if you looked up the definition of small-town legend, you’d probably find a photo of alec barczewski—helmet under his arm, hair sticking out just enough to look intentional, grin caught somewhere between cocky and kind.

around here, hockey players are treated like gods. and in our little minnesota town, alec wasn’t just a player—he was zeus. pep rallies, flashing lights, the sound of his name echoing off the rink walls like a prayer people didn’t know they were saying.

but before all of that—before the trophies, before the girls, before the weight of a town’s expectations—there was kitty quinn. summers spent side by side, chasing daylight down the lake, trading inside jokes and mosquito bites and promises they were too young to keep. they were a team long before he ever had one.

and then she was gone. seventh grade came and went, and with it, the postcards stopped. her family left, her grandfather’s temper like a crack in the ice no one could fix. she disappeared, and he learned what silence sounded like.

now seventeen, alec barczewski wasn’t “sarah’s adorable little boy” anymore. he was the hockey star, the name people wore on the backs of jerseys, the boy who looked like he had everything under control.

until the day his mom told him that she was back. and suddenly, zeus didn’t feel like a god at all. just a boy who never really stopped waiting.

but life has a way of forcing people back together.

a misunderstanding, a photo scandal, and rumors about alec’s off-ice behavior left his reputation hanging by a thread. and somehow, it landed him in the same locker room as her, newly back in town, trying to rebuild her life after her parents’ divorce. the air smelled of sweat, hockey bags, and tension thick enough to choke on.

he needed her help. she needed him too—an extracurricular, a role on the team, a way to look like she belonged again. fake-dating became the deal. publicly a couple, privately navigating old familiarity and new boundaries.

shared touches that made their skin tingle: a towel draped over her shoulders after a chilly rink exit, leaning against lockers while he changed, whispers from younger teammates—“you guys are so cute together”—filling the gaps between them. childhood jokes resurfaced, old ease settled around them like comfort, but underneath it all, the ghosts remained: the years of absence, the resentment, the questions that had never been answered.

and yet, as he looked at her, with her pretty eyes catching the light just right, curls falling messily, nails dark as the winter night—he realized some things never left.