NAOMI
The box suite in the Whalers arena is bedlam. Delightful, sticky-fingered, sugar-high bedlam.
And honestly? Naomi is kind of thriving.
After the hospital visit yesterday, Naomi and Mila spent the morning transforming the suite at the arena into the Whalers Wish Box. Every banner is straight. Every gift bag is loaded with goodies and perfectly arranged.
Naomi had expected today’s game to be a logistical nightmare, but the truth is…she’s having fun. Actual fun. Her face hurts from smiling and her phone is buzzing with compliments instead of corrections. For once, she doesn’t feel like Mila’s tagalong or Richard’s afterthought.
She crouches—carefully, because platform heels and carpet are not friends—and helps a little girl adjust her sparkly headband before ushering her toward a giant fuzzy whale doing an awkward jig in the corner. That’s Finn. The Whalers mascot. Blue fur, oversized eyes, and a tail that’s currently being yanked with squealing delight by a toddler who has zero fear and a face painted like a butterfly.
“Gentle tail grabs, please,” she calls out cheerfully.
“Finn’s gonna do a backflip!” one boy declares with full conviction.
Finn does not do a backflip. He trips and recovers with jazz hands. The room goes wild anyway.
Before Naomi can wrangle a few more kids for the next photo op, Mila claps her hands. “Alright team, who is ready to go see the players?”
The kids erupt. Like, full-body levitation. They’re vibrating with excitement. Even the shy ones who clung to their parents an hour ago are now bouncing on their toes or wiggling in their wheelchairs, gripping foam fingers and the VIP passes on lanyards Naomi printed for them earlier.
They head out as a swarm—parents, nursing staff, volunteers, and kiddos trailing behind Mila like ducklings. Naomi takes up the rear, emergency pack of wet wipes clutched in her hands and platform heels clicking with every step down the corridor to the elevator that will take them to ice level.
She wore her highest heels she brought to Hartford for tonight’s event. Gave herself a pep talk in the mirror in her hotel room. No one will look down their noses and make her feel small. Not even a certain giant goalie with a shitty attitude and a staring problem can knock her down tonight.
The kids are buzzing. They pass through the maze of the arena, and Naomi feels the shift in the air—game night energy. Crisp, cold, sharp as a skate blade.
The players filter into the tunnel one by one in full gear, navy and green jerseys, their skates click-clacking on the rubber matting.
Jesse greets them first, arms wide. Carter follows, voice booming as he offers enthusiastic fist bumps to the kids. Pavel crouches down and lets the toddler from earlier try on his helmet, and Naomi’s ovaries make a formal complaint.
Then, as if the universe has decided she’s having too much fun, it sends in the final boss.
She clocks Tall’s arrival—hard not to, really, when he’s awalking fortress of a man in full goalie gear. His mask is shoved up, revealing the same serious, glowering expression from earlier today. His short, sandy-blond hair is damp with sweat and curling slightly at the edges, jaw locked, neck ink peeking out from the collar of his chest protector.
A kid near her gawks at Tall, wide-eyed. “Is he a robot?”
Tall leans his stick against the wall and bends down—slowly, like he’s calculating the physics of not squashing anyone—and fist bumps the boy with exaggerated care. “Yes,” he says, dead serious.
Naomi snorts before she can stop herself. “Yeah, that tracks.”
He turns his head, mask still propped up, stormy blue eyes meeting hers. He doesn't smile, but a flicker of amusement crosses his face, gone almost before she can catch it.
“Careful,” he says, voice maddeningly low. “From down there, everything probably looks impressive.”
She sputters. She cannot with this man. Physically cannot. Earlier today he ignored her entirely, and now he’s got jokes?
“Oh, so now you’re talking?”
He tilts his head slightly, heavy brows drawing close, blinking at her like she’s the one being weird.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I talk?”
Heat rushes to her face. She checks for nearby little ears before hissing up at him, “Do you have any idea how badly I want to strangle you right now?”
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like he’s privately amused by her impending meltdown. “Doesn’t seem realistic. You’d need…I don’t know, a ladder?”
Her jaw drops, hands flying to her hips in outrage. “I’m just saying, it’s pretty bold pretending you didn’t completely ignore me earlier.”
