"You two were conspiring."
"That's what friends do. Now sit. The game's about to start."
Rachel settled into her seat, clutching the popcorn like a lifeline, her eyes scanning the ice where players were warming up. She could pick out Cole immediately, number 19, moving with the confidence of someone who'd played professionally. Jamie was easy to spot too, number 7, already chirping at someone on the other team.
And then she saw Mac.
Number 23. Sandy blonde hair just visible under his helmet. Moving across the ice with a grace that shouldn't be possible for someone his size.
Rachel's heart backflipped. Stupid heart.
She'd never seen him play. She'd avoided it deliberately, not wanting to watch him do the thing that Brad had loved more than her. But now, watching Mac glide across the ice, stick handling the puck with casual confidence, she understood something she hadn't before.
This wasn't just a job for him. This was joy. Pure, uncomplicated joy.
"He's good, isn't he?" Sophie said quietly beside her.
"I wouldn't know. I don't really understand hockey."
"Rachel." Sophie's words came quiet. "You don't have to pretend with me."
Rachel looked down at her hands. "I've never watched the Eagles play…him play. Mac."
"Really? Never came to a game this past year?"
"I couldn't. It reminded me too much of—" She stopped, not wanting to say Brad's name.
"But you're here now," Sophie pointed out.
The buzzer sounded, and the game began.
Rachel had been to dozens of hockey games in her life, all with Brad. Every single time, he'd picked out her outfit, always something sexy that showed she was the girlfriend of a star player, and asked her to"put a bit more makeup on, babe"before they left.
Once, she'd been sick with a terrible cold, and he'd insisted she come anyway because the scouts would be there and "it wouldn't look good" if his girlfriend wasn't there supporting him. He'd brought her cough drops and squeezed her hand, saying he'd make it up to her later, that he just needed her there for this one important game. She'd spent most of those games reading secretly in her lap, because Brad had made it clear her presence was more about appearances than actual interest in the sport.
But this was different.
This was Mac's world, and Rachel found herself leaning forward, actually paying attention, trying to understand the rules and the strategy and why people were cheering.
Mac was everywhere. Rachel couldn't stop tracking him, number 23, moving faster than seemed possible, anticipating plays before they happened, setting up passes that led to goals.
"He's having a really good game," Sophie murmured during a break in play. "Like, unusually good. Ellie texted me that Mac's been off all week at practice, distracted and sloppy. But tonight he's playing like he's possessed."
Guilt twisted in her stomach. He'd been distracted because of her.
The game continued, and Rachel watched Mac score a goal: a beautiful, impossible shot from an angle that shouldn't have worked but did. The arena erupted, and Rachel found herself on her feet with everyone else.
Mac's teammates mobbed him, celebration everywhere, but Rachel saw the moment Mac skated back to center ice. Saw the way his shoulders were set. The way he didn't celebrate, just returned to position, ready for the next play.
Like he was trying to outrun something.
Or someone.
"Rachel," Sophie said carefully, "are you okay?"
"I don't know." Rachel sat down slowly, her hands shaking slightly. "I think I made a mistake."
"What do you mean?"
