Chapter TWENTY FOUR Lexi

I press my palms against the cold barrier of the Ashville Aces Arena, watching Noah and Wes glide across the ice with a focus that's both intense and careful. Eight weeks. It's been eight long weeks since their injuries sidelined them, and still, they move with an awareness of their bodies that speaks of professional athletes in tune with every ache and twinge.

The scent of fresh ice mingles with the subtle musk of exertion as I lean closer to the rink. Wes executes a gentle pivot, his shoulder obviously still tender but improving, while Noah tests the limits of his ankle with caution, his strides steady but measured. They're a picture of determination—the kind that gets under your skin and lights a fire in your chest.

"Looking good out there, boys!" I call out, unable to mask the pride swelling in my voice. They've come so far, and being a part of their journey from injury to recovery has cemented more than just my career aspirations—it's tied me to this team, to their triumphs and setbacks.

And speaking of milestones, today marks more than just another rehab session. I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I think about the news burning a hole in my pocket. The college has officially hired me as the physical therapist for the Ashville Aces. Me, Lexi Turner, small-town girl turned key player in a professional college hockey team’s behind-the-scenes hustle. Dad will be over the moon.

"Take it easy on that turn, Wes," I advise, slipping back into professional mode. "Remember what we talked about—smooth movements, no jerking."

"Got it, Coach Turner," Wes shoots back with a wink, and I roll my eyes, though my stomach does a little flip at the nickname. There's something about Wes Jacobs—the way he can be all charm one second and all concentration the next—that keeps everyone on their toes, myself included.

"Careful, Jacobs, wouldn’t want you to charm yourself into another penalty box," I retort, leaning my hip against the boards, my arms crossed.

Noah laughs, circling back to join Wes. "Ignore her, she's just jealous because she can't match my coaching style."

"Your coaching style?" I scoff, arching a brow. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Captain. You've got to make it through my therapy sessions before you start doling out advice."

"Ouch, Lex, that's cold," Noah says, feigning hurt, but the spark in his eyes tells me he enjoys our banter as much as I do.

"Only the truth," I reply, smirking. "Now, enough chit-chat. Let's see some cross-overs, nice and slow."

They nod and push off, doing as I've instructed, their blades carving whispers into the ice. My heart swells with a mix of affection and ambition as I watch them work. This is it—the beginning of a new chapter for all of us. And I'll be damned if it isn't going to be a winning one.

I tap my clipboard against the barrier, gaze fixed on the figure skating across the ice with a measured ease that belies the strain I know he feels. "All right, Wes, let's see some lateral lunges. Remember, keep your shoulder aligned—no slacking."

Wes shoots me a grin that's all boyish charm and no repentance. "Yes, ma'am," he drawls, executing the move with a fluidity that speaks of his innate athleticism. His shoulder moves with a careful precision that speaks volumes about his recovery progress.

"Looking good, Jacobs!" I call out, unable to keep a professional note of pride from seeping into my voice. He winks in response, and I roll my eyes even as warmth colors my cheeks.

"Okay, Noah, your turn," I switch my attention to the team captain, who's been patiently waiting his turn. "Three sets of toe drags, but take it slow. We're building strength, not speed."

"Got it, boss," Noah replies, flashing me a thumbs-up before he drops his gaze to concentrate on the puck at his stick. There's something about watching him on the ice, a leader in his element, that makes my heart do a funny little skip, even though I'd never admit it out loud.

"Good form, Noah! Keep it up!" I encourage, scribbling notes onto my clipboard. They're doing well, better than expected, and a surge of satisfaction floods through me. This is why I'm here—to guide them back to their best selves, one stretch and drill at a time.

"Hey, Lexi!" Cassidy’s voice cuts through the chill of the arena, and I glance over to see her striding towards me, balancing two cups of coffee in her hands. Her smile is genuine—a far cry from the forced pleasantries we used to exchange.

"Hey, Cass. What brings you here with the good stuff?" I ask, taking the offered cup and breathing in the rich aroma of freshly brewed caffeine. It's a peace offering that's become our ritual. My roommate Jenna told me to sniff the cup, and if I smell almonds, don’t drink it. But Jenna watches a lot of true crime, and I doubt Cassidy is slipping me poison—she’s much too sweet once you get behind the rich-girl front.

"Figured you could use a pick-me-up after playing drill sergeant with these guys," she says with a chuckle, leaning on the boards next to me. She watches Noah's practice for a moment before returning to mine. "You're really amazing with them, you know?"

I shrug, trying to play it cool despite the compliment warming me more than the coffee. "Just doing my job," I say, but I can't help the pleased tilt of my lips.

"More like working miracles," Cassidy corrects, her tone admiring. "They've come so far because of you."

"Team effort," I demur, but inside, I'm practically preening.

The cool bite of the arena air nips at my cheeks as I watch Noah glide across the ice, his movements fluid despite the lingering stiffness in his ankle. Wes is not far behind him, sending a spray of ice chips into the air with a sharp stop that makes me wince sympathetically for his shoulder. They're poetry in motion, a testament to the gritty determination that defines hockey players, and it fills me with a sense of pride.

"Can you believe Thompson's hanging up his skates early?" Cassidy muses beside me, her gaze tracking Noah's every move. There's a softness there when she looks at him, something tender and real that makes me think their relationship runs deeper than anyone expected.

I nod, sipping on my coffee. "Yeah, but it's amazing how the team's rallied. And Noah stepping in to coach next season? It speaks volumes about him."

"Definitely," she agrees, smiling proudly. "He's got this natural ability to inspire people. Plus, the extra money's a lifesaver for his family's business. He gets to heal without stressing about finances or school."

"Win-win," I say, though I can't help but worry about the pressure he's shouldering—literally and figuratively.

"Speaking of healing," Cassidy turns to me, her face clouding over with concern. "How's Wes's mom doing with her treatments?"

"Better," I reply, grateful for the question. "She's tough, like her son. They're both fighters." I leave out the part about how utterly domestic Wes and I have gotten in the past weeks; it's a blossoming romance that feels too fragile and perfect to expose to the world just yet.

"And his scholarship?" she presses gently, a frown creasing her brow.

“Still intact," I assure her, and her relief is palpable. "They're giving him time to rehab, which is more than fair. The last thing he needs is to stress about money on top of everything else."

"True," Cassidy nods, biting her lip as we turn our attention back to the ice. Noah and Wes are now racing each other, the competitive fire in their eyes sparking even in practice. It's heartening to see them so full of life, pushing each other in ways only true rivals can.

"Hey! No hot-dogging!" I call out, trying to sound stern. But my smile betrays me, and they know it. They slow down, exchanging a look that says they're not quite done showing off.

"Think they'll ever grow up?" Cassidy chuckles, and I shake my head.

"Hope not," I admit because really, their boyish charm is part of what makes them who they are. And as they skate toward us, all easy grins and playful swagger, I realize that maybe, just maybe, everything really is going to work out for the best.

I'm leaning against the cool glass of the rink, my breath fogging up a tiny circle as I watch Wes glide over the ice, his movements fluid despite the recent injury. He's always had this effortless way about him, like he's part of the rink itself—smooth, unstoppable, and so damn graceful it's almost annoying.

"Things are actually amazing," I say, turning to Cassidy, who stands beside me with two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. "Wes's mom's responding well to the chemo. The doctors think that having him nearby is really helping her fight." My lips curve into a smile when I think about the hours I've spent with her, finding out where Wes gets his stubborn streak. "You wouldn't believe how much she's like him. It's uncanny."

"Like what?" Cassidy asks, her curiosity piqued as she hands me my cup, the warmth seeping into my chilled fingers.

"Stubborn. Hopelessly optimistic. They both have this laugh that’s completely infectious." I chuckle at the thought. "And they're terrible at checkers. Absolutely no strategy whatsoever."

"Sounds like they're quite the pair," she says with a soft laugh. She sips her coffee, eyes never leaving the ice.

"Definitely," I nod.

"That's good to hear," she says genuinely, but there's something else on her mind. I can tell by the way her gaze drifts from the ice to the empty space above it, lost in thought.

"Spill it, Cass. You look like you're wrestling with some real heavy stuff," I urge, nudging her lightly with my elbow.

She takes a deep breath and then, with a mix of excitement and trepidation, spills her guts. "Noah asked me to get an apartment with him." Her cheeks bloom with a rosy flush of excitement. "My parents will have a fit when I tell them I said yes, but..." She shrugs, a brave yet vulnerable gesture. "It's my choice. My life. And honestly, Lexi? I think... I think I love him."

"Whoa," I say, the word drawn out as I process her confession. "That's huge, Cassidy. But hey, if it feels right for you, go for it."

"Really?" She searches my face for any sign of disapproval.

"Absolutely," I affirm, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. "Making decisions for yourself is important. And if Noah makes you happy, then I'm all for it."

"Thanks, Lexi." A grateful smile spreads across her face, and I can't help but feel a twinge of kinship. We've come a long way from rivals to... whatever we are now. Friends? Yeah, I'd call her a friend.

"Besides," I add with a playful wink, "you'll need someone to complain to when he leaves his dirty socks all over the place. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Right," she laughs, shaking her head. "I'll hold you to that."

"Deal," I say, clinking my coffee cup against hers.

"Deal."

"That's a big step,” I add, my own thoughts drifting to Wes. Will we be making that same step next? Even with his mom, I could see it working out. I love being around her.

"An exciting one," she says, but the word gets drowned out as I stand up and lean over the boards, raising my voice to be heard over the chill of the rink.

"Hey, Noah! Extend that stride, come on!" I shout, my breath forming clouds in the cold air. My eyes are on his ankle, watching for any sign of strain. "Wes, keep that shoulder level!"

Noah pushes off with more force, his form improving as Wes glides alongside him, both of them moving in sync despite their injuries. The Ashville Aces Arena is mostly empty, the echo of puck against stick a familiar refrain. It's like music to my ears, a rhythm I've grown up with and now get to influence from my new vantage point.

"Looking good, guys!" I praise them, making a mental note of their progress.

I watch Wes and Noah exchange a look and then, almost in sync, they skate over, grinning like kids who just got away with stealing cookies.

"Looks like our presence has been requested," Cassidy observes, nudging me with an elbow. I nod, bracing myself for the incoming onslaught of charm and teasing.

"Hope they know they're not done yet," I murmur, but there's no real bite behind my words. With friends like Cassidy at my side and these guys on the mend, everything's looking up. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Noah's strides are careful but confident, a testament to his dedication to rehab, while Wes's glide is smooth, his bad-boy charm evident even from a distance.

"Time for a break?" I ask, knowing full well they're using this moment to flex their 'returning hero' muscles.

"Something like that," Wes shoots back, a grin spreading across his face, those ice-blue eyes locking onto mine with a hint of mischief.

Noah reaches us first, Cassidy's face lighting up in a way that rivals the arena's floodlights. "I believe this belongs to you," he says, blowing her a kiss with an exaggerated bow that has me biting back a laugh.

"Careful there, Mr. Coach," Cassidy teases, pretending to catch the kiss. "Don't want you injuring that ankle before you even start your new career."

"Ah, but if I did, I'd have the best physical therapist and her trusty assistant on my case," Noah replies, his gaze sliding over to me with a grin.

"Trusty assistant?" Wes scoffs, coming to a stop beside Noah. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close enough to feel the chill from his jersey through my jacket. "Lexi's the brains behind this operation. You're just the brawn."

"Hey!" Noah mock protests, but Cassidy silences him with a kiss that's both congratulatory and possessive, her fingers curling into the fabric of his practice jersey.

"Get a room, you two," I joke, rolling my eyes for effect though warmth fills me at their easy affection.

"Jealous?" Wes murmurs into my ear, skating up to blow his breath warm against my skin.

"Of them?" I quip, tilting my head to look at him. "Please, we've got way more chemistry than a high school lab class."

"Is that so?" Wes challenges with a raised eyebrow.

"Undeniable." I stand on my tiptoes, closing the gap between us. His lips meet mine in a kiss that's equal parts tender and teasing—a perfect blend of our personalities. It's a kiss full of promises, of late-night study sessions turned make-out marathons, of silent support in crowded rooms, and loud cheers from the bleachers.

We break apart, breathless but grinning like fools. "That's what I thought," Wes says, his voice low and satisfied.

"Okay, lovebirds, break it up," Cassidy calls out, her laughter echoing off the empty stands. "Save some romance for the rest of us."

"Sorry, Cass," I say, not sorry at all as I lace my fingers with Wes's. "But when you've got it, you flaunt it."

"Speaking of flaunting," Noah adds, looking between us with a smirk, "how about we take this victory lap together?"

"Sounds like a plan," Wes agrees, and we all step onto the ice. The four of us skate side by side, our laughter mingling with the sound of blades cutting across the rink.

It's a moment suspended in time, where everything is right in our little world. The struggles we've faced—my own injuries, Noah's family business, Wes's mom's health, and Cassidy breaking free from her parents' expectations—all seem distant now. Here, gliding over the smooth surface, there's no past or future, only the present and the people we share it with.

As the lights of the Ashville Aces Arena shine down on us, I can't help but think that this is what happiness feels like—unexpected, overwhelming, and entirely ours.