I get there first, shield the puck with my body, and wait for support. Lenyx swings low. A D-man pinches. I make the smart play, cycling the puck back instead of forcing something stupid.
The play stays alive.
When I finally get off the ice, my pulse is high but controlled. My muscles feel worked, not wrecked. I grab my water bottle and take a long pull, chest rising and falling steadily.
Knight skates past and squints at me. “I hate to say this, but whatever Minerva’s feeding you? It’s working.”
I laugh, but there’s something snug in my chest that isn’t exertion. She’s alone at my house. Probably cooking right now. Labeling things. Making sure I’m taken care of in ways I didn’t know I was missing.
For the first time in a long time, my body feels reliable. Strong. Ready.
And it’s impossible not to connect that feeling to the woman who quietly stepped into my life and decided I was worth optimizing.
Worth caring for.
The thought hits harder than any check.
I’m not sure what scares me more—that she’s doing it… or that I want her to.
Chapter Five
Minerva
“Don’t forget about the charity outreach thing,” Tristan says on his way through the living room.
I look up from my tablet. “The what?”
“The kiddie event on the North Vegas Rink. Viktor and his Special Olympics sponsor arranged it.”
“And… I’m going to this?” I have zero memory of agreeing to leave the house and spend time with strangers in an unmonitored capacity. That seems out of character for me, frankly. Events like this aren’t for people like me… unless Tristan decides they are, which somehow makes it harder to say no.
He leans over the back of the couch. “I sent you an invite in the calendar.” Kepler pops up from the cushions to sniff his hands, and Tristan tickles his chin in the exact way that he likes. Kepler chirps his approval and headbutts Tristan’s fingers. My stupid chest warms at how easily they coexist. Kepler never warms up to people that fast. I definitely don’t.
“Oh.” I reach for my phone, already knowing what happened. Tristan added the event to the calendar, and I accepted because I’m in charge ofhiscalendar. I agreed that he should go, not that I would gowithhim. The idea that someone might expect me beside them on purpose… that’s new.
Does it make sense to go? I can see how I might be useful there even though I tend to be easily overwhelmed by social situations. I almost ask if I have to, but I don’t want Tristan to think I’m ungrateful. I am, truly. He’s been great to work for, and when my first payday hit my bank account, I almost weptin relief. He could have easily argued that he only needs to pay me minimum wage. I live in his house, I eat his food, and he drives me anywhere I need to go—not that I go out often. If he wanted to take advantage of that and underpay me for the work, I wouldn’t have much leverage to argue with him.
But he didn’t. He’s paying me well.Reallywell, when you take into account that I’m learning everything as I go.
“I forgot about it, but I can get ready if you give me ten minutes. What kind of clothes should I wear?”
“Whatever’s comfortable.” Tristan indicates his own Venom jersey and loose workout pants. “It’s going to be a low-key kind of day.”
* * *
The event is not low-key.
Dozens of kids in oversized jerseys are running around like chaos goblins. There are tables with gear donations, volunteers with clipboards, and a DJ who’s far too excited about dropping it low. Everyone is being too loud, and since we’re in a rink, the sounds echo and blur, making it impossible to think, much less hold a coherent conversation. I wish Tristan were closer—even though I don’t know what he’d do. Needing people has never gone well for me.
I stand off to one side in my favorite pair of beat-up sneakers, wearing a Venom hoodie Tristan fished out from the back seat of his car. I could fit three of me in here. It smells like him.
I don’t not like it.
The fabric hangs off me like I’m borrowing space I’m not sure I’m allowed to take. A rebellious part of me wonders how it would feel if he asked me to keep it.
While I hide behind the unused racks of folding chairs, Tristan wanders around the rink. He signs stuff, ruffles kids’hair, and jokes around like the pro he is. I melt a bit when I see him laughing with a child who’s missing his two front teeth. Kindness looks good on him. Dangerous, even. It makes me imagine things I have no business imagining. My dad barely spent any time with us when we were growing up, and Luca… Luca doesn’t like anything he can’t control.
The mere memory of Luca makes me hug myself. Not that anyone can see my flat figure under this enormous sweatshirt, anyway, but Luca’s comments about what I don’t have in the T & A department still resonate through me and make me feel lesser, immature, and ugly.
