Third period.
Before we take the ice, Coach Jacobsen stops me.
“Whatever’s going on with you,” he says, “figure it out. Now. I need you present.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Good.” He starts to turn away, then stops. “Also—section 104. Blue glitter jersey. Foam ox horns. That your girl?”
Heat floods my face. “How did you?—”
“I’m a coach. I see everything.” He smiles. Barely, but it’s there. “Nice taste. Now go play hockey.”
We take the ice for the third period.
I scan the stands as I skate to position.
Section 104.
And there she is.
Chloe Dawson. Wearing a bedazzled Blue Ox jersey that catches the arena lights like a disco ball. Foam ox horns on her head. Holding a giant sign that says GO BIG 7 in glitter letters.
She’s not subtle.
She’s perfect.
Our eyes meet across the ice.
She grins.
Waves the sign.
And then she blows me a kiss.
Actually blows me a kiss. In front of eighteen thousand people.
My chest is so tight I can barely breathe.
Derek skates past me, heading for the tunnel. Sees where I’m looking. Sees Chloe in her glittery jersey and ridiculous horns.
He grins. Shakes his head. “Eyes on the puck, Candy.”
I play like I’ve never played before.
Not trying to prove anything. Not performing. Not being perfect.
Just being.
Every blocked shot. Every defensive play. Every split-second decision.
I’m not thinking. I’m just moving. Trusting my body. Trusting my training. Trusting that this—hockey, the ice, the game—is what I was made for.
And knowing that she’s watching.
That she came. That she’s here. That she’s wearing the ridiculous getup and waving a sign like this is game seven.
Cheering for me.
