noah?” I frown, waiting.

She sighs, long and deep. “He, uh”—she seems to gather herself—“I’m not sure his ankle will hold at the game. But Coach is really pushing him.”

I relax. Is that all?

“Don’t worry about it. He has us, his team. He has you. We won’t let anything happen to him.”

She nods, pressing her lips together in a slim line, before forcing a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and I sense an undercurrent of tension that wasn’t there before. Something is off.

“All right,” she says quietly, meeting my gaze with a seriousness that thrums doubt into my veins.

I wrap my arms around her waist tighter, pulling her closer until she’s nestled against me once more. The beat of her heart echoes in sync with mine, a steady rhythm that brings an odd sort of comfort amidst what feels like a brewing storm.