The Hockey Star's Regret

Pushed

Nathan's world went quiet.

Not completely quiet. He could still hear the clinking of glasses, the laughter of her friends. But quiet in the way that only happens when something inside you cracks open and all the sound drains into the void.

His mind rebelled. He closed his eyes and went back to that tunnel.

Three years ago. The night after her first major games. The night she scored the winning goal in overtime and the whole arena chanted her name. Nathan had been waiting for her in the tunnel.

She had come running toward him still in her gear, sweat on her face, eyes wild with adrenaline. She had grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into the shadows behind the concrete pillars.

And she kissed him.

She kissed him like the world was ending. Her hands were in his hair. Her back was against the wall. She kissed him with a desperation that made his knees weak, her mouth hot and hungry and trembling. He had to hold her up because her legs were shaking.

Between kisses she had pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were shining. Her lips were swollen. She whispered against his mouth, "Nathan. Nathan. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much it scares me."

He had kissed her deeper. She had said it again. And again. "I'll love you forever. I swear. Forever. You're it for me. You hear me? You're it."

He had believed her. He had carved those words into the walls of his chest and built a home around them. He had carried that moment like a torch in the dark for five years.

That mouth.

That same mouth was in there right now. Behind that door. Laughing. Forming words that were shattering every memory he had held sacred.

"Girl, you're terrible," one of her friends squealed, half-laughing, half-shocked.

"I know!" Leila sounded gleeful. "You should have seen his face when I told him I wasn't ready for marriage. He looked like a kicked puppy. I swear, I almost felt bad."

"Almost?"

"Almost." Giggles. "I mean, come on. Five years is a long time to keep a bet going, but the payoff? Priceless. Mia, you owe me five hundred dollars."

"Ugh, fine. I really thought he'd propose again and you'd cave."

"Please. I'm not marrying 'anyone' until I'm ready. Nathan is... Nathan is nice. He's good. He's safe. He manages my career, he buys me things, he looks at me like a princess. But let's be real..."

Nathan's hand dropped to his side.

He stood in the hallway like a statue. Like a man turned to stone outside a door that had just become a wall.

Five years.

Five years of erased messages because he didn't want to overwhelm her. Five years of canceled plans because she had practice. Five years of sitting in arenas watching her skate, his chest swelling with pride while she didn't know he was there. Five years of using his resources to build her into a star while letting himself become invisible.

A bet.

The whiskey he'd been sipping earlier turned to acid in his stomach. His throat burned. His vision blurred with tears. Nathan Colton couldn't hold up with something worse like this. The tears flooded.

No holding back.

He saw it all now. Every delayed answer. "Not yet ready." Every time she'd looked at her phone with that soft, private smile and said it was "nothing" when he asked who it was. He had told himself it was Oscar. He had told himself she was just processing old feelings.

He was a project. A game. A bet.

Nathan looked down at his hand, the one that had been reaching for the door. The Colton ring he always wore on his pinky caught the dim hallway light. His father's ring. The one his grandmother wanted him to replace with a wedding band for Samantha Nelson.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with numb fingers.

Eleanor: "The Nelsons have requested a dinner next Tuesday to finalize details. You will be there."

Nathan stared at the message for a long time.

Then, with the same hand that had been reaching for Leila's door, he typed a response.

Nathan: "I'll be there."

He put the phone away. He turned around. He walked back down the hallway, and he did not look back.

The elevator carried him down twelve floors.

The doorman held the door for him and said, "Good night, Mr. Colton."

Nathan didn't answer.

He got into his car. He sat in the driver's seat for exactly four minutes, staring at the steering wheel.

Then Nathan Colton, the secret heir, the hockey superstar manager, the kicked puppy, started the engine and drove away.