“He did it, Mom. He scored,” Aiden’s voice raises an octave above the level of the crowd noise.
We sit back down, and I notice Eli is still on the ice. He’d usually head to the bench for a breather, letting the next line take the face off. But he skates in front of us on the ice, circling twice more than necessary. Each time he looks up. I can barely make out his face, but he doesn’t seem to smile.
Is he not happy about something?
During the 1st intermission, the teams have gone into their locker rooms, and I figure out why Eli wasn’t happy when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Eli: You’d look even better up there in my jersey.
He’d noticed.
My stomach flips. I type something back, erase it, type again. I just don’t know what to say about—us—yet.
Stella: And you looked great during warmups.
Eli: What’s a guy gotta do to get you to wear his jersey?
I need to send him something back, anything.
Stella: Aiden’s thrilled to watch you play. Good luck next period.
“I’m such a coward,” I mutter under my breath, tucking my phone in my pocket. But after everything Jerrod did—the cheating, the excuses, the slow withdrawal—ending in divorce, I learned the hard way that I’m allowed to be cautious, even when something good shows up again.
The second period starts, a blur of motion and noise. I’m stuck in my head about Eli and me, about the past, the locker room, about a date he wants to take me on—about him showing up in my life so unexpectedly and clearly wanting more with me.
A few minutes remain in the period when a woman, a cameraman, and Aspen, the team mascot, filter into the box. The children lose their minds at the grinning aspen tree with oversized branches for arms.
“Who wants their photo taken with Aspen? Line up here,” the woman announces.
Everyone scrambles to get a place in line, Aiden toward the end, laughing so hard his cheeks pink. When it’s his turn, Aspen picks him up, holding him like he’s sitting on the tree branch.
“Smile, Aiden,” I call. The photographer takes several photos.
The woman hands me a card where we can order photos. She has a friendly gaze with a knowing grin. “You must be Stella.”
I stiffen. “Yes?”
“I’m Michelle,” she says. “My brother is Tyler. He and Eli are roommates here and have been friends since they both arrived on the team the same year.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Nice to meet you.”
She studies me with a tilted head, open curiosity, not unkind. “Eli talks nonstop about you and your son.”
My heart stutters. “Does he?”
“You two met in college, right?” she asks. “What was he like back then?”
I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “About as intense as he is now,” I chuckle. “But a really good guy.”
Michelle nods, agreeing. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I don’t think his ex ever realized what she was missing. Shame what she did to him.”
“What do you mean?”
Her brows lift. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No.” Come to think of it, we’ve mainly talked about my ex, but not his.
Michelle sighs. “She was so demanding. Loved the lifestyle of being a hockey wife more than the marriage itself. When he had enough and divorced her, she fought hard for an alimony settlement that cost Eli a lot of money.” She shrugs. “He could’ve fought it more. Everyone says that. But he just wanted it over and her out of his life once and for all.”
