Frozen Hearts and Burning Questions.

The bonfire felt like a distant memory by the time I made it home, but the cold had nothing to do with the Minnesota wind. My boots left wet tracks across the kitchen floor as I shrugged off my layers, each one heavier than the last. Dad was still awake, sitting at the island with a lukewarm mug of coffee and a playbook open in front of him like it could solve every problem in the universe.

“You’re back early,” he said without looking up. “Bonfire not your scene?”

I dropped onto the stool across from him, cheeks still stinging from more than just the cold. “It was… eventful.”

He finally glanced at me, coach instincts kicking in. “Eventful how?”

I hesitated. Telling my dad that the team captain had almost kissed me—twice—before his ex dragged him away for a family emergency felt like volunteering for a benching. “Knox had to leave. Something with his dad.”

Dad’s expression softened. “Yeah. Callahan’s been dealing with that for a while. Heart issues, I think. Kid’s carrying a lot.”

I nodded, throat tight. The image of Knox’s face when that call came in kept replaying—raw, scared, nothing like the confident captain who’d winked at me on the ice. And Sophia right there, stepping in like she belonged. Like she always would.

“Dad… do you think Knox and Sophia are…?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Complicated. Small towns love their stories. Everyone expects them to end up together—hometown hero and the girl who’s been cheering him on since peewee. But expectations aren’t the same as truth.” He closed the playbook. “Just be careful, kiddo. Hockey players have a lot on their plates. And you’re new here. Don’t get caught in the crossfire.”

Too late.

I escaped to my room, flopped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling like it might offer answers. My phone buzzed—Finn.

Finn: You okay? Saw you disappear into the trees. Knox bolted right after. Sophia looked smug as hell.

Me: I’m fine. Just cold. And confused.

Finn: Confused is valid. Knox is… Knox. He’s my best friend, but he’s got a habit of putting everyone else first. His dad, the team, Soph when she guilt-trips him. You deserve someone who puts you first.

The message sat there, heavier than it should have. Finn’s easy smile from the bonfire flashed in my mind—how he’d stayed when Knox left, how his hand had lingered when he gave me that blanket. Warm. Safe. Different from Knox’s electric chaos.

Me: Thanks, Finn. Really.

Finn: Anytime, California. Text if you need rescuing from the cold. Or from overthinking.

I smiled despite everything, but the smile faded when another text came through—this one from an unknown number.

Unknown: Heard you had quite the night. Welcome to Evergreen, princess. Try not to melt. – R

Riley Voss. Cheer captain. I’d only seen her in passing at school, but the grapevine painted her as queen bee with a side of venom. Perfect.

I blocked the number and tossed my phone aside. Sleep didn’t come easy. When it finally did, it was filled with dreams of ice that cracked under my feet and two sets of hands reaching for me—Knox’s strong and urgent, Finn’s steady and warm.

The next morning, practice was brutal. Dad had the team running suicides like they’d personally offended him. I sat in the stands with my notebook, pretending to sketch plays when really I was watching Knox. He moved like a man possessed—faster, harder, jaw set. Every slapshot echoed like punctuation to whatever storm was raging in his head.

When Dad finally called a water break, Knox skated straight to the boards where I was sitting. Helmet off, hair damp with sweat, eyes shadowed.

“Avery.” His voice was rough. “About last night—”

“You don’t have to explain,” I cut in, even though I desperately wanted him to. “Your dad… is he okay?”

He gripped the boards, knuckles white. “Stable. For now. Doctors are running more tests.” He looked up at me, blue eyes intense. “But I meant what I said. Sophia is history. I told her that months ago. Last night was just… her not wanting to hear it.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I did. But the memory of her hand on his chest burned. “It looked pretty current from where I was standing.”

He exhaled sharply. “I know. And I’m sorry you had to hear any of it. She’s scared. Her family’s tied up in all the medical stuff—bills, favors. It’s messy. But I’m not going back there. Not when…” He reached up, gloved fingers brushing my knee through my jeans. Even through fabric, the touch sent sparks racing up my leg. “Not when there’s you.”

My breath caught. The rink noise faded. It was just us—him looking at me like I was the only steady thing in his spinning world.

Before I could respond, Finn skated over, stopping beside Knox with perfect timing. “Captain. Coach wants the power play run again. And Avery—” He flashed that warm, lopsided grin. “Brought you something.”

He tossed a small thermos over the boards. Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows floating on top, just the way I’d mentioned liking it at the Frosty Mug.

Knox’s jaw tightened. Just a fraction. “Thanks, man.”

Finn shrugged, eyes on me. “Figured she could use warming up after last night. Minnesota’s brutal on newbies.”

The air between the two best friends crackled with something unspoken. Knox’s shoulders squared. Finn held his gaze steady, no challenge, just quiet support that somehow felt heavier.

I took the thermos, fingers brushing Finn’s gloved hand. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime.” Finn winked—playful, but his eyes lingered a beat longer than necessary. Then he clapped Knox on the shoulder. “Come on, bro. Let’s give her something worth sketching.”

They skated off, but not before Knox shot one last look over his shoulder—possessive, promising.

Practice ended with the team exhausted and Dad barking about focus. As the guys headed to the locker room, Knox lingered by the boards again.

“Walk you out?” he asked.

I nodded. We stepped into the cold parking lot together, his duffel slung over one shoulder. The silence stretched, charged.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said suddenly. “Tomorrow night. No bonfires. No drama. Just us. There’s this spot outside town—frozen lake, stars like you’ve never seen. I’ll bring blankets. Hot chocolate that isn’t from Finn.”

I laughed softly. “Jealous of the marshmallows?”

“Jealous of anything that makes you smile when I’m not the one doing it.” He stopped, turning to face me. Snowflakes had started falling, catching in his lashes. “Avery, I know this is fast. And messy. But from the second that puck almost took you out, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You make everything feel… lighter.”

He stepped closer, backing me gently against his truck. One hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing cold skin. His breath mingled with mine, warm and minty.

“I’m falling for you,” he whispered. “Hard. And I don’t want to stop.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I rose on my toes, meeting him halfway.

The kiss was everything the bonfire almost-kiss wasn’t—slow, deep, desperate. His free hand slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I tasted salt from practice and the faint sweetness of the gum he always chewed. He groaned softly when I nipped his bottom lip, pressing me harder into the truck door. Snow melted on our skin as the kiss turned hotter, tongues sliding, hands roaming under jackets until we were both breathing ragged.

When we finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, he smiled—genuine, boyish. “Tomorrow. Seven. I’ll pick you up.”

“Seven,” I echoed, dazed.

He kissed me once more, quick and sweet, before heading inside.

I watched him go, lips tingling, heart full.

Then my phone buzzed.

Finn: Lake spot tomorrow? Knox mentioned it. Mind if I tag along? Could bring extra blankets… and maybe steal you for a dance under the stars if he gets called away again.

My stomach twisted with a confusing mix of warmth and guilt.

Knox or Finn.

Captain or best friend.

One electric and intense.

One steady and safe.

And me, stuck in the middle of a love triangle I never asked for, on ice that felt thinner by the second.

I stared at the message, thumbs hovering.

Whatever I chose next, someone’s heart was going to crack.