“Yes,” I say. “I did.”
Hockey stops being background noise.
Late in the second period, the game tightens. Tied score. Tempers flare.
A younger player on Colby’s line makes a mistake, causing a turnover which was almost costly.
I brace for yelling.
It never comes.
Colby skates to him. Says something I can’t hear. Claps his glove once against the kid’s shoulder.
The player nods. Breathes. Resets.
The next shift is clean.
“That,” I say quietly, “is leadership.”
Annabelle’s expression softens. “Yeah.”
The crowd feeds off it. Every time Colby touches the puck, there’s a hum. Not excitement exactly.
Trust.
I don’t miss the way the team protects him. How they close ranks when things get chippy. How the bench watches him like he’s the axis everything turns on.
This is not the hockey player who broke my heart.
I don’t say that out loud.
Third period.
I catch myself leaning forward.
Holding my breath.
When Colby makes a crucial play in the final minutes, it’s fast and brutal, and beautiful all at once. He anticipates the pass before it happens, cuts into the lane, and snaps the puck past the goalie before the crowd can even rise to its feet. The red light flashes. The arena erupts.
I’m on my feet before I realize it.
Cheering. Clapping. Letting the noise take me with it.
And then it hits me...
I didn’t decide to do that.
It just happened.
Paige whoops and throws her arms around my shoulders. Nancy high-fives her over my head like this is their team now.
“Yes!” Paige laughs. “Okay, I get it.”
“That pass,” Mia says, leaning forward, eyes bright. “Bryce put that right where it needed to be and Colby capitalized on it.”
Annabelle nods. “Perfect timing. He drew the defense just enough to open the lane.”
I sink back into my seat, heart still racing, and realize I’m smiling too.
