♡︎wsh

probably writing @wcpsmrc2 on wattpad((: #cantteachthat

[puckbunny2]

main masterlist🫶🏻

───── ⋆⋅♡︎⋅⋆ ─────

• Invisible String (will smith hockey) -w.c. 100k

• Invisible String: the inevitable pull -w.c. tbd

coming soon… pls send requests whenever ((: i’ll write pretty much anything!!

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String: the inevitable pull

♡︎ the string pulled Bella and Will three thousand miles...some connections refuse to break. some people find their way back to each other no matter the distance, the timing, or the damage left behind. for some strings- they were never meant to snap in the first place. new city, old feelings, and the pull neither of them can ignore.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 2 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.0k)

The air in the studio smelled of sweat, rosin, and the faint, sweet scent of strawberry lip gloss. It was a chaotic symphony of pattering feet, high-pitched giggles, and the occasional, dramatic wail. Bella and Kenzie moved through the sea of pink and lavender leotards like experienced sailors navigating a choppy, sparkly ocean.

"Okay, plié and then relevé, and... hold it!" Kenzie called out, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Beautiful, Lily! Amazing, Chloe!"

Bella knelt to adjust a twisted strap on a tiny ballet slipper, offering a reassuring smile to a little girl with a determined frown. "You're doing great, sweetie. Just like a swan."

This was their summer internship. Teaching the "Sparkle Sprites," a class of five-to-seven-year-olds, was both exhausting and surprisingly therapeutic. The children were so wonderfully, brutally present. They didn't care about hockey players in California or the stress from a recent move. They cared about who got to be the flower in the center and whether the fairy dust was sparkly enough.

It was exactly the kind of uncomplicated reality Bella needed.

"Miss Bella! Miss Bella!" a small voice piped up. Bella turned to see a little girl with wide, serious brown eyes and a neat bun that was already coming loose. She was one of the quietest ones in the class, but she moved with a natural grace that was startling to see in someone so small. Her name was Ivy.

"Yes, Ivy?" Bella said, smiling.

"Is this the right way to do a pas de bourrée?" she asked, her little feet already attempting the complicated three-step sequence. It wasn't perfect, but it was close. She was a natural.

"That's perfect, Ivy," Bella said, genuinely impressed. "You've been practicing."

"My daddy says I have to practice if I want to be a real ballerina," Ivy said with a serious nod.

"Well, your daddy is very smart," Kenzie said, joining them. "Now, let's all get in a circle for our cool-down stretch!"

After the last of the Sparkle Sprites had been collected by their parents, the studio finally fell silent. Bella collapsed onto the floor, sprawling her limbs out like a starfish.

"I think I pulled a hamstring trying to keep up with Chloe," she groaned. "That kid has more energy than a golden retriever."

Kenzie laughed, sinking down beside her. "They're great, though. And did you see Ivy today? She's going to be incredible someday."

"She's so focused," Bella agreed, a fond smile on her face. "It's like she's in her own little world when she dances."

"Speaking of parents," Kenzie said, her tone shifting slightly. "That was Ivy's dad picking her up today, right? The tall, quiet one?"

Bella thought back. Most days, Ivy was picked up by a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile who Bella assumed was her mom. "I don't think so. I think her mom usually gets her. Why?"

"I don't know," Kenzie said, staring at the ceiling. "He just looked... familiar. I couldn't place him."

"Please don't say 'familiar'," Bella begged, sitting up. "The last time someone looked 'familiar' to you, you ended up in a fake relationship with a gay man."

Kenzie rolled her eyes. "This is different. He wasn't hockey-player familiar. He was just... guy familiar. Like maybe an actor from a shampoo commercial or something."

"Right. Well, let's hope he's just a struggling actor and not the captain of the Sharks," Bella said, only half-joking.

-

The following week, Bella was stationed at the door as parents arrived for pickup. It was her favorite part of the day, watching the little girls' faces light up as their moms and dads appeared. Ivy was one of the last ones left, sitting quietly on the bench, meticulously re-tying her ballet slippers.

The studio door swung open, and a man stepped inside. He was tall, with blonde, slightly curly hair that fell over his forehead. He wore a simple hoodie and joggers, and he moved with a quiet, athletic grace that immediately set him apart from the other dads. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped slightly, but when his eyes found Ivy, his entire face softened.

"Hey, bug," he said, his voice low and warm.

"Daddy!" Ivy squeaked, jumping up and running into his arms. He scooped her up effortlessly, her small body fitting perfectly against his chest.

"Did you have a good class?" he asked, smoothing down her flyaway hairs.

"I learned a new step!" Ivy said excitedly. "Miss Bella says I'm a natural!"

"You are," he agreed, his gaze lifting from his daughter to Bella. He offered a small, polite smile. "Hi. I'm Alex. Ivy's dad."

"Bella," she said, returning the smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. Ivy is a wonderful student. A real joy to have in class."

"Thanks," he said, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "She lives for this. It's all she talks about at home."

Kenzie walked over then, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly as she got a good look at him. "Hi," she said, her voice a little too bright. "I'm Kenzie. The other teacher."

"Alex," he said again, shifting Ivy's weight. "It's nice to meet you both. We really appreciate what you do here."

"It's our pleasure," Kenzie said, her smile fixed in place.

Bella watched the exchange, a strange sense of unease prickling at the back of her neck. Kenzie was right. He did look familiar. Not like an actor, though. It was a deeper kind of familiarity, the kind that came from seeing someone's face on a screen, over and over again, in a completely different context.

As Alex Wennberg turned to leave, Ivy waving over his shoulder, it suddenly clicked for Kenzie. She grabbed Bella's arm, her fingers digging in.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her eyes wide with dawning horror. "Bella. That's Alex Wennberg. From the Sharks."

Bella's blood ran cold. She stared at the closed studio door, the image of the tired, kind-eyed father and his ballet-loving daughter burned into her mind. Of course. Of course it couldn't be simple. Of course one of the most pure, uncomplicated things in her new life had to be directly, inextricably linked to the one person she was trying to forget.

"Are you sure?" Bella breathed, her heart starting to pound.

"I'm positive," Kenzie said, her face pale. "I saw his press conference when they re-signed him last year. That's him. Ivy's dad is a Shark."

Bella sank onto the bench, her legs suddenly feeling like they couldn't hold her up. The Sparkle Sprites were supposed to be her escape. But it turned out, she had just been dancing in the enemy's backyard.

-

The ice in Rogers Arena was colder, sharper than the ice back home. It bit through Will's skate blades, a clean, unforgiving surface that demanded absolute focus. He needed this. He needed the bone-deep ache of a good practice, the kind that crowded out everything else.

"Nice feed, Smitty!" Macklin called from across the rink, easily deflecting a pass from a defenseman and sending it right back to Will's tape.

Will didn't answer, just fired the puck into the back of the net during the drill. He was in a zone, a place of exertion and muscle memory where there was no room for thought.

Hours later, sprawled on the couch in Mack's childhood bedroom, Will was exhausted. Macklin, however, was wired. He was flicking through his phone, a smug grin on his face.

"Okay, so Raya in Vancouver is a whole different ecosystem," he announced, turning the screen to show Will a succession of stunningly beautiful women. "Look at this one. She's a 'global wellness influencer.' What does that even mean? And this one is a 'casual golfer.' Hot."

Will didn't even glance at the phone. He was staring at the ceiling. "Cool."

"Come on, man," Macklin complained, nudging him with his foot. "We're in a different country. It's a smorgasbord. You've just been swiping left on everyone. This one went to Harvard. You like smart girls."

"Not interested," Will grunted, grabbing the remote and flipping aimlessly through sports channels.

Macklin sighed dramatically and tossed his phone onto the cushion between them. "Okay, what's your deal? You're in Vancouver. You're in the NHL. You could literally have a different girl's number every night and no one would ever know."

Will felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach. He didn't want a different girl's number. He didn't want to swipe right on a mediocre golfer or a wellness influencer. He wanted... he didn't know what he wanted. But it wasn't this.

"It's not that simple," he said, his voice low.

"It is literally that simple," Macklin argued, sitting up. "You see a hot girl. You say hi. It's been the basis of human interaction for centuries."

Will finally looked at him, the exhaustion of the day warring with the exhaustion in his soul. "It's not a game to me, Mack."

"I know it's not a game," Macklin said, his tone softening. He knew he was pushing, but he was tired of watching his best friend mope around like a wounded bear. "But you can't just... shut down forever. It's been months. What happened in Boston was shitty, I get it. But you can't let one person ruin everything."

Will was silent for a long moment. The only sound was the hum of the TV and the distant traffic from the street outside. He picked up Macklin's discarded phone, his thumb hovering over the screen without really seeing it.

"It wasn't just 'one person'," he said, his voice quiet, rough around the edges. "It was... everything. With her, it felt like I was building something. A life. Not just the hockey, but... a real life. Off the ice."

He swiped left on a model in Aspen. "She didn't care about the draft, or the contract. She cared that I was stressed about my history final. She knew I hated the smell of citrus because it gave me a headache. She knew how I took my coffee."

He swiped left on a lawyer in Toronto. "It wasn't just about having fun. It was about... the quiet moments, you know? Watching stupid movies in her dorm room. Her falling asleep on my shoulder. The way she'd looked when she was tanning at my family's house. The way she fits in my family so well."

Mack was quiet now, just watching him. Will hadn't talked about her like this before. Not really.

"She saw me," Will continued, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen in his hand. "Not the hockey player. Not the prospect. Just... me. And I ruined it. I was so focused on the next step, on the career, that I didn't see I was losing the most important thing."

He finally looked up from the phone, his eyes meeting Macklin's. There was a raw, unguarded pain there that Mack hadn't seen before. "So when you ask me why I don't want to talk to some random girl from Raya... it's because they're not her. They don't know that I hum in my sleep when I'm really tired, or that my favorite color is the stupid shade of sapphire blue from our old rink back home. They don't know anything. And I don't have the energy to start over. To try and build all that again with someone new, just to watch it probably fall apart anyway."

He tossed the phone back onto the couch. "It's easier to just... not. Easier to be alone."

Mack didn't have a comeback for that. He just sat there, the weight of his friend's confession settling in the room. He'd thought Will was just being stubborn, or mopey. He hadn't realized he was broken. That he wasn't just avoiding a relationship; he was mourning the loss of a future he'd already mapped out in his head.

"Okay, man," Mack replied softly, picking up the remote and turning off the TV. "Okay."

Will didn't say anything else. He just lay back down on the couch, closing his eyes. But the ice was gone now. The exhaustion was gone. All that was left was the ghost of a girl he'd let go, and the quiet, hollow space she'd left behind.

taglist- @destinyg237 @heeseungthelOml @slutformatt17 @hockeyismylife5 @smittys2 @overmtter

**a/n: will smith hockey?? don’t know her.. I only know will smith yearner🫠 hi mack thank god you are now a main character!!! congratulations dude! i can’t wait for what’s coming <3

-C

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String: the inevitable pull

♡︎ the string pulled Bella and Will three thousand miles...some connections refuse to break. some people find their way back to each other no matter the distance, the timing, or the damage left behind. for some strings- they were never meant to snap in the first place. new city, old feelings, and the pull neither of them can ignore.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.0k)

The California sun baked the asphalt of their apartment complex parking lot, turning the air thick and heavy. Inside, the air conditioning hummed a constant battle against the heat, but it was a losing fight. Bella sat cross-legged on the floor of her new bedroom, surrounded by an insane amount of cardboard boxes. Three weeks in California, and it still felt like she was playing house in someone else's life.

"Are you ever going to unpack, or are you just going to sleep in the middle of the floor?" Kenzie's voice drifted from the doorway. She leaned against the frame, two glasses of iced tea in her hands.

"I'm admiring my belongings," Bella replied, not looking up from the framed photo in her hands. It was her and Kenzie at their high school graduation, arms slung around each other, both of them grinning like fools. They had dreamed of this exact moment, of escaping Massachusetts and starting their lives together at the NCDC. It was supposed to be their triumph.

"Admire faster," Kenzie said, setting down the glasses. "I want to go to that beach you were talking about. The one with the super hot guys we saw on tiktok."

Bella carefully placed the photo face down on top of a box labeled "FRAGILE: MY SANITY." She knew what Kenzie was doing. It was the same thing she'd been doing for months: trying to bulldoze over her lingering sadness with forced normalcy. It was a kindness, but it was exhausting. This was their dream, her dream, but the shadow of Will's presence in the same state still haunted her.

Her phone buzzed against the hardwood floor. Gabe's name flashed on the screen.

Gabo🥖

"Hey, Gabe," she said, thankful for his interruption.

"Bella boo!! Kenzie! How's the land of sunshine and superficial people treating you?" Gabe's voice was a welcome blast of energy.

"It's hot," Kenzie answered for her. "And everyone is plasticky and unnervingly fake tan. How's New York?"

"Ridiculous," Gabe said, and they could hear the grin in his voice. "I'm at the Rangers' facility today. It's... a lot. I keep expecting someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me there's been a mistake."

"You earned it, Gabriel," Bella said, and she meant it. A genuine happiness for him bloomed in her chest. He was the one who had gotten out clean, who had achieved his dream without the collateral damage.

"Thanks, Belle belle," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Listen, the reason I'm calling... I have some news."

"What kind of news?"

"I'm coming to California," he announced. "Next month. My cousin's getting married in Santa Barbara, and I'm making a mini-trip out of it. Thought I could come see you guys, check out your new fancy California-Girls life."

Kenzie's face lit up. "Gabe, that's amazing! We'd love that!"

Bella managed a smile, but her mind was already racing. Gabe in California. Will's California. Would Gabe tell him she was there? The thought was like a stone dropping into a carefully constructed pond.

"That sounds perfect," Kenzie said, already planning.

"Wait," Bella finally interrupted, her stomach tightening. "Um so like...does Will know you're coming?"

"Oh, uh No," he said, his voice losing some of its cheer. "And I'm not planning on telling him. This is about seeing you guys. That's all."

"Right," Bella said, but the words didn't quite land. "Of course."

After they hung up, the apartment felt quieter, the hum of the air conditioner suddenly louder. Kenzie was watching her, her expression unreadable.

"You're not thinking about it, are you?" Kenzie asked.

"Thinking about what?" Bella replied, though she knew exactly what she meant.

"Bella," Kenzie said, her patience wearing thin. "You know what team he plays for. You know where they're located. You know what seeing Gabe means. Gabe will probably post pictures with us & such but I doubt Will would assume you lived here too."

"I'm not thinking about it," Bella insisted, standing up and beginning to aimlessly unpack a box of books. "I'm here for the dance company. For me. For us."

"Are you?" Kenzie challenged, stepping into the room. "Because I'm not the one who looks like they've seen a ghost every time someone mentions hockey."

"I don't—" Bella started to protest, but Kenzie cut her off.

"This is your dream too, Bella," Kenzie said, her voice soft but firm, hitting on the truth they had both been dancing around since they'd accepted their offers. "We talked about this for years. We pinned the posters to our walls. You were more excited than I was when we decided NCDC was it for us on your 12th birthday. Don't let him take that from you. Not here. Not now."

The accusation hung in the air between them, sharp and painful. Bella stared at her best friend, the person who had held her through the worst of it, and saw the hurt in her eyes. Hurt that Bella had put there by letting the past poison their future.

"I'm sorry," Bella whispered, her shoulders slumping. "You're right. I... I don't know what I'm doing. I'm so happy to be here, with you. But it's like... I can't fully enjoy it because I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to show up and ruin it."

Kenzie's expression softened, and she crossed the room to pull Bella into a hug. "I know," she said, her voice muffled against Bella's hair. "But you have to figure it out, Bella. You have to decide what you want, without him in the equation. This is our chance to start over. Both of us. We earned it."

Bella nodded against her shoulder, her eyes drifting to the San Jose Sharks schedule she'd printed out and then hidden in a desk drawer. She'd told herself it was just so she'd know when to avoid sports bars. But as she stood there, wrapped in her friend's arms, she knew it was a lie. Gabe was coming. Will was just a few hours south. And the past she thought she'd left in Boston was waiting for her in the California sun, whether she was ready for it or not.

-

The conversation with Gabe, and Kenzie's subsequent pep talk, lingered for two days. Bella moved through the boxes with a new sense of purpose, not just unpacking, but evolving. She was building a life, not just a living space. The framed photo of her and Kenzie was placed proudly on her nightstand, a constant reminder of the promise they'd made to each other.

The Sharks schedule, which she found crumpled in the back of a drawer, was ripped into tiny pieces and thrown in the trash without a second thought.

-

The email arrived on a Tuesday, a bright, official-looking notification in Bella's inbox that made her heart do a little flip. The subject line read: "NCDC Summer Internship - Placement Confirmation." She clicked on it with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the formal text until they landed on the magic words: *Congratulations, Isabella. We are pleased to offer you a position...*

A squeal escaped her lips, loud and undignified. She scrambled off her bed, nearly tripping over a box of shoes, and ran into the living room, waving her phone in the air like a victory flag.

"Kenzie! Kenzie, look!" she yelled, skidding to a halt in front of the couch where Kenzie was mindlessly scrolling through TikTok.

Kenzie looked up, startled. "What? Did you see a spider? Is it a big one? I'm not killing it."

"No!" Bella shrieked, shoving the phone in her face. "We got it! The internship! At the conservatory! We're teaching the Sparkle Sprites!"

Kenzie's eyes went wide as she read the email. A slow, brilliant grin spread across her face, mirroring the one that was currently splitting Bella's own. She dropped her phone onto the couch cushions and launched herself at Bella, wrapping her in a hug that was more tackle than embrace.

"Oh my god! We did it!" Kenzie yelled, jumping up and down. "We're going to be professional dancer-choreographers-teacher-ladies!"

"We're going to be teaching five-year-olds how to plié!" Bella laughed, tears of relief and joy pricking her eyes. "We're going to be surrounded by glitter and tiny, chaotic humans!"

This was it. This was the tangible proof that their move was real, that their dream wasn't just a poster on a wall anymore. It was a job. It was a purpose. It was theirs.

"We have to celebrate," Kenzie declared, pulling away but still holding Bella's shoulders. "This calls for a ritual. A California Becoming Officially Employed ritual."

"What does that entail?" Bella asked, wiping at her eyes.

"First, we change into our most obnoxiously beachy outfits," Kenzie said, her mind already racing. "Then, we go to that grossly overpriced health food store and buy the most green, most pretentious juice they have. And then... we go find the most random, tourist-trap beach we can find and we bury our 'unemployed' selves in the sand."

An hour later, they were standing on the boardwalk of a beach Bella was pretty sure was featured in a low-budget 90s sitcom. The air smelled of salt, sunscreen, and fried dough. Kenzie, in a neon yellow bikini top and a flowy skirt, held up two cups of a murky green liquid.

"To new beginnings," she said, handing one to Bella. "And to teaching tiny humans how to not fall over."

Bella clinked her cup against Kenzie's. It tasted like celery, grass and disappointment, but she didn't care. She was buzzing with a happiness that felt pure and entirely her own.

They found a spot near a comically large rock formation and, after taking a few ridiculous selfies, Kenzie declared it was time for the burial.

"Okay," she said, digging her hands into the warm sand. "We're burying our fears, our anxieties, and our lingering Boston baggage. I'll go first. I bury my fear of never making it past the corps de ballet!"

She scooped a handful of sand over the spot. Bella laughed and knelt beside her. "I bury my fear of running into Will at a grocery store."

"Ooh, good one," Kenzie said. "I bury my fear that my student loans will actually eat me alive in my sleep."

They went back and forth, their voices getting louder and more dramatic with each confession, until they were both breathless with laughter. They covered their 'grave' with a pile of seashells and stood back to admire their work.

"Feel better?" Kenzie asked, bumping her shoulder against Bella's.

Bella looked out at the endless blue of the Pacific, at the gulls circling overhead, at the setting sun painting the sky in strokes of orange and pink. The weight on her chest, the one she'd been carrying for months, felt lighter. It wasn't gone, but it was manageable. For the first time in a long time, the future felt like a wide-open space, not a trap.

"Yeah," Bella said, a genuine, unforced smile spreading across her face. "I really do."

They spent the next hour wandering along the shore, letting the cold Pacific water rush over their feet, talking about everything and nothing. They planned out their choreography for the Sparkle Sprites, debated the merits of different leotard brands, and made fun of the tourists trying to take selfies with the seagulls. It was normal. It was easy. It was exactly what she had hoped for.

As they walked back to the car, the sky turning a deep, velvety purple, Kenzie slung an arm around her shoulders. "See?" she said softly. "I told you. This is our dream, Bell Bell. And we're just getting started."

Bella leaned her head against her best friend's, the smell of salt and green juice still clinging to them. She knew Kenzie was right. The past was still there, a ghost haunting the periphery. But for the first time, it felt like it was behind her, not ahead. The future was here, and it was sparkling.

taglist: @destinyg237 @heeseungthel0ml @slutformatt17 @hockeyismylife5 @smittys2 @overmtter

**a/n: oh baby the future is teal you just don't know it yet (((;

guys i missed you SO much!! hello book 2🥳 i cannot wait for you guys to see what’s coming! thank you sm for letting me take my lil break & for all of the support. love you so big- oh & welcome back 😙🫶🏻

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String: the inevitable pull

───── ⋆⋅♡︎⋅⋆ ─────

♡︎ the string pulled Bella and Will three thousand miles...some connections refuse to break. some people find their way back to each other no matter the distance, the timing, or the damage left behind. for some strings- they were never meant to snap in the first place. new city, old feelings, and the pull neither of them can ignore.

#thefutureisteal🩵🏒

**This is a sequel** check main master-list for book 1🫶🏻**

main masterlist

a few disclaimers- this story contains a lot of sensitive themes including but not limited to drug & alcohol use, eventual smut, LOTS of angst and mentions of religion again. (SLOW burn lowkey but trust me pls)

The string pulled Bella and Will three thousand miles... the question is - what will they make of it? Some connections refuse to break. Some

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18

Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21

Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24

Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27

Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30

[lilisharky]

botg from after the game

~ do not repost ~

[venusbabyy222]

thank you prince will smith hockey for the distraction from no bronze babybrini

[lilisharky]

higher quality ss for you guys

~ do not repost ~

[puckbunny2]

birthday girl🥳🫪

[puckbunny2]

San Jose🦈

Second book📘

Second chances🥈

Invisible String: the inevitable pull is yours June 2026!

The string pulled them three thousand miles... the question is - what will they make of it?

Some connections refuse to break.
Some people find their way back to each other no matter the distance, the timing, or the damage left behind.

For some strings— they were never meant to snap in the first place.

New city. Old feelings. The pull neither of them can ignore.

#thefutureisteal🩵🏒

see you in June!!

-C ♡︎

**if you want to be in the taglist at any point- comment below!!((:

SERIES MASTERLIST

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 47 ♡︎ (w.c. 1.4k)

Bella walked through campus with the warm spring breeze blowing through her hair. The library was just up ahead when she saw him.

As if sensing her gaze, his eyes moved behind his teammates and landed directly on her. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by an expression she couldn't quite read—shock, guilt, and something else, something weary. He excused himself from his group and started walking toward her.

Every instinct screamed at Bella to run. To turn and disappear into the library and never look back. But her feet were rooted to the pavement. This was it. The confrontation she had both dreaded and, in some secret, hidden part of herself, needed.

"Bella," he said when he reached her. His voice was deeper than she remembered.

She straightened her spine, clutching her books like a shield. "Ryan. I saw. Congratulations." The words were brittle, formal.

"Thanks," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked uncomfortable, his confident demeanor from the interview completely gone. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"It's a small campus," she replied, her tone clipped. "Especially when you're the local boy made good."

He flinched at her tone. "Right. Look, Bella... can we talk? For just a minute?"

She considered saying no. What good would it do? But there was a sincerity in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. "I have a class."

"Please," he said, and the vulnerability in that single word was her undoing. She gave a curt nod and followed him to a quieter bench under a large oak tree, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

For a moment, he just stared at his shoes. "I'm sorry," he finally said, the words rushed and quiet. "I know that's not enough. It's probably the most inadequate thing anyone could say, but I am. I'm so sorry."

Bella remained silent, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had imagined this moment a hundred times. In her fantasies, she was eloquent and furious, tearing him down with the sharp edge of her words. But now, faced with his genuine remorse, all she felt was a profound sadness.

"I was acting like a kid," he continued, finally looking at her. "A stupid, angry, jealous kid. Will was my best friend, and he just... left. Left everything. Left me, left you. And I was so pissed off. I saw how much you were hurting, and instead of being a friend, I saw an opportunity. A way to hurt him back through you."

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she remembered vividly. "I told myself it wasn't a big deal. That we were just having fun. But I knew what I was doing. I knew you were vulnerable. I knew you still loved him. And I used that. I used you. There's no excuse for it. It was cruel and selfish, I took it too far and I've regretted it every single day since."

Bella felt a tear escape and trace a path down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. "You broke me, Ryan," she whispered, the admission costing her more than she wanted to admit. "After Will left, I was already broken. But you... you took the pieces and ground them into dust. You made me feel like a joke, like some pawn in your stupid little war with him."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "God, Bella, I know. And the worst part is, I think I started to actually fall for you. Not at first, but somewhere in the middle. And that made it even more disgusting, because I knew the whole foundation was a lie. By the time I realized what an idiot I'd been, it was too late."

She looked at him then, really looked at him. The anger she had nursed for so long was still there, but it was duller now, its sharp edges worn smooth by time and his confession.

"Why are you telling me this now?" she asked.

"Because this is supposed to be the best time of my life," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the Washington Capitals T-shirt he was wearing. "And all I can think about is how I got here. I worked my ass off, I sacrificed everything... but I can't be fully proud of the man I've become without acknowledging the boy I was. And that boy hurt you. Deeply. You deserve to hear me say it, without any excuses. I'm sorry, Bella. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry."

She took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs. Forgiveness felt like a foreign concept, a language she had forgotten how to speak. But holding onto the anger was exhausting. It was a weight she had been carrying for too long.

"I appreciate you saying that," she said slowly. "It doesn't erase what happened. It doesn't fix it. But... I hear you."

He nodded, accepting her words without pushing for more. "That's more than I deserve."

A silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the silence of a closed chapter.

"Good luck in the NHL, Ryan," Bella said, and this time, she meant it. "I hope you find everything you're looking for."

He looked down at her, a flicker of the old charm in his smile, but it was softer now, tempered with humility. "Thanks, Bella. For everything."

As she watched him walk away, a celebrated hero returning to his adoring crowd, Bella felt a lightness she hadn't realized she was missing. The past hadn't changed, but her relationship to it had. She could look at his face, at his success, and no longer feel the sting of her own pain. She had acknowledged it, and he had atoned for it. The story was finally over. Tucking her books under her arm, Bella turned and walked toward the library, toward her future, leaving the ghosts of Ryan and Will behind her for good.

——-

The polished floors of Boston Logan International Airport reflected the sterile glow of overhead lights, a thousand hurried footsteps creating a rhythm of departure. Beside her, Kenzie adjusted the strap of her carry-on with a sharp, impatient tug, but Bella barely registered the motion. Her mind was adrift, navigating the treacherous currents of the past year.

She watched Kenzie's profile as she scanned the departure boards. Guilt, a familiar and unwelcome companion, settled heavy in Bella's stomach. How many times this year had she been so consumed by her own heartache that she had failed to see Kenzie's? Kenzie had been her anchor, her fierce protector, the one who held her hair back after too much wine and pushed textbooks across the table when finals felt impossible. She had shouldered Bella's pain without complaint, and what had Bella given in return? A distracted nod, a half-hearted smile, a friendship that felt more like a transaction of grief.

She needed to be better. Kenzie deserved more than the ghost of a friend she'd been since Will left. She deserved laughter that wasn't laced with bitterness, adventures that weren't just escapes, and a sister who was truly present.

Bella's hand drifted to her chest, her fingers finding the familiar, cool edges of the medal beneath her sweater. It was a constant, weighted presence—a prayer for a boy who was probably not thinking of her at all, a symbol of a love that felt both like a lifeline and an anchor. She had prayed for his peace, for him not to lose himself. Now, she thought, she needed to pray for her own. For the strength to finally let go, not just of him, but of the version of herself that had withered in his absence.

The airport air thrummed with the energy of new beginnings and painful goodbyes. It was a place of transformation, of crossing thresholds. And as she stood there, making silent promises to be a better friend, to find her own footing, a voice crackled over the PA system, clear and impersonal, slicing through her thoughts.

"Now boarding all rows for Flight 271 with nonstop service to California."

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237 @smittys2 @lkouyh

**a/n: OOP- california??? hmmm wonder what that means…. find out in book 2 ((; it’s my birthday this coming weekend, that being said, i plan to have the 1st chapter of the second book up early June! (don’t hate meeee)!

[yes i wanted ryan to be hit by a bus & bella to lowkey kill him as well and part of me hates that she even heard him out/ “forgave him”- but clearly she wants a fresh start & quite frankly i don’t want ANYMORE Ryan, especially not angst with him- so in order to move on & become a better friend & person we had to close that door for her. if you want- i give you all the permission to imagine her literally attacking him however you’d wish😂 it really won’t change anything going further. just had to make her mature a little. (hopefully that means actual communication with will!! 😀) ]

i just wanna say a MAJOR thank you! thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged, read & etc. you guys are the ABSOLUTE best!! i LOVE how active you guys are and have been with this book- it makes me even more excited to write & post!!

i feel all the love & support & i promise you guys will absolutely love what’s coming in the second book. i hate to leave you on a sort of cliffhanger- but i am who i am and i am who ive always been and im never gonna change😂

love you SO big

thank you sm ♡︎

-C

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 46 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.0k)

The night of Bella's final contemporary dance exam, she stood before the studio mirror, her reflection unfamiliar. The girl staring back had eyes that held too much knowledge, too much disappointment. But there was something else too—a flicker of determination she hadn't felt in months.

Gabe and Kenzie watched from the doorway as Bella began to move, her body telling a story of heartbreak and healing, of loss and the slow, painful process of finding herself again.

When the music ended, she stood panting, sweat beading on her forehead. Kenzie's eyes were wet, and Gabe was smiling, that rare, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"You've got this," Kenzie said, her voice thick with emotion.

Bella nodded, looking at her reflection one last time. "Yeah," she whispered. "I think I do."

As they left the studio that night, Bella's phone buzzed. She glanced down instinctively, her heart racing for a moment before she saw it was just a notification from her calendar reminding her about their NCDC audition dates. California. Will's world.

She deleted the notification without opening it, then slipped her hand into Kenzie's. Gabe walked on her other side, their three sets of footprints marking a path through the freshly fallen snow. The future stretched before them—uncertain, challenging, but theirs alone to navigate.

———

Bella stared at the acceptance letter, her name printed in elegant font beneath the prestigious NCDC logo. A year ago, this moment would have been the culmination of every late night practice, every blistered foot, every sacrifice she'd made. But now, the paper felt heavy in her hands, weighed down by memories she couldn't escape.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and she glanced over to see Kenzie's name lighting up the screen. A small smile touched Bella's lips as she answered. "Please tell me you got in too."

"I did." Bella mumbled nodded slightly to herself

"We got in!!!!" Kenzie's voice exploded through the speaker, pure elation in every word. "We're going to NCDC together, Bella! Can you believe it?"

Bella forced a laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "That's amazing, Kenz. Really."

There was a pause on the other end, and Bella could practically hear Kenzie's smile faltering through the phone. "What's wrong? You sound... I don't know, not excited."

"It's nothing," Bella lied, tracing the edge of the acceptance letter with her finger. "Just tired."

"Bella, we've been dreaming about this since we were twelve years old," Kenzie said, her voice softer now. "This is everything we wanted."

"Was," Bella corrected quietly. "This was everything we wanted. Before..."

Before Will had become a hockey star, before he'd chosen fame and fortune over their future together, before California had become his home and Boston just a place he used to know.

"California," Kenzie finished for her, understanding dawning in her voice. "Bella, you can't let him stop you from doing this."

"It's not just about him," Bella protested, though they both knew it was. "It's... I don't know if I'm ready."

"You're more than ready," Kenzie insisted. "You're the most talented dancer I know. Will doesn't get to take this from you too."

As Kenzies words sank in, Bella looked around her dorm, at the photos of her and Will that still sat on her desk, at the packed boxes in the corner she hadn't been able to bring herself to unpack. Maybe Kenzie was right. Maybe this was her chance to reclaim something that was hers alone, something that had nothing to do with Will or the NHL or the shattered pieces of their relationship.

"What if I can't do it?" Bella whispered, voicing the fear that had been keeping her awake at night.

"You can," Kenzie said firmly. "And you won't have to. You'll have me."

"I don't think I can go, Kenz."

The words hung in the air between them, fragile and heavy. Kenzie's excited breathing on the other end of the line hitched, then fell silent. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of Bella's refrigerator.

"What?" Kenzie's voice was no longer bursting with joy. It was small, tight, and laced with disbelief. "What do you mean, you can't go? Bella, this is NCDC. This is our dream."

"I know," Bella whispered, her fingers crumpling the edge of the acceptance letter. "But California... Kenzie, he's there. Will is there."

A heavy silence filled the line before Kenzie let out an exasperated sigh. "So? California's a huge state, Bella. He's probably in LA or something. We'll be in San Francisco. It's not like you're going to run into him at the grocery store."

"It's not just that," Bella insisted, her voice trembling slightly. "I can't start over there."

"You're not starting over," Kenzie said, her patience clearly wearing thin. "You're moving forward. There's a difference."

"No, I'm not," Bella shook her head even though Kenzie couldn't see her. "I'd be moving backward, right back into his shadow. I spent years shaping my life around him, and I just got out. I can't go back to that."

Kenzie's voice grew sharp, edged with frustration. "Everything has always been about Will, Bella. Everything! Remember when you almost didn't audition because he had a playoff game that weekend? And now, now you're going to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime because he happens to live in the same state as the dance company? He's not even part of your life anymore!"

"That's not fair," Bella protested, stung by Kenzie's words.

"Isn't it?" Kenzie's laugh was harsh, devoid of any humor. "I supported you through all of it, Bella. I held your hand while you cried over him for months. I listened to you talk about him for years. But this... this was supposed to be ours. This was supposed to be the one thing that was just about the dance. And you're letting him ruin it anyway."

"I'm not choosing him," Bella whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm trying to choose me."

"Then choose you!" Kenzie practically shouted into the phone. "Choose the dancer who worked her ass off for this. Choose the friend who dreamed of this with me. Choose the woman who is stronger than some guy who left to play hockey! Don't choose the girl who's still letting him control her life from three thousand miles away."

Bella flinched as if Kenzie's words had physically struck her. She looked around her apartment, at the photos of her and Will that still adorned her walls, at the packed boxes in the corner she hadn't been able to bring herself to unpack. Maybe Kenzie was right. Maybe this was her chance to reclaim something that was hers alone, something that had nothing to do with Will or the NHL or the shattered pieces of their relationship.

——-

The notification from Instagram popped up on Bella's screen as she was stretching after practice, a little blue banner that momentarily disrupted her focus. It was a tagged photo from one of Gabe's old teammates. She almost swiped it away, but Gabe's beaming face stopped her. He was standing on a stage at Madison Square Garden, a Rangers jersey held in one hand, a pen in the other. The caption read simply: "Official. Let's go, New York."

A genuine, wide smile broke across Bella's face. She immediately screenshot the picture and sent it to Kenzie and Gabe in their group chat. "Look at our big shot NHL star!! 🥹❤️"

Bella felt a warmth spread through her chest, a rare, uncomplicated happiness. Gabe deserved this. He'd worked tirelessly, his comfort and presence a stark contrast to the drama that had swirled around her own life. He was getting his dream, and it felt right. It felt clean.

She was still smiling, scrolling through the comments of congratulations, when another post slid into her feed. It was from a hockey news account she'd forgotten she even followed. The bold block letters over a player's headshot made her breath catch.

CAPITALS SIGN RYAN LEONARD TO 3-YEAR ENTRY-LEVEL CONTRACT

The smile froze on Bella's face. It was him. Ryan, looking smug and self-satisfied in his new Capitals jersey, the same predatory glint in his eyes that she used to mistake for confidence. Her thumb hovered over the screen, an instinctive urge to block the account, to erase him from her digital life.

But she didn't.

Instead, she stared at the photo. She didn't feel the sharp stab of anger she'd expected. There was no flash of hatred, no desire to see him fail. What she felt was something much worse: a profound, sinking sense of foolishness. It was like looking at a puzzle where all the pieces suddenly snapped into place, revealing a picture she'd been too blind to see before.

All the signs were there, had always been there. The way Ryan seemed so patient with how she felt towards Will. The subtle digs at him, reminding her how easily he left, and framing his posts as petty jealousy. He hadn't just been possessive; he had been a master craftsman, carefully attempting to erase and replace every memory of Will piece by piece until all she had left was him.

And she had let him. She had been so desperate for the attention, for the feeling of being chosen, that she had handed him the scissors to cut her down to size. She saw it all now, the red flags she'd painted white, the manipulation she had mistaken for passion. It wasn't just that she'd fallen for it; it was that in doing so, she had created the opening for Will to ride in and "save" her, triggering a chain reaction that had blown everything to pieces. Ryan was the match, but she had provided the gasoline.

"Hey, you okay?"Kenzie's voice pulled her back.

She was standing in the doorway of the studio, her brow furrowed with concern. Bella realized she'd been standing there, staring at her phone, for several long minutes.

She turned the screen to show Kenzie the post about Ryan.

Kenzie's face hardened. "Ugh. What a loser. I hope he gets traded to Siberia."

"I don't hate him," Bella said quietly, her voice hollow. She locked her phone and slid it into her bag. "I just... hate that I was so stupid."

"You weren't stupid," Kenzie insisted, walking over and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "He's a manipulative asshole. There's a difference."

"Maybe D.C. is far enough away that we never have to think about him again."

Bella just nodded, locking her phone and shoving it into her dance bag. It wasn't that simple. Ryan wasn't just a bad memory; he was a lesson in her own weakness, a constant reminder that she had been complicit in her own undoing.

"Come on," Kenzie said, pulling her toward the door. "Gabe's taking us out to celebrate his contract. Our treat. He's going to be a rich hockey player soon; we need to take advantage while he's still got that ELC money."

———

Later that night, they met Gabe at their usual diner to celebrate. He was buzzing with an energy she hadn't seen in him before, a light in his eyes that seemed to push back the shadows in their little corner booth.

"I still can't believe it," he said, for the tenth time, running a hand over his hair. "Me. A Ranger. It's... it's everything."

"You earned it, Gabe," Bella said, and she meant it. She was so genuinely happy for him it almost hurt. He was proof that dreams could come true without sacrifice, without leaving pieces of yourself behind.

"You guys are going to come to the home opener, right?" Gabe asked, his eyes hopeful.

"Wouldn't miss it," Kenzie said immediately, squeezing Bella's hand under the table.

Bella forced a smile and nodded. "Of course."

But as she said the words, she couldn't shake the image of Ryan's smug face in that Capitals jersey. He was moving on. Will was living his dream. Gabe was starting his. They were all getting what they wanted, while she was still stuck in the wreckage, trying to decide if she was even worthy of her own dream anymore.

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237 @smittys2 @lkouyh

**a/n: you bullied me into another chapter againnn🤭🤭 no more tho bc tomorrow the last official chapter of this book goes up & i’m definitely bittersweet about it🥹 i love you guys so so much im so glad you guys have loved my lil universe as much as i’ve loved writing it🫶🏻🫶🏻 love you guys SO big💕

i’d love to know your favorite part so far out of the book since we don’t have to worry ab spoilers- mine is for sure when my brain made gabe kiss will. 10/10 messsyy🫣

xoxo

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 45 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.2k)

For a long moment, the world shrank to the space between their bodies, the frantic beat of their hearts a shared rhythm against the chaos. Will's hands, still throbbing from the fight splayed across her back. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and something uniquely Bella and for the first time in months, the suffocating weight on his chest eased, just enough to allow a shallow breath.

But the peace was temporary. The reality of his life, the one he had chosen, was a ticking clock in the back of his mind. He couldn't stay. He had obligations, a team, a life that was spinning on without him.

He pulled back gently, his hands lingering on her arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear, fixed on his face with a desperate hope that made his chest ache. "I have to go back," he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

The hope in her eyes flickered and died, replaced by a familiar, guarded hurt. "Go back?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Go back where?"

"California," he said, the word a confirmation of every fear she'd ever had about him leaving.

Kenzie, who had been watching them from the window with the intensity of a hawk, scoffed. "Of course you do," she said, her voice dripping with acid. "You fly in here, play the avenging hero, break Ryan's face, and then just fly back to your perfect life. Is that it?"

Will flinched, her words hitting their mark. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" Kenzie shot back, stepping away from the window. "You left her, Will. You left all of us. And now you're just... leaving again."

"It's not that simple," Will said, his voice rising with frustration. "I have training. I have a contract."

"Right," Kenzie said, her voice laced with contempt. "A contract. God forbid you break a contract for the girl you supposedly love."

"Kenzie, stop," Bella said, her voice quiet but firm. She looked at Will, her expression unreadable. "When do you leave?"

"My flight's in six hours," he said, the admission feeling like a betrayal. "I have to go straight to the airport from here."

The finality of it hung in the air, a cold, hard truth. He wasn't just visiting. He was on a layover from his own life, a brief, violent detour before he returned to the world he had chosen over her.

Bella nodded slowly, her face a mask of stoic composure. "Okay," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "You should go, then."

Will's heart sank. He had hoped for... he didn't know what. A fight, tears, a plea for him to stay. Anything but this quiet, resigned acceptance. It was worse than anger. It was indifference.

"Bells, please," he began, his voice breaking. "This doesn't change anything. What I feel for you..."

"It changes everything, Will," she said, cutting him off. "You came here because of him. Because of what he did. You didn't come here for me. You came here to fight a battle that wasn't yours to fight. And now you're leaving."

"I'm coming back," he said, the words a desperate, empty promise. "I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Don't," she said, shaking her head, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "Don't make promises you can't keep. It's better if you just go."

Will looked at her, at the girl he had loved since he was a boy, and felt a chasm open between them, wider and more impassable than the three thousand miles that separated them. He had come here to fix things, but he had only broken them further.

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He gave her one last, lingering look, trying to memorize the lines of her face, the pain in her eyes. Then he turned and walked out the door, his footsteps echoing in the silent hallway.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he knew he would never be able to leave. And as he stepped out into the cold Boston night, he felt the weight of his choices settle upon him, a heavy, suffocating cloak. He had won the fight, but in doing so, he had lost the only thing that had ever mattered.

———

The weeks following Will's departure settled into a heavy rhythm of silence and survival. Boston's gray November skies mirrored the hollow ache in Bella's chest.

Finals loomed, an unwelcome distraction that demanded attention despite her emotional turmoil. In the small hours of the morning, Bella would often find Kenzie already at the kitchen table, textbooks spread around her. Neither spoke much about that night—about Ryan's bruised face or Will's exit—but the understanding passed between them in shared cups of coffee and the quiet acknowledgment of each other's presence.

Gabe became their anchor. He appeared at their door with takeout boxes and a determination that bordered on ferocity. "You're not going to waste away," he'd declared one evening, setting down bags of Chinese food on their cluttered coffee table. "And you're definitely not failing this semester because hockey players keep breaking your heart."

Bella managed a weak smile. "He didn't break my heart. I broke it myself by letting him matter."

The holidays arrived with a cruel irony. Thanksgiving was uneventful. Just the three of them stuffed in her dorm eating pizza and drinking wine. Bella couldn't go home with the risk of seeing Will or Grace.

"To new beginnings," Kenzie toasted, raising her plastic cup of wine. "And to surviving the ones that end."

Bella's phone remained silent. No texts, no calls from Will. Each day that passed without word from him was both a relief and another small death. She had told him not to make promises he couldn't keep, but a part of her had secretly hoped he would anyway.

December brought the first snow, blanketing the city in white that seemed to erase footprints as quickly as they were made. Bella found herself at the dance studio more often, losing herself in movement. Christmas didn't feel like Christmas. Bella's parents begged her to come home even if just for Christmas Mass but she declined. She was so tired of being around reminders of Will and the only safe place was her dance studio, definitely not her childhood bedroom.

Bella knelt on the hardwood floor, the cool wood pressing through her leggings. The small, intricate medal of St. Thérèse of Lisieux felt warm in her palm, as if it had absorbed her body heat and held onto it. She had worn it every day since he gave it to her, a silent testament to a love she was trying to outrun but couldn't shake.

Closing her eyes, Bella clutched the medal in both hands, the sharp edges pressing into her fingers. The silence of the studio was absolute, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the frantic, unsteady rhythm of her own heart.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." she began, the words familiar and comforting on her tongue. She moved through the prayers she had known since childhood, but it was when she reached the quiet space for her own intentions that her voice faltered.

She wasn't praying for herself. Not for the auditions, not for strength, not for happiness. Her thoughts, as they so often did in the quiet moments, drifted to Will.

"And... and for Will," she whispered into the stillness. "Wherever he is. Please... keep him safe."

The words felt inadequate, a drop of water in an ocean of hurt. She took a shaky breath, her grip tightening on the medal.

"I know I told him not to call. I know I was the one who said goodbye. But... I don't hate him. I don't think I ever could." A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. "We both made mistakes. But his heart... his heart was always good. Please, God, don't let him lose that. Don't let the game, or the money, or all the noise out there... don't let it change the boy I knew."

She thought of his hands, the way they could be so gentle when he held her, and so violent when they were clenched into fists. She thought of his laugh, the one that reached his eyes and made her feel like she was the only person in the world. She thought of the way he looked at her that last night, a desperate plea in his eyes that she had forced herself to ignore.

"He's trying so hard to be the man everyone expects him to be," she continued, her voice cracking. "Just help him find his way back to the man he actually is. The one you created. The one I... the one I loved."

She paused, the weight of her own confession pressing down on her. She still loved him. Despite everything, despite the distance and the silence and the pain, a part of her heart was still irrevocably his.

"I don't need a shower of roses for me," she whispered, her thumb stroking the face of the Little Flower on the medal. "Not anymore. But if you could send just one... just one rose for him. A sign. A moment of peace. Anything to let him know that he's not alone. That someone is still praying for him."

She remained there for a long time, long after her words had faded into silence, her forehead bowed against her clasped hands. The Christmas lights continued their silent dance, and outside, a light snow began to fall, dusting the city in a layer of white that made everything seem new and clean.

Finally, slowly, Bella unclasped her hands. She looked down at the medal in her palm, the silver gleaming in the soft light. The chain settled back into its familiar place in the hollow of her throat, the medal resting over her heart. It wasn't a burden. It was a prayer she could wear, a piece of him she could carry with her, even as she tried to move forward. It was a reminder of both the heartbreak and the love, and for now, she needed to carry both.

——-

Will's Christmas Eve with the San Jose Sharks unfolded in stark contrast to the quiet, snow-covered Boston he'd left behind. The team had gathered at Toffolis house again.

"Another round, boys!" shouted their captain, raising a bottle of tequila as Christmas carols played softly in the background. The living room was filled with the team's biggest names, their laughter echoing off vaulted ceilings as they clustered around a massive television screen playing holiday highlights from their season.

Will sat on a leather armchair, nursing a beer he'd barely touched. Too many weeks had passed since he'd walked away from Bella, and each day had felt like a slow bleed. His knuckles still scarred from the fight with Ryan.

"Hey, rookie," Alex Wennburg, a veteran forward, said clapping him on the shoulder. "You've been quiet since you got back from that emergency. Everything okay back east?"

Will forced a smile. "Just family stuff. All good now."

The lie tasted like ash in his mouth, the same way his words to Bella had that night. He'd checked his phone more times than he could count, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But silence had been her answer.

Around midnight, as the party thinned, Will found himself alone on the balcony, the cool Pacific air a welcome shock to his system. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Bella's contact before he caught himself. He'd promised not to call, and breaking that promise now would only make things worse.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Tyler asked, stepping outside with two glasses of spiked eggnog. He handed one to Will.

Will nodded, accepting the drink. "How'd you know?"

"Because I was once a rookie with a girl back home too," he said, leaning against the railing. "This life... it takes pieces of you. Sometimes you don't realize how many until you're standing alone on Christmas Eve wondering if you made the right choice."

They stood in silence for a moment, the distant sound of laughter from inside feeling like it belonged to another world.

"She told me not to make promises I couldn't keep," Will said quietly. "So I didn't. But now I wonder if that was the biggest mistake of all."

Tyler clinked his glass against Will's. "The season's long, kid. There's still time to fix what's broken."

That night when he sank onto his bed, the weight of his choices were pressing down on him. He had the career he'd dreamed of, the respect of his teammates, a future in hockey that stretched before him. But as he stared at the photo of the girl he loved, he realized with devastating clarity that he was exactly where Bella had prayed he wouldn't be—alone, despite being surrounded by people, losing himself to the game and the expectations that came with it.

The boy she had loved was still there, buried beneath layers of contracts and training and the relentless pressure to perform. With that thought, on Christmas morning, surrounded by all the reminders of his success, Will had never felt more like a failure.

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237

**a/n: *sigh* Poor Bells😢 Poor Will😢 2 more chapters- kinda bittersweet in a way but i’m so excited for you to read book 2 as well🤭

xoxo

-C

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 44 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.5k)

•will smith wwe unlocked•

The wheels of the plane hit the tarmac with a jolt that rattled Will through his seatback. He blinked, the sterile blue of the cabin lights a stark contrast to the gray Boston sky he'd been watching through the window. Not home. Not even close.

As the plane taxied to the gate, he reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the switch to disable airplane mode. He already knew what he'd find. The call that had woken him from a dead sleep four hours ago was burned into his memory. Ryan's voice, slurred with drunken triumph, gloating on the other end of the line.

Will had thrown a bag together without a second thought, booking the first flight to Boston, his mind a red haze of fury. Ryan hadn't just slept with Bella; he had desecrated her memory of him, turned their love into a cheap trophy.

Finally, with a deep, steadying breath that did nothing to calm the storm inside him, he turned the switch. The phone buzzed to life, a frantic dance of vibrations against his palm. He scrolled past the congratulatory messages, his eyes landing on a thread from Gabe. The preview alone was enough to make his blood run cold.

Will, it's Gabe. Something happened last night...

With a sense of impending doom, he opened the thread and began to read. Each word was a fresh log thrown on the fire of his rage.

...Bella was a mess... completely wasted... hurting over you.

Will's jaw tightened. He already knew she was hurting. He had been the one to cause it. But hearing it from Gabe, knowing she'd been so broken she'd drunk herself into that state, was a fresh wave of guilt layered under the anger.

...she kissed him...

He stopped breathing. So Ryan hadn't been lying about that part. But the way Gabe described it didn't sound like a victory. It sounded like a car crash.

...He didn't leave. He stayed... he slept with her.

The confirmation hit him like a physical blow. He knew it, of course. Ryan had been ecstatic to tell him. But reading it in Gabe's measured, horrified text made it real in a way Ryan's gloating hadn't. It wasn't just a drunken hookup anymore. It was a documented event, a betrayal with witnesses.

She was blackout drunk... He took advantage.

The words made Will's vision tunnel. This was it. The confirmation of his deepest, most sickening fear. It wasn't just a mistake. It wasn't just a betrayal. It was a violation. Ryan had seen her at her lowest, at her most vulnerable, and he hadn't protected her. He had preyed on her. The gloating phone call replayed in his mind, but now it sounded different. It wasn't the brag of a rival; it was the crow of a predator.

She's destroyed this morning... She thinks you blocked her.

Will's eyes flicked to his call log. Three missed calls from Bella in the middle of his flight. The plane came to a complete stop. The captain's voice came over the intercom, but Will didn't hear it. He was already moving, shoving his phone into his pocket and grabbing his carry-on from the overhead bin with a jerky, frantic motion.

He pushed his way through the crowd of disembarking passengers, his long legs eating up the jet bridge corridor. He wasn't just flying to Boston to kick his ex-best friend's ass anymore. He was flying there to make him pay for what he did to her. Gabe's texts hadn't just made him angrier; they had given his fury a purpose. It was no longer just about revenge. It was about justice.

-

The crisp Boston air did nothing to cool the fire burning in Will's chest; it only seemed to feed it, sharpening his focus until the entire world narrowed to a single, brutal objective. He ignored the students laughing on the commons, the couples strolling hand in hand, the vibrant life of the campus around him. All of it was just scenery for the violence he was about to enact.

He found the building, a red-brick monolith that looked like every other dorm house on campus, and pushed through the main entrance. The lobby smelled of stale beer and floor cleaner. He took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell, a percussive countdown to the inevitable. Room 312. He stood before the door, his hand raised to knock, then thought better of it. He wasn't here for a conversation.

He drove his heel into the door just below the lock. The wood splintered with a satisfying crack, and the door flew inward, crashing against the wall inside.

Ryan was sitting at his desk, headphones on, his back to the door. He spun around, his face a mask of shock that quickly melted into a cocky smirk when he saw who it was. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in?"

Will didn't say a word. He crossed the room in three long strides, his movements economical and fluid. Before Ryan could even stand up, Will's hand was around his throat, slamming him back against the wall.

The smirk vanished, replaced by a dawning panic. "Whoa, man, what the hell?" Ryan choked out, his hands scrabbling uselessly at Will's iron grip.

"You called me," Will said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, devoid of all emotion. "You called me in the middle of the night to brag."

"It was just a joke, Will! Jesus, let go!" Ryan's face was turning red.

"She was drunk, Ryan," Will continued, his voice dropping even lower, a terrifying calm in the eye of the storm. "She was blackout drunk. She was hurting, and you took advantage of it."

"She wanted it!" Ryan gasped, his eyes bulging. "She was all over me! She kissed me!"

Will's grip tightened, cutting off his air. "She thought you were me, you piece of shit." He leaned in closer, his face inches from Ryan's, his eyes burning with a cold fury. "She was using you to pretend she wasn't broken. And you let her. You used her pain to get your dick wet. And then you called me to brag about it like you'd won something."

He released his grip suddenly, and Ryan slumped to the floor, gasping for air. But Will wasn't done. He grabbed the front of Ryan's t-shirt and hauled him to his feet, only to drive his fist into Ryan's stomach. The air whooshed out of Ryan's lungs in a pained grunt.

"That's for her," Will snarled, shaking out his hand.

Ryan tried to scramble away, but Will was on him in an instant, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back. He landed a sharp, brutal punch to Ryan's jaw, sending his head snapping to the side. The taste of blood filled Ryan's mouth.

"And that," Will said, his voice shaking with a rage so pure it was almost holy, "is for me. For ten years of friendship you threw away because you're a pathetic, jealous little bitch who could never get a girl on his own."

He threw Ryan back against the desk, sending a laptop crashing to the floor. Ryan lay there, curled in on himself, a whimpering mess of blood and snot.

Will stood over him, his chest heaving, his knuckles split and bleeding. He looked down at the pathetic figure at his feet, the boy he had once considered a brother. There was no satisfaction in the violence, only a hollow, aching emptiness.

"If you ever go near her again," Will said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "if you even think her name, I will find you. And I will finish this. Do you understand me?"

Ryan just whimpered in response, clutching his jaw.

Will didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door hanging off its hinges. He didn't look back. He walked down the stairs and out into the cold Boston night, his anger spent, leaving behind only the cold, hard reality of what had been lost. He hadn't fixed anything. He hadn't healed Bella. He had just added more violence to the equation. And now, there was only one thing left to do. He had to go and face her.

-

The walk across campus was a penance. Every step on the cold, damp pavement was a reminder of the distance he had put between them. The spires of the university, usually a source of nostalgic pride, now seemed to loom over him like accusing judges. He passed the library where they'd studied for finals, the green where they'd had lazy picnics, the coffee shop where he'd gotten her coffees. Every landmark was a ghost, and they were all pointing their spectral fingers at him.

He found her dorm, a newer, more modern building than his own, and let himself in with the code he still remembered from a thousand late-night visits. The elevator ride to the fourth floor was the longest minute of his life. He stood before her door, Room 420, and raised his hand to knock. His knuckles, swollen and bruised, screamed in protest. He hesitated, his fist hovering in the air. He was about to walk into her life, her sanctuary, and bring all his violence and chaos with him. He had no right. But he had nowhere else to go.

He knocked, three sharp, decisive raps on the wood.

A moment of silence, then the sound of shuffling from inside. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. It was Kenzie. Her eyes, usually warm and welcoming, were like chips of ice. She took one look at Will's face, her gaze dropping to the raw, bloodied knuckles, and her entire body went rigid.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice a low growl, her hand firmly on the door, ready to slam it shut.

"I need to see her," Will said, his own voice rough with exhaustion.

"You think you can just show up here after everything?" Kenzie shot back, her voice laced with a fury that was both protective and deeply hurt. "You left. You weren't here. You don't get to just walk back in."

"I know," Will said, his gaze pleading. "Kenzie, please. I know."

A weak voice came from behind her. "Kenzie, who is it?"

Bella appeared, her hand on Kenzie's arm, peering around her frame. She was wrapped in a large, oversized sweatshirt that Will recognized as his own, the one he'd left behind months ago. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed, devoid of any light.

When her eyes met his, a jolt went through him. He saw the shock, the confusion, the pain, all flash across her face in a split second. Kenzie's shoulders slumped, but she didn't move. "Bella, you don't have to do this."

"It's okay, Kenz," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Let him in."

Kenzie shot Will one last venomous glare before stepping aside, her jaw clenched so tight Will was surprised her teeth didn't crack. She moved to stand by the window, a silent, brooding sentinel.

The air in the small dorm room was thick with unspoken words. Will stood awkwardly just inside the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets, feeling like an intruder in his own past. The room was exactly as he remembered it, except for the empty space on the bookshelf where a photo of the two of them used to be.

"I, uh... I heard what happened," he began, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. "Gabe texted me."

Bella just nodded, her gaze fixed on the worn rug. "I tried to call you," she said, her voice cracking. "It went straight to voicemail."

"I know," Will said, his heart aching with the weight of his failure. "I was still on my flight here."

"Why are you here?" Kenzie asked.

Will took a step toward her, his hands still in his pockets. "Ryan called me," he said, his voice low and raw. "After. He... he told me what happened. He was bragging."

Bella flinched, a fresh wave of shame washing over her. "Oh, God."

"I wasn't thinking," Will continued, his gaze locked on hers. "I just... I saw red. I got on the first flight I could find. I was going to kill him."

He held up his hands, showing her his bruised and bloodied knuckles. "I went to his dorm. And I... I took care of it."

Bella stared at his hands, her eyes widening in horror. "You... you fought him?"

"I did more than that," Will said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I lost it, Bella. I broke his door down and I fucked him up."

The room was silent, the only sound the distant hum of the city. Bella looked from his hands to his face, her expression a mixture of shock, fear, and something else, something he couldn't quite read.

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"Because he hurt you," Will said, his voice breaking. "Because I wasn't here to protect you. Because I left. And because he took the one good thing I had left in this world and he used it, and he broke it, and he laughed about it."

He took another step toward her, closing the distance between them. He wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms and never let go, but he was afraid she would flinch away.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm sorry for everything. For leaving. For not being there when you needed me. For Ryan. For all of it."

Bella looked up at him, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions. She saw the pain in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered anguish that mirrored her own. And in that moment, she knew. He hadn't just fought Ryan because he was angry. He had fought Ryan because he loved her. He had fought for her.

And then, she did the one thing he never expected. She closed the remaining distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. Will froze for a second, his body rigid with shock, and then, he was holding her, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her flush against him. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her vanilla shampoo, and for the first time in months, he felt like he was home.

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237 @smittys2 @lkouyh

**a/n: YESSSSSS will smith wwe!!😀😀 definitely totally for sure accurate to real life will 🧑🏼‍🍳 im lying

OKAY fine- you bullied me into posting another chapter (thank you i love you so big🫶🏻)

keep the comments coming 🤭

♡︎

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 43 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.4k)

**TW: Ryan Leonard is an AWFUL person

The buzz of his phone was an unwelcome intrusion. Will was sprawled on his couch, staring at the ceiling of his guest room, trying to decompress from a brutal practice. The name on the screen made his jaw tighten. Ryan Leonard. He almost let it go to voicemail. Almost. But a small, masochistic part of him, the part that still checked Bella's Instagram every day, needed to know. He swiped to answer.

"Yo," Will said, his voice flat. He hadn't spoken to Ryan in months.

"Smitty, my man!" Ryan's voice was loud, brimming with a forced, aggressive cheerfulness that Will immediately recognized. It was his pre-game, I'm-about-to-do-something-stupid voice. "How's the big shot NHL life? Still living the dream?"

"Something like that," Will said, sitting up, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. "What's up, Ryan? You only sound this happy when you've just scored a goal or broken something expensive."

"Better," Ryan said, and Will could hear the smirk in his voice. "Way better. Just thought I'd call you, man to man. Catch you up on some things you might have missed out on, being all the way out there in California."

Will's grip on his phone tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Bells," Ryan said, and the name, spoken so casually, so possessively, was like a punch to the gut. "You know, your ex-girlfriend? The one you left behind?"

Will didn't say anything. He just waited, his heart a slow, heavy drum against his ribs.

"Yeah, she's not doing so great," Ryan continued, his tone dripping with a false sympathy that was laced with poison. "Seeing you on TV, all famous... it was rough for her. But don't worry, man. I took care of her."

"Took care of her?" Will's voice was low, dangerous.

"Yeah," Ryan said, and Will could hear the satisfaction in his voice, the gloating triumph. "I took care of her real good. Last night, after your big debut. She was a mess, crying about you, missing you. So I did what a good friend does. I picked up the pieces. Man I waited patiently for it too"

Will stood up, his body coiled with a tension that was almost painful. "Ryan, if you don't get to the point—"

"The point, Will, is that I fucked her," Ryan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, vicious whisper. "I fucked your girl. In her dorm room. In the bed you used to share. She was calling my name and everything. Well, almost."

The world went red. A roar filled Will's ears, a white-hot rage that obliterated everything else. It all dissolved, replaced by a single, searing image. Ryan's hands on Bella. Ryan's mouth on hers. Ryan in her bed.

"You're a liar," Will growled, his voice barely recognizable.

"Am I?" Ryan laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Ask her. Or better yet, don't. She was pretty drunk. Might not even remember. But I do. I remember everything. And let me tell you, man, she's not as good as you probably remember. A little distracted, if you know what I mean. Kept calling me... well, you know who she was calling me."

That was it. The final straw. The thread that had been holding him together, holding his new life in place, snapped.

"You're dead," Will snarled, his voice shaking with a fury so pure, so absolute, it was terrifying. "Do you hear me? You are fucking dead."

"Relax, superstar," Ryan said, his voice dripping with condescension. "I was just doing you a favor. Showing you what you left behind. She's not pining for you anymore. She's moved on. With me."

Will ended the call, his hand shaking so badly he almost dropped the phone. He stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his vision blurred with a haze of pure, unadulterated rage. He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He just moved.

He grabbed his duffel bag from the floor, throwing in a handful of clothes, his wallet, his keys. He was already in his sweats and a t-shirt. He didn't need anything else. He didn't want anything else.

He was at the door in three strides, his phone in his hand, his fingers flying across the screen. He found the first flight to Boston, a red-eye leaving in three hours. He didn't care about the price. He didn't care about the consequences. He just booked it, his credit card number a blur of angry digits.

He was on his way out the door when his phone buzzed again. It was Mack.

Celly: Where are you? We're supposed to go to that steakhouse.

Will ignored it. He was in the driveway, his footsteps echoing on the concrete. He was in his car, the engine roaring to life, a sound that was usually a source of comfort, but now felt like a war cry.

He wasn't thinking about his career, about the team, about the game he had two days from now. He wasn't thinking about the consequences, about the breach of contract, about the fury of his coach and his agent. He was only thinking about one thing.

He was going home.

And he was going to kill Ryan Leonard.

— — —

The first thing Bella registered was the pain. It was a dull, throbbing hammer behind her eyes, reverberating through her skull with every beat of her heart. The second thing was the taste—sour, acidic, the lingering ghost of cheap tequila and regret. She groaned, a raw, sound that scraped her throat, and tried to open her eyes. The morning light that pierced through a gap in her blinds felt like a physical assault, searing her retinas and sending a fresh wave of nausea through her stomach.

She rolled over, her body feeling like it had been hit by a bus, and fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, painfully bright, displaying a string of notifications from Ryan. His name hit her like a punch to the gut, and with it came a flood of fragmented, humiliating memories.

The bar. The cruel things she'd said. The kiss of self-destruction. Gabe and Kenzie pulling her away. And then, the rest. The hazy, shameful memories of what happened after they left. She remembered his hands on her, the careful, the way he'd touched her, and the sickening way she had twisted it in her mind, pretending he was Will. She remembered the hollow emptiness as he moved inside her, the mechanical performance of an act that had once been sacred. She was too drunk, far too drunk to have consented to anything, let alone used Ryan's body as a stand-in for the ghost of his best friend.

The nausea surged, hot and unstoppable. Bella scrambled out of bed, her legs tangling in the twisted sheets, and barely made it to the bathroom before she was violently sick. She bent over the toilet, her body convulsing, expelling the alcohol and the shame in equal measure. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat on her brow. How could she have been so cruel? So selfish? She hadn't just slept with Ryan; she had desecrated the memory of what she had with Will.

After rinsing her mouth with trembling hands, she stumbled back to her bedroom, her phone clutched in a death grip. Her thumb hovered over Will's contact, her heart pounding with a sickening dread. She didn't know why she was calling him. To confess? To hear his voice? It was a pathetic, self-destructive impulse. She pressed "call."

It didn't even ring. A smooth, automated voice cut through the silence: "The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message after the tone."

Bella's blood ran cold. She tried again. Same result. Straight to voicemail. He'd blocked her. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. He knew. Somehow, he already knew, and he wanted nothing to do with her.

Panic, sharp and suffocating, clawed at her throat. She needed her friends. She needed Kenzie and Gabe. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely type out the text.

Please come over. Now. It's an emergency.

Within twenty minutes, her apartment door burst open, revealing Kenzie and Gabe with matching expressions of concern that quickly morphed into something else entirely as they took in her disheveled state.

"Bella, what the hell happened?" Kenzie demanded, rushing to her side and wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders.

Bella broke. "After you left... I... I slept with him," she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper. "I was so drunk, and I just pretended he was Will. I used him. It was the most horrible thing I've ever done."

Kenzie's face hardened into a mask of cold fury. "That son of a bitch," she seethed, her voice dangerously low. "He took advantage of you. We left you with him! We thought he'd take care of you, not... not this."

"No," Bella cried, shaking her head. "It wasn't like that. I initiated it on the sidewalk. I said horrible things to him, and then I kissed him. It was my fault."

"Bella, you were blackout drunk!" Kenzie shot back, her grip tightening. "You were in no state to make that kind of decision. That was barely even a kiss. He was sober. He was supposed to be the responsible one. He saw how messed up you were and he took advantage. That's not on you."

Gabe, who had been standing by the door with his arms crossed, finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I'm going to kill him," he stated, not as a question, but as a fact. "He knew how you felt about Will. He crossed a line."

"He blocked me," Bella whispered, shaking her head. "Will. I tried to call him and it went straight to voicemail."

Kenzie's expression softened, her anger shifting to concern as she pulled Bella into a tight hug. "Oh, honey. We'll figure that out later. Right now, we need to focus on you. This is not your fault, Bella. Ryan is the one who should be ashamed. He's the one who took advantage of a friend who was in no state to make that kind of decision. We're pissed at him, not you. Never you."

- - -

Gabe watched as Kenzie guided a trembling Bella toward the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting a moment later. He stood in the middle of the living room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, a cold, hard rage settling in his chest. It wasn't just anger; it was a deep, protective fury that made his blood feel like ice. Ryan had been like a brother. And he had preyed on the most vulnerable member of their fractured little family.

He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over Will's contact. He knew he should wait, that this was news to be delivered in person, not via a text message that could be so easily misinterpreted. But the image of Bella's crumpled, tear-streaked face was burned into his mind. Will had a right to know what his so-called best friend had done. He had a right to know before Ryan could spin his own pathetic, self-serving narrative.

Gabe took a deep breath and began to type, his thumbs jabbing at the screen with brutal force.

Hey man. I know you're probably busy, but you need to know this. Don't believe whatever bullshit story Ryan might feed you if he hasn't already.

He paused, rereading the words. They weren't enough. They didn't capture the depth of the betrayal. He deleted it and started again, his anger sharpening his focus.

Will, it's Gabe. Something happened last night. Bella was a mess. She was hurting, man. Really hurting over you. We were all watching your game and we saw the instagram pictures with the fans. The pretty girls Ryan was there.

He could picture Will reading this, his brow furrowed with confusion. He had to be clearer.

He had to make him understand the gravity of the situation.

We got her out of there. Back to her place. Ryan called her Bells. She started saying some awful stuff to Ryan, telling him he'd never be you. Then she kissed him out of drunken rage. It was... not good. We thought we handled it. We got her upstairs, put her to bed. We thought Ryan would just leave.

A wave of fresh disgust washed over him as he typed the next part. This was the crux of it. The unforgivable part.

He didn't leave. He stayed. Will... he slept with her. She was blackout drunk. She barely remembers it, but what she does remember is using him to pretend it was you. She's destroyed this morning. She feels disgusting and used and she's blaming herself. But it wasn't her fault. She was wasted. He was sober enough to know better. He took advantage of her.

He stared at the screen, his heart pounding. The words were so stark, so ugly. But they were the truth. He had to drive the point home.

This is on him, Will. Not her. Ryan betrayed you. He saw how vulnerable she was and he used it. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I couldn't let you hear his version first. She tried to call you. It went straight to voicemail. She thinks you blocked her. Just... call me when you get this. Or her. She needs a friend. Even if it's just to hear your voice.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The little "delivered" notification appeared beneath the message. He didn't know if Will was in a meeting or simply ignoring his phone. All he knew was that the truth was out there now, and it was up to Will to decide what to do with it. Gabe just prayed he would choose to believe the girl who still loved him, over the boy who had just proven he was never really his friend at all.

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237

**a/n: we hate ryan leonard🤠 but don’t hate me😇

4 chapters left of the first book!!🫣 i can’t wait for the reactions

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 42 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.7k)

**TW: SMUT without verbal consent

The air in the dive bar near campus that was more sticky table than trendy cocktail, was thick with the scent of stale beer and frantic energy. Every television, mounted on grimy wood paneling, was tuned to the same channel. The pre-game show for the San Jose Sharks. It felt surreal, like watching a home movie on a giant screen in a stranger's house.

"He looks good," Kenzie said, nudging Bella's beer bottle with her own. "The new haircut works. Very professional hockey player."

Bella managed a tight smile. On the screen, a younger, cleaner-cut version of Will was being interviewed, his jaw set, his eyes focused. He looked like a stranger. "Yeah. He does."

Gabe, nursing a whiskey sour, scoffed. "Please. I could pull off that haircut. It's the 'I'm a sellout who abandoned my friends for fame and fortune' cut. Very chic."

Ryan, sitting beside Bella, was silent. He hadn't said much since they'd arrived, his knuckles white where he gripped his pint glass. He was staring at the screen, his expression unreadable, but Bella could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. He was here for her, she knew. As a friend. As something more. But this was Will's night, and that made him an unwilling spectator in a story he desperately wanted to end.

Then, the game started. And the bar erupted.

It was one thing to know Will was in the NHL. It was another thing entirely to see him, a blur of teal and white, flying across the ice. He was faster, stronger, more aggressive than she'd ever seen him. Every check he threw, every sprint he made, was a testament to the thousands of hours of practice, the sacrifices he'd made. The sacrifices they'd all made.

"He's actually gotten better," Gabe muttered, grudgingly impressed, as Will blocked a shot with his body, a move that made everyone in the bar wince. "Damn him."

"He's always been good," Bella said, her voice barely a whisper. A strange, protective pride swelled in her chest. That was her Will out there.

In the chaos of the celebration, the cameras cut to the Sharks' bench, zooming in on Will's teammates celebrating a goal. And then, they panned to the stands, to the section behind the bench, where a group of stunningly beautiful women were on their feet, screaming and hugging each other. They were all wearing custom-made jerseys with rhinestones across the back.

"Who the hell are they?" Gabe asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Probably some Instagram models," Kenzie said, rolling her eyes. "You know, the usual NHL entourage."

Bella's stomach twisted. She knew she shouldn't care. She knew she had no right to care. But she couldn't stop staring. They were everything she wasn't. Polished, perfect, and present. They were there, in his world, while she was here, 3 thousand miles away, watching him on a TV in a sticky dive bar.

As the game progressed, the focus shifted back to the ice, but the damage was done. Bella found herself watching the crowd shots more than the game. And then, during a commercial break, a picture popped up on the screen. It was from Will's Instagram, posted just minutes ago. It was a picture of him, still in his gear, his arm wrapped around the group of girls from the stands.

The caption read: NHL debut! Let's get this win!! Couldn't do it without my fans. #thefutureisteal

"Are you kidding me?" Gabe exploded, slamming his glass down on the table. "His fans? He's known them for five minutes! He's known Bella for over ten years! What an absolute—"

"Stop," Bella said, her voice sharp. She didn't want to hear it. She couldn't hear it.

Ryan, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "He's an idiot. A world-class idiot."

Bella didn't say anything. She just flagged down the bartender and ordered another beer. And then another. The alcohol was a welcome warmth, a numbing agent against the sharp edges of her reality. She watched as the Sharks won, as Will was named the second star of the game (behind Celebrini), as he skated out onto the ice, smiling and waving, a hero in his new kingdom.

By the time the bar was starting to clear out, Bella was well past tipsy. The world had a pleasant, fuzzy glow, and the ache in her chest had dulled to a distant throb.

"Come on, Bella," Ryan said, his voice gentle as he helped her off her barstool. "Let's get you home."

"He's such a douche," Gabe was still muttering, as they stumbled out into the cool night air. "Posting pictures with random girls. Does he have any shame?"

"He's living his dream, Gaboooo," Bella slurred, leaning heavily against Ryan. "Let him have his fun."

"His fun is making you miserable," Kenzie pointed out, her arm linked through Bella's. "There's a difference."

They walked in silence for a few blocks, the city lights blurring into a watercolor painting. Bella felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were watching this all happen to someone else. The girl who was in love with a boy who was a world away. The girl who was being taken care of by his best friend. The girl who was getting drunk because she couldn't handle the sight of him with someone else.

"I'm fineeeee," she slurred, trying to pull away from Ryan, but her legs had other ideas.

"No, you're not," Ryan said.

And in that moment, something inside her broke. A dam she hadn't even known was there. The tears she'd been holding back all night finally spilled over, hot and silent, tracking down her cheeks.

"Hey," Ryan said softly, stopping and pulling her into a hug. "It's okay. I've got you."

Bella buried her face in his chest, the fabric of his jacket rough against her cheek. He smelled like laundry detergent and beer and Ryan. And as he held her, his arms a steady, reassuring presence, she allowed herself to lean into him, to let him take the weight, just for a moment. She was still in love with Will. But tonight, in the cold Boston air, wrapped in the arms of the boy who had stayed, she was painfully, undeniably aware of the boy who had left.

The walk back to the dorm was a silent, stumbling affair. The cool night air did little to sober Bella up; it just made the edges of her reality sharper, more painful. Every step was a negotiation, her body leaning heavily into Ryan's, his arm a steel band around her waist, holding her upright. Gabe and Kenzie walked a few paces ahead, their angry whispers a low, protective drone.

"He's just so... arrogant," Gabe was saying, his voice tight with frustration.

"He's a 19-year-old in the NHL, Gabe," Kenzie countered, though her tone lacked its usual conviction. "His brain is probably 80% hockey and 20% protein shake. Logic isn't his strong suit right now."

Bella tuned them out, her focus fixed on the glowing rectangle of her phone in her hand. She'd opened Instagram, and her feed was a nightmare. It was a highlight reel of Will's new life. A picture of him signing a jersey for a little girl. A video of him laughing with his teammates in the locker room. And then, the one that broke her. A selfie. He was in the back of a car, still in his gear, his hair damp with sweat, a triumphant grin on his face. And next to him, outside of his window leaning close, was one of the rhinestone-jersey girls, her perfect, pouty lips captioned "congratulations💝."

The world tilted. Bella stopped walking, her feet glued to the sidewalk.

"Bells?" Ryan asked, his voice soft with concern. "You okay?"

The nickname hit her like a physical blow.

Bells.

It was Will's name for her. A secret, sacred thing that belonged to them, to their history, to their late-night phone calls and whispered promises. Hearing it from Ryan's lips felt like a violation, a theft. But it also felt like a lifeline. It was a piece of Will, right here, in the cold Boston night, when she needed him most.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I can't do this."

"Do what?" Ryan asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"This," she said, waving her phone at him, the screen a glaring accusation. "Him. Them. All of it. I'm supposed to be happy for him. I'm supposed to be moving on. But I'm not. I'm just... here. Watching him live his dream without me."

Her voice rose, the alcohol-fueled despair giving way to a raw, ragged anger. "He gets everything. The career, the fame, the girls. And what do I get? I get to watch it happen on a three-inch screen. I get to be the ex-girlfriend, the footnote in his success story. It's not fair."

Gabe and Kenzie stopped, turning back to look at them. Gabe's face was a mask of fury, but Kenzie's was soft with sympathy. "Oh, honey," she said, taking a step toward her. "Let's get you inside."

"No," Bella said, shaking her head, pulling away from Ryan's grasp. "You don't get it. None of you get it. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be my person. And he left. He just... left."

She looked at Ryan, her eyes wild with pain and accusation. "And you... you're just waiting. Waiting for your turn. But you're not him. You'll never be him."

The words hung in the air, cruel and unforgivable. Ryan flinched. "Bella, that's not fair."

"Fair?" she laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "You want to talk about fair? It's not fair that I'm in love with someone who doesn't exist anymore. It's not fair that I'm standing here, drunk and pathetic, while he's a hero. It's not fair that I miss him so much it hurts to breathe."

She was crying now, hot, angry tears that she couldn't stop. She looked at Ryan, at the way he was still standing there and she hated him for it. She hated him for being here when Will wasn't. She hated him for being so damn present.

And then, she was moving. She closed the distance between them in two steps, grabbed the front of his jacket, and pulled him down to her. The kiss was messy, desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues and saltwater tears. It wasn't a kiss of affection or desire. It was a kiss of defiance. A kiss of self-destruction. A kiss meant to erase the memory of another, to burn the image of his face, his name, his new life, from her mind.

Ryan froze for a second, his body rigid with shock. And then, he was kissing her back. His hands were in her hair, his mouth claiming hers, a raw, hungry desperation that mirrored her own. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't kind. It was a battle, a frantic, angry attempt to bridge the chasm between them with pure need.

"Whoa, okay, time to go!" Gabe's voice cut through the haze, his hands on Bella's shoulders, pulling her away. "This is a terrible idea. We're going upstairs. Now."

Kenzie was already there, her key in the door, her expression a mixture of shock and concern. "Bella, come on. Let's get you to bed."

But Bella wasn't listening. She was looking at Ryan, her chest heaving, her lips swollen. His eyes were dark, a storm of anger and hurt and something else, something she didn't want to name. He had called her Bells.

The silence that followed was deafening. Bella and Ryan were alone in the dimly lit room, the air thick with everything that had been left unsaid. She could feel his eyes on her, a weight that was both comforting and suffocating.

"You should go," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"No," he said, his voice firm. "I'm not leaving you like this."

He took a step toward her, his movements slow, deliberate. Then Ryan's hands were on her hips, his touch gentle, almost reverent, as he guided her toward the bed. Bella's mind was a fog of alcohol and ache, but a sharp, cruel clarity cut through it. This was a mistake.

He laid her down, his movements careful, as if he were afraid she might break. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with an emotion that was so raw, so real, it made her stomach twist with guilt. He thought this was about him. He thought this was a choice. She had to do this. She had to know. She had to feel something other than the hollow, emptiness that had been her constant companion since she'd seen his face on that TV screen.

She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the bone structure wider than Will's. She imagined it was softer, sharper. She imagined it was him.

He kissed her then, a slow, deep kiss that was meant to be comforting, but it felt like a betrayal. His lips weren't softer than Will's, his touch less demanding. It was all wrong. Bella's mind, desperate and cruel, began to rewrite the script. This wasn't Ryan. This was Will. This was his birthday, the last time they were together. The alcohol helped, blurring the edges, turning Ryan's familiar, comforting presence into a pale imitation of the boy she still loved.

His hands roamed her body, his touch exploratory. Bella arched into him, her own hands tangling in his hair, but it wasn't the right texture, wasn't the right length. She closed her eyes tighter, forcing the image of Will's face, his smile, his hands, to the front of her mind. She was doing this to get closer to him. Every touch, every kiss, was a desperate, transgressive act of communion.

He entered her slowly, his movements careful, measured. A soft gasp escaped his lips, a sound of pleasure and relief. But for Bella, it was a hollow echo. The stretch wasn't the same, the friction wasn't the same, and the feeling was gone. The fire, the electricity, the soul-shattering connection she had with Will—it was absent. This was just... mechanics. A pleasant, but ultimately empty, physical act. It was like listening to a cover of her favorite song. All the right notes were there, but the soul was missing.

She began to move with him, her hips rising to meet his, her hands clutching at his back. But she wasn't with him. She was three thousand miles away, in an apartment in San Jose. She was with the boy from her dream, the boy from her memories, the boy who had left her for a dream. She was doing this to erase the image of his face with those other girls, to reclaim a piece of the life he had stolen from her.

Ryan's pace quickened, his breathing growing ragged, his movements more urgent. He was lost in the moment, in her, in the illusion that she was his. But Bella was just an actress, playing a part. She moaned his name, but in her head, it was Will's. She arched her back, her body a canvas for his desire, but her mind was a million miles away, a prisoner of her own making. This wasn't about pleasure. This was about penance. This was about possession. This was about trying to touch a ghost.

When he finally shuddered against her, his release a quiet, intimate groan, Bella felt nothing. No wave of pleasure, no emotional bliss. Just a profound, soul-crushing emptiness. He collapsed on top of her, his weight a heavy, suffocating reminder of what she had just done.

He rolled off her a moment later, pulling her into his arms, his body warm and sated. "Bella," he whispered, his voice thick with contentment. "That was..."

He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Bella knew what he was going to say. ‘Amazing.’ ‘Perfect.’ ‘Everything I've ever wanted.’ And the knowledge that she had just given him a moment that meant everything, while for her, it had meant nothing, was a burden so heavy she thought she might suffocate.

What the fuck has she done?

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237

**a/n: hiii pookies! this is one of my FAV chapters ive ever written. super long too just for you!! don’t hate me pls. tw: ryan leonard lowkey taking advantage of a emotional drunk girl🥲 sorry leno. anywayssss i can’t wait to see the reactions! hopefully i’ll have the rest of the book up over the next day or two!

xoxo

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 41 ♡︎ (w.c. 2.5k)

**TW: SEXUAL REFERENCES

The scent of cardboard and late-summer heat hung heavy in the air of the fourth-floor room in the hockey house. Bella, balanced precariously on a chair, attempted to hang a string of fairy lights while Gabe, perched on his own bed, provided unhelpful commentary.

"Left a little. No, my left. Honestly, babe , it's like you've never seen a wall before. You're going to give me an aneurysm."

"Would you like to do it yourself?" Bella retorted, securing the last hook with a triumphant little grunt.

A sharp knock on the doorframe cut through their bickering. "Delivery service for one drama queen and her gay best friend."

Bella turned to see Ryan leaning against the door, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a cardboard box in his arms. He was wearing a faded BC hockey shirt and a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Leno!" Gabe exclaimed, his tone a careful, neutral blend of surprise and welcome. "I didn't know you were moving in today."

"Just got the last of my stuff from storage," he said, stepping inside and setting the box on the bare mattress. "Figured I'd help you guys lug Gabos crap up four flights of stairs. For a small fee, of course."

"His fee is usually emotional manipulation," Gabe muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Bella to hear.

Bella ignored him, her gaze fixed on the box on her bed. "You didn't have to do that, Ryan."

"I know," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "Wanted to."

The weeks since the gym had been a strange, delicate dance. He'd given her space, texting about classes or asking if she wanted to grab a coffee, never pushing, never mentioning the kiss or the conversation that had followed. He'd been... perfect. Patient. Kind. And it was driving Bella crazy.

The door slammed open against the wall, making them all jump. "Move, losers, I come bearing sustenance and a functioning emotional compass!"

Kenzie stood in the doorway, her arms laden with a pizza box and a six-pack of hard seltzer. Her eyes darted between Ryan and Bella, a flicker of understanding crossing her face before she pasted on a bright smile.

"Look at this cozy domestic scene," she said, setting the pizza box on Gabe's desk. "It's like a sad little indie film about unrequited love. I love it."

"Kenzie, your empathy is truly a gift," Gabe said, hopping off his bed to grab a slice. "Now, tell me, is my side of the room sufficiently minimalist chic, or does it scream 'I'm emotionally unavailable and my mother still picks out my clothes'?"

"It screams 'I'm trying way too hard,'" Bella said, finally climbing down from the chair. "But the fairy lights are a nice touch. They soften the 'I'm going to die alone in this dorm room' vibe."

Ryan laughed, a genuine, easy sound that made Bella's stomach clench. "I think it looks great, man. Better than my side of the room, which currently consists of a pile of dirty laundry and a hockey stick."

They settled into a familiar rhythm, eating pizza and drinking seltzer, the easy banter a welcome distraction from the unspoken tensions simmering just beneath the surface. As they worked, unpacking boxes and arguing over the proper placement of a mini-fridge, Bella found herself watching Ryan. He was so careful with her, his touches fleeting and accidental, his conversation light and breezy. He was giving her exactly what he'd promised—space. But it felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for her to make the first move.

Later that night, after Kenzie and Gabe had retreated to the car for the final boxes Bella was left alone with Ryan.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "For helping. For... everything."

Ryan turned to face her, his expression serious. "I told you, Bella. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," she said, her gaze dropping to her hands. "It's just... weird. Being back here without him."

"Yeah," Ryan said, his voice quiet. "But he's an idiot."

Bella looked up, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. "Ryan..."

"He left you, Bella," he said, his eyes meeting hers, his gaze intense. "He chose hockey over you. He doesn't get to haunt this room, doesn't get to haunt you. Not anymore."

He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw. "This is our year. Your year. And I'm going to be here, whether you want me to be or not. As a friend, as something more, whatever you need. But you're not going to do this alone."

———

The silence in Bella's dorm room was a luxury she hadn't realized she'd missed. She lit the vanilla candle she'd bought, put on a chill indie playlist, and attempted to read for her Intro to Philosophy class. But the words swam before her eyes, blurring into meaningless shapes.

Her mind was a tangled mess of new beginnings and old ghosts. Ryan's text from an hour ago—Thinking about you. Hope you're enjoying the break from the chaos.—was still open on her phone. It was sweet. It was thoughtful. It should have made her feel something other than a vague sense of dread.

She gave up on philosophy and changed into her worn Boston College sweatshirt, the one Will had stolen half a dozen times before she'd finally wrestled it back for good. It smelled like laundry detergent and faintly, impossibly, like him. She crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, the fabric a familiar comfort against her skin.

And then, he was there.

Will was sitting on the edge of her bed, just like he used to, his weight a familiar dip in the mattress. He was wearing his Sharks practice jersey, the material damp with sweat, his hair curling slightly at the nape of his neck. He didn't say anything. He just looked at her, his blue eyes dark with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"You came back," she whispered.

"I always come back," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. "You know that."

He reached out, his calloused thumb tracing the line of her jaw, just as Ryan had. But this was different. This was a fire, not a flicker. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a current that pooled low in her belly. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

"I miss you, Bells," he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. "I miss this. I miss us."

And then he was kissing her, a kiss that was both familiar and entirely new. It wasn't chaste or hesitant. It was hungry, demanding, a kiss that tasted of salt and regret and a desperate, aching need. His hands were in her hair, tangling in the strands, pulling her closer, closer, until there was no space left between them.

The room dissolved. All she could feel was him—the hard lines of his body against hers, the rough texture of his jersey under her fingers, the desperate, rhythmic beat of his heart against her own. This was real. This was everything.

He laid her back against the pillows. He looked down at her, his eyes searching her face, a raw, unguarded vulnerability in their depths that she'd only ever seen a handful of times.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," she breathed, the words a prayer. "I've always wanted you."

He smiled, a slow, devastating smile that was just for her. And then he was moving, his hands exploring her body in a way that left her trembling. He knew her every curve, every sensitive spot, every secret desire. He was relearning her, reminding her, reclaiming her. The world outside this room, outside this bed, ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his skin, the taste of his mouth, the friction of his body moving against hers, building a tension so exquisite it was almost painful. It was a conversation without words, a reconciliation of bodies, a desperate attempt to bridge the three thousand miles between them. When the final wave of pleasure crashed over her, it was with a sob of his name, a release so profound it felt like coming home.

"I love you Bells"

Bella woke with a gasp, her heart hammering against her ribs, her body slick with a sweat that had nothing to do with the late summer heat. The room was dark and quiet, the vanilla candle burned out, her phone silent on the nightstand. She was alone.

The dream lingered, a vivid, ghostly presence in the empty room. She could still feel the weight of him, the phantom touch of his hands on her skin, the echo of his voice in her ear. It had felt so real. So right.

She rolled over, burying her face in her pillow, the scent of her own sweat a stark contrast to the phantom scent of Will from her dream. She was supposed to be moving on. She was supposed to be giving Ryan a chance. But how could she, when her own subconscious refused to let him go? How could she build a future with someone new, when her heart was still living in the past?

The silence of the room was no longer a luxury. It was a curse. And as she lay there, alone in the dark, she wondered if she would ever be able to escape the echo of a boy who was three thousand miles away, but somehow, closer than ever.

— ——-

The air in Will's San Jose apartment was sterile, cool, and utterly silent. He'd just finished a grueling post-practice workout, his muscles a dull, satisfying throb.

His phone was on the nightstand, face down. He hadn't looked at it in hours. Not since the morning text from Toffoli with a picture of his new puppy. Not since the email from his agent about a potential endorsement deal. And certainly not since he'd obsessively checked Bella's Instagram profile that afternoon, a ritual he performed at least once a day. She was fine. She was moving on. She was at BC.

Sleep was a merciful escape he chased every night, but it haunted him now. His mind was a relentless highlight reel of missed shots and bad passes, of coaches' critiques and the crushing weight of expectation. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, to count backwards from one hundred, to do anything to shut his brain off.

And then, she was there.

He wasn't in his San Jose apartment anymore. He was in her dorm room, the one he'd helped her move into last year. The air was thick with the sweet smell of her shampoo. She was standing by the window, her back to him, wearing his old BC sweatshirt. It was too big for her, the sleeves falling past her hands, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. She looked smaller, younger, and so heartbreakingly beautiful it made his chest ache.

He didn't say anything. He just walked toward her, his movements slow, deliberate. He knew this dream. He'd had it before.

She turned as he reached her, her eyes wide, a familiar vulnerability in their depths. "You're here," she whispered, her voice a soft caress.

"I'm here," he said, his voice rough. "I'm always here, Bells."

He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through him. It was so real. The warmth of her skin, the way she leaned into his touch, the slight tremor that ran through her body. He could feel the steady, frantic beat of her pulse against his thumb.

"I miss you," he murmured, the words a raw confession. "God, I miss you so much."

"I miss you too," she breathed, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

And then he was kissing her, a kiss that was desperate and hungry and full of all the words he couldn't say. It wasn't a dream kiss; it was a memory. The way she tasted, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the soft, needy sound she made in the back of her throat—it was all so vivid, so real, it was torture.

He backed her toward the bed, his body pressing against hers, his hands roaming her curves with a practiced intimacy that left him trembling. He was relearning her, reminding himself, trying to memorize the feel of her through the fog of distance and time. He laid her down against the pillows. He looked down at her, his eyes searching her face, a raw, unguarded vulnerability in their depths that he only ever showed to her.

"Tell me you still want this," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Tell me you still want me."

"I've only ever wanted you," she breathed, the words a prayer. "It's only ever been you."

He moved then, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was both a reconciliation and a desperate plea. The world outside this room, outside this bed, ceased to exist. There was only the heat of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the friction of her body moving against his, building a tension so exquisite it was almost painful. It was a conversation without words, a bridge across three thousand miles. When the final wave of pleasure crashed over him, it was with a guttural groan of her name, a release so profound it felt like a piece of his soul was being ripped from his body.

Will woke with a jolt, his heart hammering against his ribs, his body slick with a sweat that had nothing to do with the California heat. The room was dark and quiet, the city lights a distant, indifferent glow. He was alone.

The dream lingered, a vivid, ghostly presence in the empty room. He could still feel the weight of her, the phantom touch of her hands on his skin, the echo of her voice in his ear. It had felt so real. So right.

The reality came crashing down, a tidal wave of cold, hard loneliness. He was in California. She was in Boston. He was the one who had left. He was the one who had chosen this life.

He was supposed to be focusing on hockey. He was supposed to be building his future. But how could he, when his own subconscious refused to let her go? How could he build a life here, when his heart was still living in a dorm room three thousand miles away?

The silence of his apartment was no longer a sanctuary. It was a curse. And as he lay there, alone in the dark on his ridiculously big, empty bed, he wondered if he would ever be able to escape the echo of the girl he had left behind.

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237

**a/n: hiii pookies. hey at least they’re sorta communicating through dreams rightttt😅 ryan go away pls

love youuuu🤭

[puckbunny2]

Invisible String (will smith hockey)

♡︎ the invisible string theory is the belief that two souls are connected by a thread that can stretch or tangle, but never break. It's the magnetic pull that makes every detour feel temporary, because you are always, inevitably, being led back to each other

SERIES MASTERLIST

♡︎ Chapter 40 ♡︎ (w.c. 1.9k)

Kenzie opened the door, a pint of Ben & Jerry's in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. "To the wounded," she declared dramatically. Gabe followed behind her.

"Spill," Kenzie said, thrusting the ice cream and a spoon at Bella before setting about opening the wine. "Don't leave out any of the details we gotta catch Gabo up."

Bella sank onto the armchair opposite Gabe, tucking her feet underneath her. She started with the kiss and the guilt. Then she got to the photo, the "like" from Will, and the gut-wrenching feeling of being caught. Finally, she recounted the two texts, her voice trembling as she repeated them.

"He was angry," she said, looking at Gabe. "He asked if I was with Ryan. And then... then he just took it back. He said, 'It's okay. I get it.' Like he's just... letting me go."

Gabe's jaw tightened. "Of course he did. The king of emotional withdrawal strikes again. Make a grand, possessive gesture, realize it makes him look like a caveman, and then retreat into his 'I'm a mature NHL player now' shell. It's pathetic."

"He's hurting, Gabe," Bella said weakly, though she knew Gabe was right.

"We're all hurting, Bella," Gabe shot back, his voice sharp. "He's not special. But he's the one who chose this. He's the one who left. And now he's going to poke at you from three thousand miles away and then play the victim when you react? No. I'm not here for it."

Kenzie handed Bella a glass of wine, then settled onto the couch beside Gabe. "Okay, but what about Ryan?" she asked gently. "You said he was being weird about it."

Bella recounted the photo, the way Ryan's expression had seemed possessive. "He said he understood, that we could just be friends. But it felt like a lie, Kenz. It felt like he was just biding his time."

Gabe let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm sure he is. That douche. I swear to God, I'm going to—"

"Stop," Bella interrupted, her voice firm. "He's your friend, Gabe."

"Was my friend," Gabe corrected, though his anger seemed to be deflating slightly. "Friends don't go after their best friend's ex-girlfriend right after he leaves. Especially not when they know how messed up she is about it. It's insane."

"He's just... confused. We both are." Bella defended.

Gabe studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Look, you know I hate this. I hate that he's making his move when you're vulnerable. It's a betrayal, plain and simple."

"But?" Kenzie prompted, sensing a shift in his tone.

Gabe looked away, his gaze fixed on the muted television. "But... I also hate seeing you like this," he said quietly. "I hate seeing you pining over a guy who's still clearly not prioritizing you. I hate seeing you hurt."

He turned back to Bella, his eyes softening. "Ryan's an idiot for what he's doing. But he's here. He's in the same time zone. And a small, petty part of me thinks that maybe if you were with someone who actually showed up, it would finally make Will realize what he threw away."

Bella stared at him, surprised by his honesty. "You want me to be with Ryan?"

"I want you to be happy," Gabe corrected, his voice earnest. "And right now, I don't think Will is capable of making you happy. Not from there. Not with his head so far up his own ass he can probably see his own tonsils. Ryan, for all his faults, is here. He wants you. And maybe, just maybe, being with someone who chooses you, someone who doesn't make you feel like an afterthought, is exactly what you need."

Kenzie reached over and squeezed Gabe's hand, a small, proud smile on her face. "He's right, Babe, You deserve to be someone's first choice, not their consolation prize."

Bella looked between them, her heart aching with the weight of their words. They were right, of course. They were always right. But knowing what she deserved and actually wanting it were two very different things.

"I don't know if I can," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't know if I'm ready to let go of the hope that maybe, someday, he'll come back."

"Then don't," Kenzie said, her tone gentle but firm. "But don't put your life on hold while you're waiting. Go on dates. Have fun. See what happens. You don't have to marry Ryan tomorrow. You just have to give yourself permission to move on, even if it's just a little bit."

Gabe nodded in agreement. "She's right. Take it from the gay guy who spent years pining after his straight best friend—waiting around is a sucker's game. You've got to live your life, babe. For you."

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I'll try."

Gabe grinned, his usual spark returning to his eyes. "That's my girl. Now, are we going to drink this wine or just stare at it all night? I've got some tea about Aiden Celebrini that I've been dying to share."

Bella laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt like coming up for air. She was still hurt, still confused, still hopelessly in love with a boy who was three thousand miles away. But she wasn't alone. And for now, that was enough.

———

Bella texted Ryan inviting him to the gym then next day. Of course he agreed. Here she was in their local gym next to Ryan, in a fitted gray t-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles he'd built since their high school hockey days, who moved with an easy confidence that was both intimidating and strangely comforting.

"Alright, let's start with some light cardio," he said, gesturing toward the treadmills. "Just to get the blood flowing."

Bella, feeling out of place in her leggings and an old t-shirt, nodded and climbed onto the machine beside him. As they started to walk, their pace easy, Ryan didn't push. He just talked—about his summer classes, about a stupid movie he'd watched, about a new protein shake he was trying that tasted, in his words, "like chocolate-flavored sadness."

After twenty minutes, he led her over to the weight machines. He showed her how to use the leg press, his hands careful to avoid any unnecessary contact as he adjusted the settings. He was patient, encouraging and his praise genuine when she managed a set without her legs shaking uncontrollably.

"You're stronger than you think," he said, spotting her on the chest press. "Don't be afraid to push it."

The words, meant for her workout, hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Bella finished her set and sat up, her heart racing from more than just the exertion. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, her gaze fixed on the scuffed rubber floor.

"Ryan," she started, "We need to talk."

He stopped adjusting the weights and turned to face her, his expression open and patient. "Okay."

"I'm having a really good time," she said, and it was true. For the first time in weeks, she felt present, grounded. "But I can't... I can't do this if it's something it's not."

He didn't flinch. He didn't get defensive. He just waited, his eyes locked on hers, giving her the space to find the words.

"I'm still in love with Will," she said, the admission feeling both like a defeat and a release. "I don't know when or if that's going to change. And it's not fair to you to pretend like it doesn't matter, because it does. It matters a lot."

"I know," he said, his voice gentle. "I know you are, Bella."

Bella stared at him, thrown by his calm acceptance. "You... you know?"

"Of course I know," he said, a hint of his usual humor returning to his tone. "I've known you since we were 15. I've seen you look at him like he hung the moon. I was there for the aftermath of every stupid fight and every sappy make-up. I know how you feel about him, Bella. Better than anyone."

He took a step closer, "And I don't care."

"What?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat.

"I don't care about Will," he said, his eyes intense. "I mean, I do, he's my friend, but I don't care about him in relation to us. He's not here, Bella. He's in San Jose, living his dream. And you're here. And you're miserable. And I'm here. And I'm tired of watching you be miserable."

He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not asking you to forget him. I'm not asking you to stop loving him. I'm just asking you to give me a chance. Let me take you on a date. A real date. Let me show you that there's still a life to be lived here, a life that doesn't involve waiting for a phone call that might never come."

His thumb brushed against her cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "Let me be the one who makes you laugh. Let me be the one who brings you coffee in the morning. Let me be the one who's here. And if, at the end of the day, you still want him, then I'll back off. I swear. But just give me a chance to show you what it could be like. With me."

Bella looked at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, at the quiet determination in his stance. He wasn't asking her to choose. He was asking her to try. He was offering her a lifeline, a way out of the endless cycle of pining and guilt. He was offering her a future, a possibility, a reason to hope again.

And as she stood there, in the middle of the noisy, chaotic gym, she found herself considering it. Really considering it. For the first time, the idea of moving on didn't feel like a betrayal. It felt like a choice. A choice she had the power to make.

She thought of Will's last message—"It's okay. I get it." He'd given her his permission to let him go, even if he hadn't meant to. And here was Ryan, offering her a reason to take it.

"What if I can't?" she whispered, the words barely audible over the gym's music. "What if I try, and I'm just... broken?"

"Then I'll be here to help you pick up the pieces," he said, his voice firm. "Again. And again. And again. For as long as it takes."

He dropped his hand, giving her space, his expression softening. "You don't have to decide right now. Just... think about it. Please."

Bella nodded, her mind racing. She didn't have an answer, not yet. But as she looked at Ryan, at the boy who had been her friend for so long, she felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

"Okay," she said, her voice stronger than she expected. "I'll think about it."

Ryan's smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. "Good," he said, his tone light. "Now, let's go hit the squat rack. I bet I can out-lift you."

Bella laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt like coming up for air. She was still hurt, still confused, still hopelessly in love with a boy who was three thousand miles away. But as she followed Ryan over to the weights, she allowed herself to wonder, just for a moment, what it would be like to choose herself. And what it would be like to let him help her do it.

taglist- @idkwhatthisis2009 @destinyg237