Chapter TWENTY ONE Lexi

The hospital's sterile scent wraps around me like an unwelcome embrace as I push through the automatic doors. My heart's doing that uncomfortable flutter-tap dance again, heavy with a cocktail of anticipation and nerves. It's Noah and Wes on my mind—Noah with his warm, understanding eyes, and Wes, all brooding intensity wrapped in a blanket of smoldering glances.

I'm here for Noah first, ready to clear the air, but it's the upcoming face-off with Wes that has my stomach twisting into Gordian knots. Noah dropped the bomb; he's got feelings for me, feelings that go way beyond our easy friendship. And now? Now, I'm about to see him, hoping to God I can navigate through this without tripping over my own feet.

I shuffle down the hallway, my sneakers squeaking against the polished linoleum floor, each step bringing me closer to what feels like a defining moment. Nurses pass by in colorful scrubs, offering sympathetic smiles or buried in their charts, and somewhere a baby cries out—a reminder that life, in all its messy glory, doesn't stop for heartache or confusion.

Room 318 is lit by the soft glow of morning sun filtering through the blinds, casting lines across Noah's bed where he lays propped up by pillows, a cast rendering one leg immobile. I waited until this morning to come—it took me that long to work up the nerve. Noah’s smile is a proof of his undying optimism, even though he's marooned here, sidelined by injury.

"Hey," I say, forcing brightness into my voice as I edge closer to the foot of his bed, careful not to disturb the tangle of tubes and wires. "How's the captain doing today?"

"Lexi!" He perks up, and it's almost as if we're back at the rink, strategizing plays, except the roles have shifted, and I'm not sure of mine anymore. "I've been waiting for you. Feeling better than last night. You know, one day closer to getting back out there."

He's all determination and heart—qualities that made me admire him long before I knew him as anything more than the guy steering his team toward victory. The kind of guy who could make a girl forget herself, her own compass spinning wildly out of true north.

"Good to hear," I reply, mustering a smile while my insides churn with words I'm not ready to say. Not yet. First, I need to square things with Noah, set the record straight. We've always been honest with each other, and I won't let that change—not even for the sake of sparing feelings or avoiding the hard truths. But damn, this is going to be as pleasant as a puck to the face.

"Lexi." His smile is warm, but there's a tension in his face that suggests he knows this isn't a regular visit. "What's up?"

I take a deep breath, the air feeling heavier than I remember from a moment ago. "We need to talk."

"Sounds serious." He tries to make light of it, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore.

"It is." I pull up a chair beside him, my hands fidgeting in my lap. "Noah, you know I care about you, right? As a friend, I mean."

"Of course," he says, his voice steady. His bruised hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze that I wish I could fully return.

"And because I care about you, I have to be honest. You're with Cassidy, and we both know that neither of us is the type to hurt people intentionally."

He nods slowly, a shadow passing over his expression. "Yeah, I know."

"Your feelings... they caught me off guard, and I got swept up in them," I confess, my throat tightening. "But it wasn't fair, not to you, not to Cassidy, and definitely not to me. Because... my heart, it's somewhere else, Noah."

The words spill out in a rush, like a puck sliding across ice—too fast to stop once they've started. Noah releases my hand, folding his arms across his chest as he leans back, processing.

"Is it Wes?" There's no accusation in his tone, just the calm clarity I've always admired.

"Does it matter?" I hedge, uncomfortable with the way he stares at me, unflinching.

"Yeah, it does. Because if it's Wes..." He pauses, a soft chuckle escaping him despite the gravity of our conversation. "Then I know you're in good hands. He's a decent guy, despite what happens on the ice."

"Decent" feels like an understatement when it comes to describing Wes, but now is not the time for that conversation. "We're still friends, right?" I ask instead, desperate for some semblance of normalcy between us.

"Always, Lex," he assures me, reaching for my hand again, his grip gentle yet firm. "You're too good at taping up my injuries for me to let you go."

I can't help but laugh, the sound mingling with relief and lingering sadness. "I'll hold you to that, Captain."

There’s also that secret I’m still keeping. The internship.

"Good," he says, his easy smile returning. "Because I'm going to need you more than ever when I'm back on the ice."

"Deal," I reply, knowing full well that my role might change, but our friendship is one constant in a game that never stops shifting beneath our skates. I squeeze Noah's hand, the steady beat of his pulse grounding me. The fluorescent lights hum above us, and the antiseptic scent of the hospital fills my senses as I brace for what comes next.

"Lex," Noah says, his voice carrying a warmth that belies the sterile environment, "I want you to know that I'm genuinely happy for you and Wes. Seriously. If there's anyone who can handle your verbal slapshots, it's him."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, the tension easing from my shoulders. It's just like Noah to break the ice with a joke. "You think my slapshots are that bad?"

"Only when you aim them at me." He grins, then grows serious again. "But really, Lexi, I mean it. You two... you've got something special. And if he makes you happy, that's all that matters to me."

"Thanks, Noah." The words come out more choked than I intend. His support means everything, especially now when everything feels so tenuous.

He shifts in the hospital bed, grimacing slightly before settling back against the pillows. "I need to tell you something, too. Something important."

"Anything," I say, ready to listen.

Noah takes a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the window where snowflakes dance against the glass like miniature ice skaters. "It's about the farm—my family's farm. Things haven't been going well. They're... failing, actually. My folks want me to come home, help figure things out."

My heart clenches. Noah's family farm is more than just land and crops; it's a legacy, a piece of him. "I'm so sorry, Noah."

He continues, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. "And with this injury..." He glances down at his bandaged ankle. "The doctors are talking serious rehab, surgery to get things right. Hockey's off the table for a while. Maybe for good."

"Hey, don't talk like that." Instinctively, I reach out, smoothing the crease between his brows. "You're the strongest person I know. You'll get through this."

"Strong or not," he says, locking eyes with me, "it’s a lot to take in, you know? But having friends like you—it makes the tough stuff a little less heavy."

"Always here for you, Captain," I reaffirm, squeezing his hand once more. There's a resilience in Noah that can weather any storm, and I believe in him, even if the path ahead looks like an uncharted stretch of ice.

"Thanks, Lex," he says, a smile cracking through the worry on his face. "That means a lot."

We sit in silence for a moment, both lost in our thoughts. Snow continues to fall outside, cloaking the world in a soft white blanket. Inside, we find comfort in the familiarity of friendship, knowing that some bonds can withstand any hit.

I stand up, my chair scraping lightly against the sterile hospital floor. The sound echoes too loudly in the quiet room, a sharp reminder of reality cutting through our bubble of camaraderie. Noah watches me, his eyes a mix of pain and determination that I've come to know well on the ice. It's strange to see that same look here, in a hospital room, but it's Noah. He's always been a fighter.

"Listen, Noah," I start, my voice steady even though my heart isn't. "You can't let this... any of this beat you. You're not just a hockey player; you're a brilliant strategist on the ice. That brain of yours?" I tap my temple with a smirk. "It's your best asset."

He chuckles, the tension easing from his shoulders at my words. "Thanks, Lexi, but strategy doesn't fix torn ligaments or pay the bills."

"Maybe not directly, but there are other ways to stay in the game. Coaching, commentating, hell, even sports psychology. You've got options." I'm brainstorming aloud now, each idea a buoy to keep him afloat. "You could be great at any of them."

"Easy for you to say, Miss Future-PT-for-the-stars," he teases, but I can tell he's mulling it over.

"Seriously, Noah. We'll figure something out. And I'm not just saying that because we're friends." I pause, my resolve hardening. "I’m saying it because I know what it’s like to have the game ripped away before you're ready. I won't sit back and watch it happen to you too."

"Lex—" he starts, but I hold up a hand.

"Let me help. Maybe there's a way to combine rehab and study. Get ahead on your coaching certs while you recover. Use that big brain for something other than memorizing stats for on-ice antics."

"Okay, okay," he concedes, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Sounds like you won’t take no for an answer. So, when do we start?"

"I—you tell me," I declare, and then softer, "We’ll tackle it together, one step at a time."

Even if we have to do it long-distance.

"Deal." Noah nods, and I can feel the shift in the room—the weight of despair lifting, replaced by a tentative hope.

"Good. Now rest up, because you're going to need all the energy you can get." I waggle my eyebrows playfully, earning another laugh from him.

"Will do, Doctor Turner." His use of my future title sends a warm surge of pride through me.

"Get some sleep, Captain." I pull my coat tighter around me, preparing to leave.

"Bye, Lex." His voice follows me out, carrying a note of gratitude that wraps around me like a blanket.

I need air before I go see Wes.

Outside, the snow is still falling, blanketing everything in hushed white. It's beautiful, serene—nature's way of reminding us that after every storm, there's a fresh start waiting. As I walk through the quiet hospital corridors, the click of my boots on the tile floor syncs with the rhythm of new possibilities. For Noah, hopefully for Wes, and for me.

The cold air hits me as I step outside, and I tilt my head back to catch snowflakes on my tongue. They melt instantly, a fleeting sensation that's as sweet as it is ephemeral. Just like this moment of peace in the chaos of life. I shove my hands into my coat pockets and exhale a cloud of foggy breath. The promise I made to Noah lingers in my mind, echoing with every crunch of snow under my boots. I can't shake off the intensity of our exchange, the way his vulnerability cracked open something inside me.

I pause at the edge of the hospital's parking lot, letting the moment sink in. This is where everything changes, isn't it? It's not just about hearts and hand-holding; it's about futures and dreams and picking up pieces when life checks you hard against the boards. I need to be strong—not just for myself, but for the guys who have become more than just teammates. They're my tribe. My people.

I replay Noah's confession, how he laid bare his fears about the farm and his future. I think about what it means to stand by someone when they're facing the kind of uncertainty that can make your soul feel like it's trapped in a penalty box. There's no playbook for this. No coach shouting strategies from the sidelines.

But I turn back to the hospital, knowing—it’s time to make my final play.