8
Lincoln
I stretch in my seat,trying to work out the stiffness in my legs. The faint scent of mint and green tea drifts over me again. It hits harder this time—soft, clean, and impossible to ignore. Before I can stop myself, I’m turning toward her.
Bayleigh.
She’s laughing at something James just signed, her whole face lit up; eyes bright even in the low light of the arena. The noise of the game fades around her, the crowd turning to background static. I don’t do this. I don’t get distracted mid-game, especially not by a girl in the opposing team’s jersey—but she’s got my attention and she’s not giving it back.
Her scent’s driving me mad. She looks over, catches me staring. A flush creeps up her neck, and she tucks her hair behind her ear. That tiny, nervous move is all it takes. I’m done pretending I’m not interested.
I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees, waiting for her to glance my way again. When she does, I mouth the words slowly enough for her to catch. “You wanna grab a drink after this?”
She hesitates, looks at James, then back at me before shaking her head, smiling apologetically, then signs something quick in reply.
James grins. “She says she can’t tonight. Post-game tradition—wings with her brother.”
I laugh, nodding. “Wings, huh? That’s fair. Gotta respect the ritual.”
She grins wider, biting her bottom lip. Something about the way he saidbrothersticks in my head. My chest tightens, stupidly protective for no reason.
“Another night, then?” I ask.
Bayleigh chews her lip again. There’s a pause—a quiet moment where she looks like she might change her mind—but then she nods. Small. Sure.
Okay.
“She says okay,” James says for her.
I grin and pull out my phone, holding it toward her. “Here. Before I lose my nerve.”
Her smile reaches her eyes, softening everything about her, and I can’t help but think she’s even more stunning. She takes the phone, thumbs flying as she types. When she passes it back, our fingers brush. Just a second—but the spark is real. It hits like static, racing up my arm.
Her eyes go wide; same as mine.
“Lincoln,” James says my name aloud as he signs it for her. It sounds strange hearing it from someone else’s mouth.
Bayleigh signs something fast. James smiles. “She says thank you for being nice.”
I huff a small laugh. “You make it sound like that’s rare.”
She gives him a knowing look, like maybe it is. I want to ask her a dozen more questions, like how long she’s been signing, what her favorite bar is, how she got that tiny scar above her lip.
The buzzer goes off, signaling the final period. The crowd rises, roaring. I lean back in my seat as the players hit the ice again.
She’s on her feet, cheering for the Krakens, that teal jersey glowing under the lights. Normally, that’d kill any interest I have. Not tonight. I find myself smiling instead, watching her more than the game.
I don’t know what this is. Don’t know why I can’t look away. But for the first time in a long while, I’m sure of something.
I’m going to see Bayleigh again. Even if I have to learn her language to keep up.
The rest of the game flies by. I pretend to watch, but I’m really just stealing glances. Every time the crowd roars, Bayleigh jumps a little, eyes wide and bright, signing something fast that makes James laugh. Her joy is easy, loud without sound, and I can’t help but smile with her.
When the final buzzer blares, the Krakens take the win.
The place erupts, fans on their feet, horns blaring, and flashing lights.
I stand with them, clapping once, twice, and glance over. Bayleigh’s grinning, cheeks flushed, caught up in the chaos. I hate clapping for the Krakens. It should’ve been the Scorpions that won. I already know Korbin’s going to be in a sour mood. When the crowd dips, I lean in, slow enough for her to see my mouth move.
