I stumble, feet tripping over themselves, and before I can brace for impact—bam. I collide with something solid. Hard. Warm.
Strong arms wrap around my waist, steadying me before I can fall. My breath catches as that familiar, intoxicating scent hits me—fresh cedar, a hint of mint, and something that's justhim.
My heart skips, then starts racing like it's trying to keep up with the music.
I look up—and of course, it's him.
Zach.
His lips curve into that smile—the one that could make my knees wobble, my lungs forget how to breathe, and my thoughts scatter like confetti in the wind. His eyes soften, full of warmth and something that sends a dizzy rush straight through me.
"Zach..." I whisper.
He tilts his head, grin widening just a touch. "Careful, sugarplum. I show up for five seconds, and you're already falling for me."
God, that was solame.
And yet... my heart's doing backflips anyway.
CHAPTER thirty-five
ZACH
By the time I finish showering and pulling on fresh clothes, every muscle in my body is screaming like I just got hit by a Zamboni.
Coach Hopper went full dictator mode today.
Three straight hours of punishment practice. First, it was endless skating drills—laps until my lungs tried to secede. Then suicides. Then slapshot accuracy reps until my arms went numb.
After that? Line rushes. More line rushes. I think at one point he just started making things up.
And when I thought it was finally over—boom. "Grab the spray, Westbrook. You're cleaning the glass."
So there I was, wiping the damn rink walls like some overpaid janitor while my teammates"accidentally" skated by to fog it up again.
Yeah. Real funny, assholes.
But fine. I deserve it. I mean, I did turn last night's game into a public rom-com proposal. Everyone loved it—crowd went nuts, and then there was her smile.
Caroline's kind of smile. Soft, genuine, the kind that hits you right in the chest and makes everything else fade to static.
I swear I saw actual fireworks. If joy had a face, it'd be Caroline's right then—radiant, glowing, probably capable of curing depression.
I think my heart pulled a hamstring trying to keep up.
Yeah, that one smile made every stupid, reckless thing I did worth it.
Well... almosteveryonethought so.
Except for Coach Hopper, apparently. The man nearly combusted in real time. Something about"lack of focus"and"showboating."
Which, okay, fair. But three goals and a victory should count forsomething, right?
I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I sling my bag over my shoulder and push out of the rink. The night air hits my face, cool and sharp. It's already dark—past seven.
I click the key fob, my car giving a low chirp across the parking lot.
Ten minutes ago, Caroline sent a text saying she and Sam had just arrived at the Pond.
