Katie whistles. "If he does, I'm not testifying."
I laugh, loud and unbothered. "He's fine. This is Zach holding back."
Which is terrifying. And beautiful.
Because what he's doing isn't dirty. Not even close. He's hitting clean, timing everything perfectly. He's being ruthless enough to rattle Tyler's bones but smart enough to avoid the penalty box. Every hit is legal. Every shove is calculated. Every collision is Zach saying:
Mess with my girl again, I dare you.
What surprises me most, though?
Ridgewater is on fire tonight.
Their passes are cleaner, their lines are tight, their rhythm—God, their rhythm—is unmistakably back. Elijah and Zach, who haven't been speaking for almost three weeks, are suddenly playing like the universe hit an invisible "restore chemistry" button.
A perfect give-and-go down the middle.
A seamless zone entry.
A no-look pass from Elijah that Zach receives like they never fell apart at all.
Lucy squints at the ice. "Wait... are we sure they're still mad at each other? Because this is soulmate-level teamwork."
Katie nods slowly. "Either they made up... or they temporarily hate Tyler more than they hate each other."
I snort. "Oh it's definitely the second one."
Because Zach probably filled the guys in about what went down — the high school crap, the grocery-store run-in, all the garbage Tyler and Cici spewed — and now the whole team decided to treat this game like a group revenge mission.
And I'm not going to lie... watching a bunch of Division I hockey players unite to obliterate your childhood tormentor?
Healing.
Deeply, stupidly healing.
Every time Tyler touches the puck, someone in a Warriors jersey is on him. Smothering, blocking, stripping, dropping him to the ice. It's like watching karma in skates.
Zach barrels into Tyler again near center ice, sending him spinning.
The crowd roars.
I scream with them, hands cupped around my mouth. "LET'S GO, BABY!"
Katie bumps my shoulder. "You're having way too much fun."
"Are you kidding?" I grin, breathless. "This is the best trip of my life."
I really wish Sam were here next to me—screaming her lungs out, stomping on the bleachers, talking trash louder than half the student section. This would've been the perfect game for it.
But she didn't come.
And Zach didn't push her to, either, even though he loves having his little sister in the stands.
Which... yeah. Says a lot.
I keep thinking about what I saw last night—Sam curled into Zach's chest out on the terrace, shaking with sobs while he held her like he was trying to shield her from the whole world.
I didn't go to them. I just quietly backed away and let them have their moment. But you don't need a degree in psychology to figure out Sam's hurting. And whatever she's hurting about... it's tied to Elijah.
