Game Changer

Brynn’s POV

The kitchen buzzer blared behind me, sticky grease clinging to my wrists as I pressed my cell against my ear.

"Good news, Brynn! We're calling back to officially offer you the Physical Therapist position with the Los Angeles Avalanches."

The phone nearly slipped right out of my grasp. My fingertips went completely numb, a sharp breath catching in my throat somewhere between shock and rising hope. I untied my stained apron and tossed it straight into the laundry bin while my best friend, Piper, stared at me from across the prep counter, silently mouthing, *What is going on?*

I held up a palm to stall her, my voice shaking as I spoke into the receiver. "Oh—I didn't expect to hear back so soon. Thank you! Is there anything you need me to fill out right now?"

"We've forwarded the onboarding packet to your email. Just come down to the front office on Monday morning to sign the formal contract. We're thrilled to bring you onto the staff."

"Thank you so much. Seriously, thank you."

The line clicked dead. Silence hung between us for half a second before I let out a high-pitched squeal, bouncing on my heels. Piper immediately shrieked right along with me, cracking up even though she was completely in the dark.

"Spill it! What happened?"

"The Los Angeles Avalanches just hired me!" I blurted out, my chest feeling way too tight to hold the excitement inside.

Her eyes flew wide open before she let out a scream that easily topped mine. "No way! That's incredible! You've been dying to land a PT spot with a pro team forever!"

I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt. "Yeah, well, breaking into the field in this economy is brutal, especially when it takes you way past the standard timeline just to finish your degree."

She let out a soft breath and opened her arms. I stepped right into the hug, letting the weight of it finally sink in—pure relief, pride, and a fierce sense of vindication after years of grinding.

"This is your huge break, Brynn," she said against my shoulder. "You finally get to walk out of this fast-food nightmare."

I chuckled softly, stepping back to look at her. "You need to get out of here soon, too."

"Oh, don't worry about me," she shot back with a grin. "I'll be a hotshot photographer before you know it."

I nodded, feeding off her bright energy until my eyes caught the wall clock above the fryer. My heart gave a quick leap.

"I need to get home and tell Declan. He should be back from rink practice by now," I said, the rush of excitement bubbling right back up to the surface.

Piper's smile slipped. It was barely a flicker, right at the corner of her mouth, but I caught it anyway.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing, forget it," she said quickly, waving a hand. "I really don't want to kill your vibe, but Declan is the whole reason you got stuck slaving away in this dump to begin with. You only picked up all these shifts to cover his pricey hockey gear and private training camps, which is the exact reason your graduation kept getting pushed back."

I let out a quiet sigh, the old argument worn deep into my bones by now. "You know how it was, Pipes. His parents refused to back his hockey career. At least they've finally come around and accepted it after all this time."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Declan, my boyfriend of three years, had chased this dream for as long as he could remember. He hadn't even stepped onto the ice competitively until college, after spending his whole childhood being pressured to go to med school.

I was the one who pushed him to go for it anyway. And now, he was actually on the roster for the Los Angeles Avalanches.

Meanwhile, it had taken me four exhausting years to wrap up a two-and-a-half-year program. Still, I hadn't regretted the trade-off once. Not when it meant we got to cross the finish line together.

"He barely gets off the bench, though," Piper muttered under her breath.

I pretended not to hear her, slinging my strap over my shoulder as I backed toward the rear exit. "See you tomorrow! I'm bringing in my two weeks' notice."

She smiled despite her reservations and gave me a little wave. "Get home safe!"

I hurried down the block toward the apartment Declan and I shared, my feet feeling lighter than they had in years. The downtown business district bustled all around me, traffic and chatter blending together, though all I could really focus on was the replay of that phone call. Living in central Los Angeles cost a fortune, especially since Declan insisted on staying close to the practice facility, but juggling three jobs had kept our heads above water. Just barely, yet we'd managed.

I pulled open the front door of our older complex, greeted by the familiar groan of the hinges. The lobby elevator had an *Out of Order* sign taped to it again, like usual. My calves throbbed from standing over a deep fryer for hours, yet I barely felt it today, bounding up the stairwell two steps at a time with my pulse racing from pure adrenaline.

Reaching our floor, I turned the knob and pushed the apartment door open, a huge smile stretching across my face as I drew in a breath to call out.

"Dec—"

The syllable caught in my throat.

A noise drifted down the short hallway. Low. Short of breath.

A woman's moan.

"Ahh, Declan! Right there," a voice gasped out—one I knew I'd heard before.

My shoes rooted to the floorboards.

"Fuck, you like that?"

Declan's voice—gravelly, thick, and unmistakable—echoed out into the living room, locking me in place.

"Yes," she whimpered, her breath hitching. "You're the best I've ever had."

Declan let out a low laugh. Right behind it came the wet, unmistakable sounds of mouths crashing together and bare skin slapping against skin in a steady rhythm.

"And you're the best for me, too. Nobody else even comes close."

Something deep inside my chest snapped in half.

A freezing numbness washed through me, locking my joints, yet my feet somehow started moving anyway. I took one slow step down the hall, then another, dread twisting tighter in my gut with every inch I closed.

This couldn't be happening. Not after everything we'd been through. He wouldn't do this to me.

The bedroom door stood wide open. Declan was flat on his back in the middle of our mattress, a stunning blonde straddling his hips, rolling her body over his like she owned the place. Like she owned him.

My mouth went bone-dry. In a single heartbeat, all the bright joy I'd carried up those stairs shattered into dust.

"Your dick is so big! It's hitting every single spot," she panted out, arching her back.

Declan tangled his fingers into her blonde hair, yanking her down closer to his chest. "You make the cutest fucking sounds."

"Cuter than your girlfriend?" she teased between breaths.

"Of course."

Those two words hit me harder than a physical blow.

She shifted her weight above him, her loud vocalizations bouncing off the walls of our cramped apartment—the exact same place I worked three jobs to pay for, scrubbed clean on my days off, and broke my back trying to make into a home.

Then I caught a clear glimpse of her profile and knew instantly who she was. Monroe Sterling. A high-profile rinkside reporter for the national league—and the spoiled daughter of Richard Sterling, the head coach of the Los Angeles Avalanches.

My tote bag slipped right off my numb shoulder, hitting the floorboards with a heavy thud that sliced right through the room.

Monroe let out a sharp gasp, scrambling off Declan's lap and yanking up the cotton sheets to cover her chest—the exact sheets I had pulled out of the dryer and folded that very morning.

Declan turned his head toward the doorway. A brief flash of surprise crossed his face, lasting barely a second before it smoothed over into total, eerie calm.

"Brynn," he said evenly, acting as if I'd just walked in on him watching television. "Aren't you working the closing shift tonight?"

"No..." My own voice sounded hollow, like it belonged to a stranger. "Night shifts are Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I've had that exact schedule for years, Declan."

I watched a flicker of annoyance cross his features before he let out a breath and sat up against the headboard.

"Look, Brynn, I hate that you had to find out this way, honestly, but this was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Bound to happen?" My voice cracked, rising sharp and raw in the small room. "How is you fucking someone else in our bed bound to happen?"

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, looking entirely put out, as if my heartbreak were just a tedious chore he had to deal with.

"I appreciate you looking out for me all these years, I really do. But my career is actually taking off now, and I need someone... worthy standing next to me."

*Worthy.*

The word rang inside my skull, loud and deafening. After all the late nights and empty bank accounts, I wasn't good enough to be seen beside him.

My eyes darted to Monroe. She offered a slightly awkward grimace, clutching the sheet to her collarbone, though there wasn't a single trace of genuine guilt on her face. Not even a little.

"After everything I gave up for you," I whispered, the words barely making it past my lips.

Declan blew out a heavy sigh, clearly over the conversation already. "Listen, you don't need to stress about covering my half of the bills here anymore. I already closed on a much bigger condo closer to the arena. I just hadn't found the right time to break it to you yet."

He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up without an ounce of shame. "I'm going to clear out for now so you have some space to cool off. Monroe and I are flying out to Bora Bora for a little getaway before training camp starts up. I'll swing by to pack the rest of my gear once we're back. Let's go, Monroe."

Monroe slid off the side of the bed and bent down, reaching for a piece of clothing draped over the chair.

It was my dress. The exact one Declan had wrapped up and handed to me on our very first anniversary.

She pulled it right over her head, and Declan watched her smooth the fabric down with a warm, easy softness in his eyes—a look I used to foolishly believe belonged only to me. Without a backward glance, he laced his fingers through hers and led her right past me through the doorway, brushing by my shoulder as if I were part of the drywall.

As if I had never mattered to him at all.

The front door clicked shut down the hall, leaving me completely alone in the quiet.

I stood frozen in the doorway, boxed in by three years of memories, endless exhausted shifts, and a life I had pieced together for a man who had already decided I wasn't worth keeping around. Hot tears finally spilled over my lashes, blurring the empty bed in front of me, though they fell way too slowly to keep pace with the way my whole chest was caving in.