Bright.
Public.
And I already know she’ll be there.
Working.
Doing what she’s always done best.
I’ll be on the ice. Wearing the jersey. Leading the line.
And for the first time in days, I know I’ll have to face her.
Chapter twenty-one
Sloane
“Fan Appreciation Night, baby!”
The voice comes from somewhere above me, bright and booming through the speakers as I thread my way along the concourse with a lanyard digging into my neck and my phone glued to my palm.
I don’t look up. I don’t have time.
“Stick around after the final horn,” the announcer continues, milking every syllable like he gets paid by the exclamation point, “because we’ve got free T-shirts, giveaways all night, and a very special performance from Nashville’s own Raina…”
I wince automatically at the way he hits her name like a drum.
“... who will be performing between the second and third periods, and again after the game. You heard me right. Don’t leave early. You’ll regret it.”
I pass the merch stand, the smell of buttery popcorn and fried something punching me in the face, and I mouth the words along with him because I’ve heard this script twelve times today.
Between second and third.
Encore after.
Free shirts.
Keep your eyes on the big screen.
If this goes well, it’s huge for Raina.
If it goes badly, it’s huge for Raina.
That’s the problem with “huge.”
A security guard at the tunnel entrance lifts the rope for me without being asked. “Ms. Carter?”
“Hi, yes.” I flash my badge like it’s a weapon.
He smiles. “Busy night.”
“You have no idea.”
He probably does. It’s an arena. Everyone has an idea.
I step into the belly of the building and the sound shifts instantly. The crowd noise becomes a muffled roar behind concrete. The air smells like ice and rubber and expensive cologne.
My phone vibrates.
