My eyes stay locked on the figure behind the glass. He looks…older. Not ancient, not falling apart, just worn in a way I’ve never seen before. His shoulders are tense under his jacket, hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw rigid like he’s holding something in.
As though the last few weeks cut into him just as deep.
A lump forms in my throat so fast it almost chokes me.
I blink hard. I willnotcry on the ice. Not at practice. Not with Blue already primed to chirp me into the grave if he even senses emotion anywhere near my face.
But my legs feel shaky as I peel away from Logan and skate slowly toward the boards.
Coach’s whistle blows in the background, but it’s just noise. Everything else fades to the sound of my own heartbeat slamming in my ears.
I stop right in front of the glass where Dad stands. Hedoesn’t wave or smile. Just meets my eyes with something tight and unreadable.
“Dad?”
His throat works once before he speaks, voice muffled but steady through the glass. “Can we talk,” he says, “when you’re done?”
I swallow, nod once. “‘Kay.”
He nods back stiffly, like he’s afraid any bigger movement might break something fragile between us. Then he steps away from the boards, heading toward the stands.
I turn back toward the ice, and Logan skates up beside me immediately, quiet concern written across his face.
“You want to stop?” he asks.
I take a slow breath. My chest still feels tight, but my legs are steady.
“No,” I say. “If he wants to talk…he’ll still be there when we’re done.”
Logan studies me for half a second longer, then nods. “Okay. If you need me, I’m right here.”
“I know. And I love you for that.”
He smiles, his eyes flicking over my shoulder to my dad, then back to me. “I love you, too.”
When I finally step out ofthe locker room, the hallway is quieter than usual. Most of the team has already headed out.
Logan lingers by the door, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jacket pockets, curls damp, eyes soft and worried. He straightens the second he sees me.
“You sure you don’t want me with you?” he asks, voice low.
I swallow. “I don’t know how this is gonna go.”
“I don’t care,” he replies instantly. “I’ll stand ten feet back, I’ll hide behind a vending machine, I’ll sit in the damn ceiling tiles. Just say the word.”
It makes something warm and painful twist under my ribs.
I reach out, brushing my fingers against his. “If it goes bad…I’m coming straight to you.”
His jaw works, like he’s fighting the urge to pull me in. “Yeah. Good. Do that.”
I nod, exhale shakily, and step out into the rink lobby.
Dad’s there. He looks up the moment he hears my footsteps.
“Todd.”
My name sounds too loud in the quiet space.
