“I can’t do this, Charlie,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat. “I need to go.”
“Not yet,” Charlie says firmly, her grip tightening. “I’m right here beside you and you can hold your head high. You donotlet him chase you out.” Her voice is low, fierce. “He doesn’t get to have that power over you, Hols. Remember?”
I force my head up. I won’t look back at him. I focus on the stage, on the frosted branches, on anything but the place where he stands.
I blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of him.
A spotlight snaps on, illuminating the podium. The band’s smooth jazz fades into silence. The team’s General Manager, asilver-haired man with a perpetually cheerful face, walks onto the stage, adjusting the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his amplified voice booms, warm and welcoming. “Welcome to the Chicago Blades’ Annual Snowflake Gala! Another incredible year supporting our city’s youth, thanks to your incredible generosity.” Polite applause ripples through the room. I clap mechanically, my hands cold and stiff.
The GM continues, thanking sponsors, acknowledging key figures. His words wash over me, meaningless noise.
The memory of Denton’s eyes is branded onto my mind. He looked tormented. But by what? His choice? The trade? Leaving me? The thought is a fresh twist of the knife. He made his bed. Why does he get to look likehe’sthe one suffering?
“...and now,” the GM’s voice cuts through my internal storm, pulling my attention back to the stage. He beams out at the audience. “It’s always a highlight to hear from one of our own. A player who embodies the spirit of this team, both on and off the ice.” He pauses, building anticipation.
The GM’s smile widens. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to one of the cornerstones of our defense, a leader in this locker room and in our community… Denton Blake!”
The applause erupts. Cameras flash. All eyes turn towards Denton as he walks toward the stage.
Chapter 34
Denton
The spotlight hits me – hot and blinding. For a second, I’m utterly disoriented, the roar of the crowd a muffled wave crashing against my ears.
My heart hammers a frantic drum solo, trying to break free. Sweat drips under the starched collar of my shirt. I force my legs to move, one stiff step after another, towards the gleaming podium.
My gaze sweeps the sea of tables, searching for the only anchor in this storm. And there she is. Holly.
She’s in a green dress that makes her look like some fierce forest queen. Her face is pale, her eyes wide and fixed on me. Hurt radiates from her like heat shimmering off asphalt.I did that to her.
I reach the podium and the smooth wood is cool under my sweating palms. My prepared note cards are tucked inside my jacket but I decide not to pull them out. They’re full of meaningless words that don’t really explain why I’m standing here.
The GM’s cheerful introduction echoes in my head:...embodies the spirit of this team... leader... community...Bullshit. I haven’t embodied anything but fear and isolation. Until now.
I lean towards the mic and the slight feedback whine makes the crowd flinch. The room falls utterly silent. Hundreds of eyes are trained on me.
“Thank you,” I start, my voice sounding weird. “I, uh… I’m not usually one for speeches.” A ripple of polite, nervous laughter rolls through the ballroom.
“Usually, I let my skating do the talking.” I grip the edges of the podium, knuckles white. “But tonight… tonight isn’t about hockey.”
I take a breath, forcing my gaze back up, scanning the crowd without really seeing them. My focus narrows, tunneling past the sequins and tuxedos, past the expectant faces, back to the only face that matters. Holly’s.
“It’s about… home.” The word feels strange in my mouth. “And what that word means. For a long time, I thought I knew. It was a place. Walls. Locked doors. Predictable.”
My voice gains a little strength, fueled by the stark truth of it. “Safe. Or so I told myself. Because safe meant… not feeling too much. Not risking anything that could be taken away.” I pause.
I see Evan and Sophie at a table near the center of the room, and Evan looks confused. Mom has her arm around Tabby, whose small face is tilted up towards the stage, her eyes huge in the dim light.
“I built walls,” I continue, the words coming easier now. “To protect what was left inside. To keep the noise out. The… the potential for pain.”
My gaze locks onto Holly again. She’s utterly still. “Especially the potential for pain. Because losing someone…” My throat closes. “Losing someone teaches you how fragile it all is. How easily the ground can disappear underneath you. And you start to think… maybe it’s better not to stay behind the walls.”
I see a flicker in Holly’s eyes. “But walls… they don’t just keep things out. They keep you in. They keep the darkness in. They keep the cold in.”
My voice drops lower. “And you don’t realize how cold you are, how numb, until something… until someone…” I stumble, the words catching.Until someone like Holly James walks into your frozen world and melts everything with her sunshine.“Until you feel real warmth again. And it scares the hell out of you. Because warmth means vulnerability. It means the terrifying possibility of feeling that loss all over again.”
