Overtime

By the time the anthem ends and the lights blaze over the ice, Michael Landry already knows his clock is ticking.

Thirty-six, stuck on the third line, he tapes his stick the same careful way before every game and pretends his hands don’t shake when he looks at the empty space on his résumé where a Stanley Cup ring should be. Texas was supposed to be his last, ruthless push for glory with the San Antonio Surge—one more year, one more team, no distractions.

Then a late-night drink turns into a standing appointment at a quiet bar off the freeway, where the music is low, the beer is cold, and Kayla Jennings keeps her life locked down as tightly as the till.

Kayla has spent fifteen years building her world around her son: early shifts, late shifts, color-coded calendars on the fridge. No hockey players, no chaos, no one staying long enough to rearrange the furniture or her heart. But Michael keeps coming back, leaving his mouthguard on the bar by accident, listening when she talks about homework and overdue bills, laughing with that tired, hopeful sound she hasn’t heard in her own voice in years.

What starts as easy friendship turns hot and complicated—stolen kisses in the dark of the parking lot, his gear bag in the corner of her hallway, her son’s skates appearing next to his beaten-up sneakers by the door.

As the Surge fight through their final playoff run, Michael is forced to choose between chasing a trophy that might finally prove he was worth the ice time and holding on to the fragile, ordinary future taking shape in a small San Antonio kitchen. For Kayla, loving him means risking the hard-won stability she’s anchored her family to.

Overtime isn’t just played under bright arena lights. Sometimes it’s the quiet, after the crowds go home, where a single wrong move can cost you the game you didn’t know you were playing.

HEA guaranteed.