Chapter 60 Chapter 60

Chapter 60 Chapter 60
HAYDEN

I stared at my phone for a long time before hitting call. The screen reflected my own tense expression back at me, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched. My hands weren’t steady. It wasn’t a game-day kind of adrenaline, sharp and focused.

This was heavier, pressing down on my chest, the kind of pressure that didn’t let up even when I tried to breathe it away.

The call rang twice before Dad answered.

“Hayden,” he said, brisk as always, like we were already mid-conversation. “I’m glad you called. We need to go over the scouts’ interest from last week...”

“Dad,” I cut in quickly, before I lost my nerve. My voice came out rough. “Before you start, I need to say something.”

There was a pause before he said, “Alright. Go ahead.”

I started pacing my apartment, fingers raking through my hair. My throat was dry, but the words were already climbing their way out. “I’ve thought about it. About the scouts, the draft, everything. And I’ve made my decision.”

“And?” His tone sharpened, already expectant.

“I’m not declaring early,” I said, forcing each word to stay steady. “I’m finishing college first.”

The silence on the other end stretched so long I thought the call might’ve dropped. Then his voice came back, colder. “Hayden, you don’t understand what you’re turning down. Opportunities like this don’t wait. Teams want commitment. They want a player who’s ready now.”

“I do understand,” I shot back, though my chest tightened. “That’s why I’m telling you straight. I’m not ready. Not yet.”

“You’re making a mistake,” he snapped. “This isn’t about being ready, it’s about striking while the iron is hot. Do you think scouts will sit around for years, waiting for you to feel comfortable?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the back of my desk chair to anchor myself. “I’m not saying never. I’m saying not right now. I need these years. For me. To finish what I started here. To grow without rushing because someone else thinks I should.”

“Someone else?” Dad’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “You mean your mother and I? We’ve sacrificed for you. We’ve pushed you because we know what it takes. You’d throw that away?”

“This isn’t about throwing anything away,” I said, louder now, frustration spilling over. “This is about me finally choosing. And I’m choosing to finish college.”

His silence was scathing. When he finally spoke, it was quieter but harder. “You’ll regret this. You’ll regret wasting time while others move forward.”

My heart thudded, but I forced the words out anyway. “Maybe. But if I regret it, it’ll be mine. My mistake. Not yours.”

On the other end, I thought I heard a breath, sharp, almost wounded, but then his voice came back sounding clipped. “We’ll talk again later.”

The line clicked dead.

I stood there, phone still pressed to my ear, the silence in my apartment roaring louder than the call had been. My body felt drained, like I’d just played three overtimes, sweat slicking my palms even though I hadn’t moved much at all.

But underneath the exhaustion, there was something else. Something steadier, like a weight finally set down after being carried too long.

I’d finally said it. Out loud. To him.

And the first person I wanted to see, the only person I wanted to see, was her.

Coleen opened the door to her apartment, eyes widening at the sight of me on her threshold. “Hayden? It’s late.”

“I know,” I said quickly, shifting on my feet. “Can I come in?”

She stepped aside without a word. The place smelled faintly of popcorn and cinnamon. Mark’s guitar leaned against the couch, but the apartment was quiet, no roommate in sight.

I didn’t sit. My hands wouldn’t stay still. I paced once across the rug, then turned to her.

“I told them,” I blurted. My voice sounded rough even to me. “My parents. I told them I’m not declaring early. That I’m finishing college first.”

Her lips parted. “Hayden… that’s huge.”

I let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my chest for years. “They weren’t happy. Especially my dad. But I didn’t back down.” My voice caught, but I pushed through. “And you know why?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

“Because of you.”

Her brows furrowed. “Me?”

I nodded, stepping closer. “You make me believe I don’t have to do this their way. That I can take the time I need, make my own choices, and still be enough. Every time I want to cave, I think about how you look at me like I’m already worth something. That… it’s not just about the NHL.”

Her eyes shimmered, caught between disbelief and something softer. “Hayden…”

“I mean it,” I said, my chest tightening with the truth of it. “You’re the reason I can stand my ground. You’re the reason I don’t feel like I’m failing just because I’m not sprinting to the top right now.”

She shook her head slightly, like she was trying to laugh it off but couldn’t. “You give me way too much credit.”

“No,” I said, my voice steady now. “I don’t give you enough.”

The air thickened between us, charged and heavy with words I couldn’t quite say. She stared at me, eyes wide, her hands twisting together like she didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

Finally, she whispered, “Do you know how terrifying it is to hear that? To know I matter that much?”

I stepped closer, close enough to see the faint rise and fall of her breath. “Yeah. I do. Because you matter that much to me too.”

Her laugh was shaky, almost disbelieving. “This is crazy. We’ve only just started figuring this out.”

“Then let’s keep figuring it out,” I said quietly. “Together. No rush. No pressure. Just us.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was looking for cracks in the words. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled. “I’m scared.”

I reached out, covering her hand with mine. “So am I.”

And that was the truth, bare, raw, and terrifyingly real.

We sat on the couch, side by side, our knees brushing. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore, it was steady, like a heartbeat.

She leaned into me eventually, her head resting against my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

We talked for hours, about everything and nothing. Childhood stories, professors we both hated, the ridiculous skating challenge Mark still wanted to cash in on. At one point she laughed so hard she nearly fell against me, and I realized I wanted that sound for the rest of my life.

When she finally grew quiet, her breathing slowing as she dozed lightly against me, I sat there, holding her, the weight of the night pressing down in a different way.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t some grand, sweeping declaration.

But in that silence, I knew.

This wasn’t just about hockey anymore.

It was about choosing.

And I was choosing her.