Her scent is everywhere back there. Part of why we rushed out here was because the rink is the only place that smells like nothing but ice.
“Water break,” I call, pushing off toward the bench.
They follow, slower. We pull off gloves and helmets, steam rising off us into the cold air of the empty rink.
For a minute, no one talks. We just stand there, drinking, breathing, not looking at each other.
Felix caves first. “So what?” he asks, voice rough. “We just… let her walk away?”
"She asked for time," I say, forcing my voice to stay level. Panicking won't help anyone. "We have to respect that."
“Yeah, well, my rational brain understands that,” Felix mutters, dropping his empty bottle on the floor. “But my stupid alpha brain wants to throw her over my shoulder and keep her close.”
Silas snorts, no real amusement in it. “And I still can't believe we’re scent matches. After we already thought we’d met ‘the one’.” His hands flex on his stick. “You know what the odds are?”
“Astronomical,” I breathe. “But not zero.”
We let that sit.
"I keep thinking about her," Felix says after a beat. "Our ex. Her scent was... incredible. I was stupid in love. But with Naomiit's like—" he breaks off, searching. "It's like every part of me isconsumedby her."
“Same actually,” I admit. “All this time I thought she was the one as well. But yet being with Naomi feels different. Deeper. More…right."
Silas barks out a short laugh. “So what, we spent years thinking we were with our one true scent match, and actually we were… what? Ninety percent compatible or something?” His jaw tightens.
I shrug. “Scent compatibility isn’t binary. We’ve always known that. Some people smell good, some people smell like nothing, some people hit you like a truck.” I meet his eyes. “Our ex hit me like a truck. Naomi hits me like… a spaceship. Maybe she’s our full scent match, and our ex was a partial scent match.”
Felix makes a low frustrated sound. “So we've been mourning someone who wasn’t actually our true scent match… Only to finally meet the real one who just ran away.”
“Stop,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “She didn't run away like our ex did. She’s allowed to need air.”
"That's a real nice analysis and all," Silas says. "But I don't see how that gives us any guarantee things will turn out well… I'm dying at the idea we might never see her again."
“We can’t force her to do anything,” I say. “But we also don’t have to sit and do nothing.”
"And what's your brilliant plan?" Silas challenges.
I turn the thought over. We need a reason to see her again. Something legitimate, not desperate. A way to show her we're serious about this, without overwhelming her.
"We tell Mia we've made a decision about the festival game, which we have," I say slowly. "But we say we want to tell Naomi ourselves. She was assigned to get us back on the ice, so it would make sense."
Felix perks up despite himself. “Go on.”
“It gives us a reason to see her again that isn’t ‘please come back, we’re sad,’” I add. “We tell her we’re playing. We thank her for getting us there. Then we see if she… leaves a door open.”
Silas is quiet for a long moment. His eyes are on the ice, far away. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then we still play,” I say. “We still take the ice on the anniversary, and we prove to ourselves that day doesn’t own us anymore. With or without her.”
He huffs out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “You and your radical emotional growth.”
“Do you disagree?” I ask.
He thinks about it, jaw working. “No,” he says finally.
“Perfect. We’ll call Mia after practice.”
“For the record," Felix taps my shoulder. "I am one hundred percent getting my hopes up.”
