Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~14 min read
Chapter 14: His Epiphany
POV: Carter Vaughn
Carter’s playing like absolute shit—there’s no other way to describe his performance tonight against Tampa Bay, missing passes he should make in his sleep, losing the puck to forecheckers who shouldn’t be able to strip it from him, generally playing with the kind of distracted incompetence that gets players benched—and by the second period, Coach Morrison pulls him off his line and sends him to sit for a shift, frustration evident in the sharp gesture toward the bench.
“Get your head in the game, Vaughn,” Morrison says as Carter skates past, and it’s not a suggestion, it’s a warning that the captain better figure out whatever’s wrong and fix it fast because they’re down 2-0 and playing like they’ve forgotten how hockey works.
Carter drops onto the bench breathing hard from exertion that accomplished nothing productive, and knows the problem has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the woman currently working in the medical area visible through the glass behind the bench—Priya treating one of the Tampa players who took a hit in the first period, her hands gentle and professional on someone else’s body, her expression focused with the competent care that used to be directed at Carter and now is very deliberately not.
He shouldn’t be watching her.
Should be focusing on the game, on getting his head right so he can contribute instead of being a liability, on being the captain this team needs instead of a distracted mess pining after someone who’s made it clear she’s done with him.
But Carter can’t seem to look away—can’t stop tracking Priya’s movements, can’t stop cataloging the way she’s explaining something to the Tampa player with patient clarity, can’t stop noticing how even in professional mode with someone from the opposing team she’s tender and thorough and absolutely perfect at what she does.
She laughs at something the player says, and the sound carries faintly over the crowd noise, and Carter feels something twist painfully in his chest because he used to make her laugh like that, used to see that genuine amusement directed at him, used to be someone she looked at with warmth instead of the careful professional distance she maintains now.
The Tampa player says something else—Carter can’t hear it but can read gratitude in his body language—and Priya smiles that smile that transforms her entire face, makes her look luminous and happy and so beautiful it hurts to see, and Carter watches her be kind to a stranger and feels the realization crash over him like a wave he’s been trying to hold back for months.
I’m in love with her.
The thought arrives complete and undeniable, not a maybe or a probably or the careful “falling for” language Carter’s been using to avoid full admission, but present tense certainty that lands with the force of a body check.
I’m in love with her.
FUCK.
This isn’t just attraction. Isn’t just sex. Isn’t just feelings or attachment or any of the other minimizing terms Carter’s been using to avoid confronting the full scope of what he feels.
This is love.
In love.
Capital-L Love that’s terrifying and consuming and explains why the thought of trading to Seattle felt like dying, why watching her smile at someone else makes Carter’s chest ache, why he can’t seem to move on or let go or do anything except want her with an intensity that goes way beyond physical.
He’s in love with Priya Kapoor.
Has been for months probably—maybe since that first night she fell asleep on his couch, or the morning he woke up with her in his arms, or the moment she kissed his forehead in the PT office and it felt like more, or possibly even earlier than that, maybe from the first time she looked at him like he mattered as more than just the team captain she was treating.
Carter’s been in love with her for months and was just too scared to admit it, too traumatized by his parents’ disaster marriage to acknowledge that what he feels for Priya is the real thing, too terrified of vulnerability to call it what it is.
But watching her now—professional and tender and perfect with someone who isn’t him, laughing and kind and completely out of Carter’s reach because he destroyed any chance they had by being too much of a coward to try—the truth is unavoidable.
He loves her.
Is completely, devastatingly, irrevocably in love with the woman who told him she loves him and he couldn’t say it back, who asked for a real relationship and he said it could only be sex, who gave him multiple chances and he threw them all away because fear felt safer than vulnerability.
“Vaughn, you’re back in,” Coach Morrison barks, and Carter forces himself off the bench even though his mind is still reeling from the epiphany, still processing what it means that he’s in love with Priya and she’s pulling away, still trying to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to do with this realization now that it’s unavoidable.
He plays the rest of the period on autopilot—body going through the motions while his brain is stuck on I’m in love with her, repeating it like a mantra, like if he thinks it enough times it’ll somehow become less terrifying or more manageable or make any fucking sense given how thoroughly he’s destroyed everything between them.
The Blades lose 4-1—Carter contributing exactly nothing to the single goal they manage, playing worse in the third period than the first, generally being the kind of liability that makes teammates frustrated and coaches consider benching their captain—and by the time the final buzzer sounds, Carter’s a complete mess, physically exhausted and emotionally devastated and so thoroughly fucked up about the love thing that he can barely process the loss.
The locker room is quiet with the defeated atmosphere that follows bad games—guys stripping off gear in silence, a few muttered conversations about what went wrong, Coach Morrison’s clipped reminder that they’ll review footage tomorrow and need to come back stronger for Thursday’s game—and Carter goes through the motions of showering and changing while his mind spins through implications.
He’s in love with Priya.
And she’s done with him.
Has cut him off completely.
Is pulling away emotionally and professionally and every other way that matters.
“Rough game,” Jamie says quietly, appearing beside Carter’s stall with the kind of careful approach that means he’s noticed Carter’s distracted disaster of a performance. “You okay?”
No. Carter’s the opposite of okay. He’s in love with someone who won’t speak to him outside of required professional interaction, someone he hurt so badly she can’t stand to be around him, someone who deserves so much better than the broken mess Carter keeps offering her.
“I’m in love with her,” Carter says instead of answering the question, the confession spilling out before he can stop it. “Priya. I’m in love with her.”
Jamie doesn’t look surprised—just nods like this is something he’s known for months, like Carter’s the only one who’s been in denial about it. “Yeah, man. I know.”
“You know?” Carter’s voice comes out sharper than intended. “How do you know when I just figured it out?”
“Because everyone except you has known for months.” Jamie sits on the bench beside Carter’s stall, voice gentle despite the harsh truth he’s delivering. “The way you look at her. The way you get jealous when other guys talk to her. The way you’ve been miserable since she cut you off. That’s not casual. That’s love.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Carter asks, frustrated and lost. “Why didn’t you tell me I was in love with her when I was busy destroying everything?”
“Would you have listened?” Jamie counters. “You weren’t ready to hear it. Too busy being terrified of commitment and using your parents’ divorce as an excuse. Had to figure it out yourself.”
Jamie’s right—Carter wouldn’t have listened, would have denied it, would have insisted it was just physical or just complicated feelings or any number of things that weren’t love—but knowing that doesn’t make the current situation less devastating.
“So what do I do?” Carter asks, desperate for answers Jamie probably can’t give. “I’m in love with her and she won’t talk to me. Won’t give me another chance. Has every right to be done with me after how I’ve treated her.”
“You tell her,” Jamie says simply. “You tell her you love her and you’re willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. You go to therapy. You work on your commitment issues. You show her through actions that you’ve changed instead of just promising you will.”
“What if she doesn’t care?” The question comes out small, scared. “What if I tell her I love her and she says it’s too late?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried.” Jamie’s voice is firm. “At least you’ll have been honest instead of letting fear control you. At least you’ll be able to move forward knowing you gave it everything instead of wondering what if.”
Carter nods slowly, processing, trying to figure out if he’s brave enough to do what Jamie’s suggesting—to confess his love to someone who’s already told him she’s done, to risk another rejection when the first ones nearly destroyed him, to be vulnerable in ways he’s spent years avoiding.
“I don’t know how to tell her,” Carter admits. “Don’t know what to say that I haven’t already said and screwed up.”
“Start with the truth.” Jamie stands, clearly done with this conversation. “Tell her you’re in love with her. Tell her you’ve been too scared to admit it. Tell her you want to do the work to become someone worthy of her. And then actually do the work, because words without action are meaningless.”
He walks away leaving Carter alone with his thoughts and the weight of realization—I’m in love with Priya and I’ve already lost her and I have no idea how to get her back.
The locker room empties gradually—teammates heading home to families or girlfriends or normal lives that don’t involve being in love with someone who won’t speak to you—and Carter sits in his stall staring at nothing and trying to figure out next steps.
He could text her. Could show up at her apartment. Could corner her at work and make her listen to his confession even though using the workplace feels manipulative and wrong.
Or he could do what Jamie suggested—actually get help for his issues, actually work on becoming someone capable of the commitment Priya needs, actually demonstrate change instead of just promising it.
Carter’s phone buzzes: a message from the team’s sports psychologist, Dr. Sarah Chen, someone the organization keeps on retainer for players dealing with performance anxiety or personal issues affecting their game.
Saw tonight’s game. If you want to talk, my schedule’s open tomorrow afternoon.
It’s not subtle—clearly Coach Morrison or someone noticed Carter’s distracted disaster performance and suggested Dr. Chen reach out—but maybe that’s what Carter needs, someone outside the situation to help him process, someone trained in helping people work through trauma and fear and all the shit that’s been controlling his decisions.
Yeah, Carter types back. I could use that. 3pm work?
Perfect. See you then.
It’s a start—not a solution, not a fix, not enough to win Priya back—but it’s Carter finally doing something instead of just drowning in his realization, finally taking action toward becoming someone capable of love instead of just acknowledging he feels it.
He finishes packing up his gear and heads for the parking lot, exhausted in ways that go beyond physical, and tries not to think about how Priya’s probably already gone home, probably didn’t even notice Carter’s terrible performance, probably doesn’t care that he’s finally realized what she’s known for months.
But as Carter’s unlocking his car, he sees her—Priya leaving through the staff entrance, bag over her shoulder, looking tired and beautiful and so far out of reach it makes Carter’s chest ache with longing.
She hasn’t seen him yet. Could walk to her car without knowing he’s here. Could maintain the distance she’s been keeping for weeks.
Carter should let her go. Should respect her boundaries. Should wait until he’s actually done the work to change before attempting contact.
But he’s in love with her and can’t seem to stop himself from calling out: “Priya.”
She freezes, turns slowly, and the expression on her face when she sees him is carefully neutral, professionally distant, giving nothing away. “Carter. What do you need?”
What does he need? Everything. Her. A chance. Forgiveness. Time travel so he can go back and not fuck everything up in the first place.
“I just—” Carter’s voice catches, all the words he’s been thinking about saying tangling in his throat. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you. For being too scared to—”
“I don’t want apologies,” Priya interrupts, and there’s steel in her voice despite the exhaustion in her eyes. “I’ve heard your apologies. They don’t change anything.”
“I know. I know apologies aren’t enough.” Carter takes a step toward her then stops when she tenses, clearly not wanting him closer. “But I’m—I’m working on it. Getting help. Trying to become—”
“Become what?” Priya asks, and there’s challenge in her voice. “Become someone capable of commitment? Become brave enough to love me? You’ve had months to become that person, Carter. I can’t keep waiting for you to maybe possibly eventually get there.”
“I’m in love with you,” Carter blurts out, the confession escaping before he can plan it properly, before he can make it romantic or meaningful or anything except desperate truth. “I’m in love with you and I know I’ve fucked up every chance you’ve given me, but I’m—”
“Don’t.” Priya’s voice breaks, tears threatening in her eyes. “Don’t tell me you love me in a parking lot after a game you lost because you were distracted. Don’t confess feelings when you’ve had multiple chances to choose me and chose fear instead.”
“I’m choosing you now—”
“Now isn’t good enough!” Priya’s crying openly, and Carter’s never hated himself more than he does in this moment. “I needed you to choose me three weeks ago when I told you I love you. I needed you to choose me when you were taking me on dates and acting like my boyfriend. I needed you to choose me the first time, not the fourth or fifth time after I’ve already told you we’re done.”
“Priya—”
“I’m glad you’re getting help.” She wipes at her face, trying to compose herself. “I’m glad you’re finally admitting what you feel. But I can’t—I can’t be the person you figure yourself out on. Can’t keep being hurt while you slowly become ready. I have to choose myself now.”
She walks away before Carter can respond, gets in her car and drives off, leaving him standing alone in the parking lot with his confession hanging unfinished in the cold February air.
He told her he loves her.
And she walked away anyway.
Because loving someone and being capable of loving them properly are two different things, and Carter’s spent months proving he’s the former without demonstrating any ability to achieve the latter.
He drives home in a daze, goes through the motions of evening routine, lies awake in bed replaying the parking lot conversation and wondering if he just made everything worse by confessing when Priya clearly wasn’t ready to hear it.
But at least he said it.
At least she knows.
At least Carter’s being honest instead of hiding behind fear.
It’s not enough—might never be enough—but it’s something.
He’s in love with Priya Kapoor.
She’s pulling away.
And Carter has to figure out how to do the work to become someone worthy of her love even if she never gives him the chance to prove he’s changed.
The epiphany is complete.
Now comes the hard part: actually changing.
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