And then there was Cole.
He was stretching near the bench, rolling his shoulders, rotating his stick in his hands like he was trying to work electricity out of his muscles. His face was calm, but the kind of calm that told me he was anything but. He hadn’t spoken much since we’d left the hospital. Not closed off—not exactly—but quieter. Focused inward, like something had gotten under his skin and stayed there.
I knew what it was.
Eli.
I’d watched that tiny kid’s eyes go soft and sleepy as Cole held his hand, and now all I could see was the way Cole’s own eyes had gone watery beneath the mask. He wouldn’t talk about it—he’d just buried it so deep I wasn’t sure even he could find it again.
The crowd started filing in, fans waving homemade signs, jerseys everywhere—Dragons blue and silver scattered among the sea of Grizzlies orange. The arena vibrated with anticipation, and even from up here, I could feel the pulse of it.
The commentator continued, “Colorado has clawed their way back from a disastrous last two seasons—the betting scandal, roster shakeups, morale in the basement. But they’ve tightened up these last ten games. And number nineteen, Cole Armstrong? He’s been on fire.”
I felt my face heat stupidly at hearing his name said like that. Like he mattered.
“Chicago, meanwhile,” the second commentator jumped in, “has size, physicality, and home-ice advantage. They’re going to want to grind Colorado down early and often.”
On the ice, Cole skated past the Grizzlies’ bench. One of their defensemen barked something ugly at him. Cole didn’t even blink. He just glided on, effortless, spine straight, shoulders squared in that quiet, terrifying way he had when he refused to let anyone see him bleed.
But I saw the way his jaw tightened.
The way his grip on his stick shifted.
The way he wasn’t as unaffected as he looked.
The lights dimmed abruptly. Spotlights swept the rink. The announcer’s voice rose above the swelling roar of the crowd: “Tonight, it’s win or go home. Chicago Grizzlies versus Colorado Dragons.”
I pressed my hand against the glass, breath fogging the surface.
“Cole,” I whispered to myself, unseen. “You’ve got this.”
The game exploded into motion the second the puck hit the ice. I’d barely gotten my breath back before I realized I couldn’t look away. Warm-up Cole had been impressive.
Game-Cole was something else entirely.
He moved so fast it felt like the ice couldn’t keep up with him—gliding, cutting, snapping around players twice his size like he’d been born with blades for feet. I didn’t know the proper words for anything he was doing. I just knew I could hardly blink without missing something.
The commentators were losing their minds.
“Armstrong is onfiretonight!”
I actually snorted. Of course he was. Dragons. Fire. Hilarious. He’d hate the joke. I was definitely teasing him about it later.
The crowd went wild around me, and before I’d even figured out what was happening, Cole had the puck—thing? disk? I still never remembered—shot down the rink, and the red light behind the net flashed bright.
He scored.
His teammates mobbed him. The fans screamed. I pressed both hands to the glass of the VIP box so hard my palms stung.
He did it again—another goal, this one looking completely impossible, like he just flicked his wrist and the puck obeyed him like a trained animal. The announcers went even louder. The Dragons’ bench yelled. The air crackled.
And I… I felt warm all over. Stupidly proud. Like I had anything to do with it.
Which is probably why I didn’t notice Chicago charging the other way until the horn blasted and their fans erupted—apparently the Grizzlies had scored while I was too busy staring at Cole.
By the third part of the game—period, I reminded myself,period—everyone looked exhausted. Chicago especially. Their team name wasn’t subtle: Grizzlies. Big, heavy, and mean on the ice. They hit hard. They shoved harder. The whole game had turned into pushing and slamming and bodies colliding every few seconds. They’d each scored another goal, and it was 3:2 for us.
Both teams had someone in the penalty box and each was down to four players.
