But I still didn’t know what to do.
Tonight’s routine was already planned. We’d hit the ice during the third commercial break. I had little time left to figure my shit out.
I bent down, ignoring the stares from my teammates, and massaged my knee. It was always there, aching. From sunup to sundown, whether I played or rested, it didn’t matter.
The truth was undeniable. I needed surgery.
The surgery I’d been putting off all year—the one that could very well end my career. Everyone said the recovery was possible. If I put in the work, if I rehabbed it, I could get back to game shape. Six months, maybe a little more.
But the thought of it? The idea of sitting through all that pain and effort, only for maybe another year or two of hockey? A lifetime of aches and sharp pains every time I moved? It had me sagging with exhaustion.
Coach Griff said a few words—words I didn’t even hear. Then, the team was on their feet, making their way to the ice.
Dr. Pravesh approached me, her eyes soft but knowing. She’d always known more than she let on, and I hated that she could see straight through me.
“How are you feeling tonight, Valentine?” she asked, her voice gentle but probing.
I shrugged, trying to brush it off. I knew that wouldn’t be enough for her.
She crossed her arms, waiting me out.
I met her gaze. “Is there a chance I could be pain-free eventually?”
She didn’t ask what I meant, didn’t need to. Her arms fell to her sides, and her brow furrowed. “Of course,” she said, a quiet certainty in her voice. “That’s the goal. As long as the knee wasn’t reinjured after surgery…” She lifted one shoulder, a small gesture of explanation.
Pain-free. I couldn’t even remember what that felt like. A life without bruises, without torn ligaments and black eyes. No more aching knees, no more grinding joints. Pain-fucking-free.
I pushed myself to my feet. “Don’t stay back here all night, Doc. You won’t want to miss our routine.” I winked, hoping to lighten the mood.
She smiled, a small laugh escaping her. “And the game too, right?”
“Of course,” I said, the words slipping out without thinking.
I stepped into the hallway, and Frankie was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel. Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, the noise of the arena faded. The world shrank to just her and me. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, like she was holding something back. She was perfect.
I brushed my hand against hers, leaning in close, my lips brushing her ear. “I love you,” I whispered, my voice low and raw. “So fucking much.”
Her lips parted, like she was about to say something, but the roar of the crowd swallowed her words, the moment lost to the cheering fans as I reached the bench.
Sliding in next to Rowan, I threw him a grin. He had the night off, and our backup goalie stood tall in the net.
“Let’s fucking win, boys,” I shouted.
The team roared in agreement, fists pounding the half wall.
The game began.
The starting line came off the ice after about forty-five seconds, and I was up, vaulting over the wall, ready to get into it.
If this was my last game, the final time I’d ever step out onto the ice with this team, I was damn sure I’d make it count.
The last timehockey felt this effortless, I was twenty-three, scoring my first career hat trick.
Tonight wasn’t a hat trick kind of night. Those days were behind me, but I celebrated my first-period goal like it was—arms wrapped around Ryder and Julian, a triumphant “fuck yeah!” echoing through the rink, drifting up into the stands.
The commercial light flashed on just as we skated by the bench, fist-bumping our teammates. Every one of them. The guys who had once dismissed our routines, thinking they were beneath them, were now in sync with us. It had taken months of work to get them on board, but they had finally realized what this was really about—it wasn’t about the dancing, the steps, or the choreography.
It was about having fun.
