Dr. Patel smiles gently. “That’s a good start. Another thing that can help you get through a difficult moment is finding an anchor. A physical object to remind you why you’re doing this. Tactile grounding is useful in emotionally intense moments.”
I need something that reminds me of her to get me through this. Is there something, anything? “I still have her bracelet. She left it in the glove box. I was going to give it back that night.”
“Perfect. Keep it in your pocket. Touch it if you feel yourself spiraling. And remind yourself this isn’t about the crowd. It’s about her. And about you finally saying what matters.”
I reflect on that, nodding slowly. The tightness in my chest hasn’t disappeared, but the pressure has shifted. There’s still fear. But underneath that there’s something steadier. Something like resolve.
“And remember,” she says, “you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be honest. Vulnerability is not a performance it’s a practice.”
The night before the event, I’m pacing around the outdoor rink more anxious than I’ve ever been to play a hockey game. This is so much bigger than just a game, though.
JJ’s up on a ladder, zip-tying a disco ball to the faded scoreboard. The decorations are a little chaotic. A little messy. Which is probably why it feels exactly right.
“Are we sure this won’t fall and concuss someone mid-scrimmage?” I ask.
JJ pauses, considers. “Define sure.”
Not helpful.
Dev’s setting up lights around the perimeter. Cece is sitting on an overturned milk crate, sketching a last poster that says Skate for Something in a colorful graffiti art style.
Everything is in motion. The ice is smooth. The signage is posted. The dinky old community rink has been cleaned and repaired to give it a second life.
All that’s left is Luna.
I scroll through my texts, then lock the screen before I can do anything stupid. I promised not to reach out. This has to come from the people she trusts.
A buzz hits my wrist. It’s a group chat alert from Operation Soft Launch 2.0, which Maisie created against my will.
Maisie: We’ve got her.
Beth: Took some guilt-tripping, light manipulation, and Celeste giving pitiful eyes, but she’s coming.
Maisie: As a thank you, I’ll require a one percent finder’s fee from your Whitaker family trust fund.
I let out a half-laugh, half-sigh and stare at the rink. The sun’s dropping low, casting gold across the boards, lighting up the rough edges like they’re meant to be there. Maybe the rough edges are the ones that help you learn. I exhale and rub the back of my neck.
“This isn’t about winning her back,” I say out loud, mostly to myself. As if I can convince myself it’s the truth.
Cece, still sketching, doesn’t even look up. “Sure you’re not.”
“Seriously. I just need her to know.”
Because yeah, this isn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. It’s not even about forgiveness.
It’s about proving to her, to the team, to myself that I can show up when it counts.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough to start building something real again.
Chapter 37
Center Ice
Luna
Ishould’veknownsomethingwas up when Maisie told me she’d signed us up for a volunteer shift at Paws. She’s many things. Chaotic, brilliant, and always running late. But a planner is not one of those things. She lets her day sweep her from one adventure to the next. I’m the planner. The one who needs every aspect of my week scheduled in advance. Usually.
“We just need to swing by the rink,” she says as we turn off the main road heading in the opposite direction of Paws. “I forgot my bag in the office, and Coach left me a strongly worded voicemail to come pick it up.”
