Our eyes met. I lifted my stick. Slight. Subtle.I see you too.
Adrian smiled.
Jake slammed into my side, and I had to brace against the boards to keep from eating ice. "Stop making eyes at your boyfriend and get your ass to the locker room!"
Before I followed him, I glanced back one more time. Adrian was still there. Still smiling.
I turned and skated toward the tunnel, letting the noise fade as the win settled into my bones.
The locker room noise was loud enough to rattle the ceiling tiles. Music blasting. Hog still in full gear, grinning like he'd just won the Stanley Cup.
I was unlacing my skates when Coach appeared in the doorway. The room didn't fall silent immediately. It took a second—someone turned down the music, Jake elbowed Evan, and the awareness spread like ripples on water.
Coach scanned the room. His jaw worked like he was chewing something over.
"Heath," he said. "C'mere."
The celebration noise died completely.
Heath looked up from his stall. His face turned pale.
He stood. Walked over. I knew that walk. I'd done that walk.
"Chicago wants you," Coach said. No preamble. "You're going."
Silence. Then, complete commotion. Cheering, yelling, and someone banging their stick against the floor. Hog let out a whoop while Jake launched himself at Evan, who actually smiled—a real one.
Heath froze—shell-shocked. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
I pushed through the chaos. Grabbed Heath's shoulders and made him look at me.
"Hey," I said.
He blinked. Focused. His eyes were wet.
"You're ready," I told him.
His face crumpled. "I don't—"
"You are. You've been ready for weeks."
"But what if I'm not good enough?"
I thought about every time I'd asked myself the same thing. Every moment I'd convinced myself I was only valuable as entertainment.
"Belonging is something you claim," I said. Quieter, just for him. "Not something they give you. You show up. You do the work. You prove it to yourself first."
He grabbed me—fierce, grateful, breathless—and hugged me so hard my ribs protested. His shoulders shook.
I held him. Didn't let go. Didn't tell him to pull it together or make a joke to cut the tension. I held him until the moment settled.
When Heath finally pulled back, his face was blotchy and wet, but he was smiling.
"Thank you," he said, voice rough.
"You earned it. Now go pack your shit. Chicago's not gonna wait."
He laughed.
