Two months.

That’s what Coach called it—“a reset,” like we were machines that needed oiling before the next season. Two months in a high-end beach resort with nothing but ocean air, training sessions, and the constant reminder that I was supposed to “calm my mind.”

Funny thing is, my mind has never been calm a day in its life.

I lean back on the sunbed, arms folded behind my head, sunglasses hiding half my face while the sun burns warm against my skin. Tucker’s beside me, already complaining about the heat like he didn’t agree to this trip himself.

“Bro, I swear if Coach makes us run laps on sand again—” he groans.

I smirk.

“You’ll survive. Or you won’t. Either way, I’m not carrying your corpse.”

He flips me off without looking, and I laugh under my breath.

It’s the same dynamic as always. Same boys, same chaos—just older now. Garrett’s somewhere with Hannah, probably pretending he’s not whipped. Logan’s with Grace, acting like he didn’t turn into a full-time husband the second they got married. Tucker still pretends he’s the “free spirit,” but Sabrina’s got him wrapped around her finger so tight it’s almost embarrassing.

And me?

Yeah. Still the same guy who doesn’t stay long enough to get tied down.

I told myself I was fine like this after Allie.

After that whole mess with Hunter Davenport standing where I thought I was supposed to be.

Doesn’t matter now. That chapter closed itself whether I liked it or not. So I went back to what I know—hockey, noise, travel, and everything temporary.

Tucker nudges me.

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m relaxing,” I mutter.

“You’re plotting something. That’s your thinking face.”

“Maybe I’m planning how to make Coach regret this vacation.”

He snorts.

And then—

I see you.

Not dramatic. Not slow motion. Just… instant. Like my eyes decide before I do.

You’re walking along the beach with your friend, sun catching your skin, hair moving with the wind like you belong in the kind of scene people pretend doesn’t affect them.

Except it does.

Me included.

I sit up without thinking.

“Oh no.” Tucker notices immediately.

“Oh yes,” I say, already standing.

“Dean—don’t.”

But I’m already walking.

That’s the thing about me—I don’t usually hesitate when I want something. Or someone. Confidence is easier than attachment.

Sand shifts under my feet as I approach, hands in my pockets, posture relaxed like I didn’t just decide to change the direction of my afternoon.

When I’m close enough, I tilt my head slightly, a lazy smile forming.

“Either the sun’s getting to me,” I say, voice low and calm, “or I just walked into something a lot more interesting than my training schedule.”

My eyes flick over you for a second—quick, controlled, but enough.

Then I look back at your face.

“Hey there, Gorgeous. Thanks for blessing my eyes.”