Chapter 1

The icy air stings my cheeks as I try to catch my breath, slumped against my locker. The sound of cheering fans vibrates through the walls, a reminder of our victory on the ice moments ago.

"Hey, Weston!" Amir calls out from across the locker room, a wide grin plastered on his face. "What"s it like being the baby on the team and still scoring the winning goal, huh?"

I chuckle, wiping the moisture from my brow. "It"s a tough job, but someone"s gotta do it. But you know I'm not even close to being the youngest on the team, asshole," I shoot back, smirking at him.

"Seriously though, man, you were on fire out there!" Our center, Thiago, chimes in, clapping me on the back. "You"ve definitely earned your spot amongst us old guys."

"Old? Speak for yourself, Thiago," I retort, laughing with him as the chatter continues around me. The voices of my teammates overlap with their infectious energy that"s hard not to get caught up in.

"Come on, Wes," Amir says, nudging me playfully. "Admit it, you"re just trying to show off for all those puck bunnies waiting outside."

My cheeks flush at the mention of the groupies that always seem to be lurking in the shadows, but I won"t give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me. "Nah," I reply nonchalantly. "I"m just here for the love of the game."

The banter begins to die down, and I feel the adrenaline from the game slowly fading, replaced by a growing sense of exhaustion. I know my teammates are raring to head out and celebrate our win, but I don't really feel like doing the same.

"Alright, time to get changed and get out of here," I mutter to anyone who's close by or more so to myself. With the sound of Velcro ripping apart and zippers sliding down their tracks, I start to peel off my sweat-soaked gear. My skin is chilled from the slick coolness of the ice still clinging on, and my tired muscles burn as I strip down to my base layers.

"Hey, Wes, you coming with us or what?" Thiago calls out, interrupting my thoughts. I look up to see him already dressed and ready to go.

"I'll walk outside with you guys, but I'm going to head home instead of going out," I reply, forcing a smile. "Just give me a little bit to shower and grab my stuff."

It only takes me a few minutes for a quick shower and to dress for me to be ready to leave. I open my locker, pull out my duffel bag, and sling it over my shoulder.

"Come on, baby Halliday," Amir teases as he passes by, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "We don"t have all night!"

"Alright, alright, I"m coming!" I chuckle, shaking my head at his antics. My hopes are not high in finding anything meaningful with any girls I could possibly meet tonight, nothing like the feeling I had that one snowy night in an Ann Arbor hotel room a few months ago.

The moment I step outside of the arena, the plethora of excited voices washes over me. The sound of fans chanting my name fills the air. I smile as I take in the scene.

"Weston!" someone shouts, and I turn to see a line of puck bunnies and paparazzi waiting hungrily for a glimpse of me and my teammates. Cameras are flashing, capturing every moment as we exit the building. I'm accustomed to the sight, but it both revitalizes and drains my energy at the same time.

"Looking good, Weston!" calls out a blonde woman with sparkling blue eyes, her voice filled with flirtation. She waves her camera in my direction, snapping picture after picture as though trying to capture some elusive quality that she thinks might be hidden within my features.

"Thanks," I reply, trying to maintain a casual tone even though I like the attention a little. Part of me enjoys the spotlight, thrives on the adoration of others, but another part of me longs for something deeper, more meaningful than the superficial connections that seem to define my life.

"Great game tonight," a photographer chimes in, his lens trained on me as he snaps away.

"Appreciate it," I say, offering a quick nod before continuing on my way.

As I weave through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and signing autographs, I'm one hundred percent certain none of these people truly know me. Sure, they"ve seen me play, witnessed my triumphs and defeats on the ice, but do they have any idea of the loneliness that gnaws at me when I"m away from the rink? Do they understand the ache for connection that drives me to seek out one-night stands and fleeting romances?

"Weston, over here!" a voice calls, drawing me out of my reverie. I glance over to see a group of fans clustered around one of my teammates, as they call out for autographs and selfies.

"Be right there," I say with a grin, trying to push aside my thoughts of finding something more with someone and focus on the moment.

"Weston, can I get a picture with you?" A young woman with bright blue eyes and an infectious smile catches my attention. She"s wearing one of my jerseys, and her enthusiasm is hard to miss.

"Of course," I reply, flashing her a genuine grin. We pose, her arm wrapped around me while I give the camera a playful wink. The camera flashes, capturing the moment as I smile and laugh along with her, even though the emotions are fake.

"Thanks so much, Weston! You"re amazing!" she gushes before disappearing back into the crowd. My teammates exchange good-natured ribbing, and I join in, trying to lose myself in the camaraderie that comes so easily among us.

"Alright, boys, let"s call it a night," I say after a while, knowing that we all have early morning skate and the need for some rest. We begin to disperse, leaving the throng of fans and paparazzi behind.

The chaos and energy of the scene slowly fades and is replaced by the quiet solitude of the parking lot the closer I get to my car. The laughter and voices become distant echoes, and I"m left with only my thoughts to keep me company.

I slide into the driver"s seat, take a deep breath, and enjoy the smell of leather. Starting the engine, I pull away from the arena. Although the adoration of fans is gratifying in its own way, it doesn"t fill the void inside me.

"Hey Siri," I say, activating the Car Play system. "Send a group text to Cole and Bennett: "How did your games go? Let"s catch up later."" My brothers, Cole and Bennett, are also professional athletes, with Cole playing football and Bennett playing hockey like me.

"Message sent," Siri confirms as she connects me to my siblings despite the distance of Cole and Bennett being in two different cities in Florida and me in Michigan.

As I drive through the dark streets, I think about the contrasts between our lives. We"re all successful in our respective sports, and yet, each of us are so different.

Cole, the oldest of us, has confidence about him with everything he does. He's got a great football career and a wonderful relationship with his girlfriend.

Then there"s Bennett, the youngest among us, who also has a budding career with hockey, but as for settling down, he swears he's not looking to do that until he's like sixty, and even then, he's unsure.

Then, there"s me - Weston. The middle sibling who often feels like the odd one out, caught between Cole's mature, always doing the ‘right thing,' and Bennett's too cool for his own shit. I've always strived to find my own path, my own success. But at times, it feels like I'm skating on thin ice, teetering on the edge of something I can't quite understand or explain.

I pull into my driveway, the headlights illuminating the modern style of the front of my house. Then I click the garage door open and watch as the door rises so I can pull inside. Just a dark and empty house awaits me. It's not one that I'd even call home.