“I have to,” I say. “Because believing otherwise means they win.”
For a moment, the quiet between us feels lighter. The air shifts. I can see it in the way his shoulders drop, the way his gazefinally lifts to meet mine. His eyes are still stormy, but there’s a glint of something steady underneath. Resolve.
Then his phone buzzes on the table.
He picks it up without thinking—and freezes. The screen lights up with a message from Coach Brooks:Cleared for return. You’re starting tomorrow night.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until he looks up at me, eyes wide, like he’s waiting for confirmation that it’s real.
“Leo,” I whisper, smiling even as my heart lodges in my throat. “You’re back.”
He blinks once, then lets out a breath that sounds half like a laugh and half like relief. His hand finds mine again, gripping tight. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I am.”
And just like that, the tide turns for real.
The rest of the day unfolds in soft motion—steady, deliberate, like the world knows not to rush this. Leo spends hours in the living room, laptop open, headphones on, reviewing game footage. Every so often, I catch him murmuring plays under his breath, miming a pass or shifting his stance, muscle memory already coming back to life.
I stay in the kitchen, meal-prepping containers of grilled chicken, rice, and greens for the team. It’s rhythmic, grounding—knife against cutting board, steam from the stove, the quiet thump of containers lining up on the counter. For once, the noise around us feels purposeful.
Every so often, our paths cross. My hand brushes his when I set a container beside his laptop. He murmurs thanks without looking up, but there’s a faint curve to his mouth that wasn’t there before. The tension between us hums, but it’s softer now. Warm instead of volatile.
As the sun starts to dip behind the skyline, Leo pulls off his headphones and leans back with a groan. “God, I missed this,”he says. “The routine. The build-up before a game.” He glances toward the kitchen. “You think it’s weird that I’m nervous?”
I wipe my hands on a towel and lean against the counter, smiling. “You’re human. Not a machine. Nerves just mean you still care.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s memorizing the way I said it. Then he stands, crossing the room to where I’m standing. The air shifts again—the quiet intimacy of two people who’ve been through fire and somehow came out standing.
“I don’t know what happens tomorrow,” he says quietly. “But knowing you’ll be there…it changes everything.”
My throat tightens. “Win or lose, I’ll be in the stands.”
He steps closer, brushing a thumb over my cheek, voice low and certain. “Then I’ve already won.”
The words hit somewhere deep. I lean into his touch, heart steadying with his. For the first time in what feels like forever, tomorrow doesn’t terrify me.
It feels like possibility.
Chapter 34
Winner Takes All
Leo
The arena humsbefore puck drop, a sound so big it feels alive. Lights glare off the ice, white and sharp, and the boards shake under the weight of a sold-out crowd. It’s chaos—but it’s the kind I know. The kind that steadies me.
Reporters crowd the tunnel, microphones flashing like teeth. Questions fly as I step onto the carpeted mat that leads toward the bench.
“Leo, any comment on the exposé?”
“Does this game mean redemption for you?”
“Word is Grayson’s camp is falling apart—care to weigh in?”
I keep walking. Eyes forward, stick in hand, gloves tight. The noise hits from all directions—voices, cameras, the thunder of fans chanting my name.Voss. Voss. Voss.It vibrates in my chest, through my ribs, right into my pulse. It’s not forgiveness, not yet. But it’s something close.
Coach claps me on the shoulder as I pass. “Good to have you back, Captain.”
I nod once, jaw tight, and step onto the ice.
