I’m grinning so hard that my face hurts as I skate back to the bench. I scan the stands until I find her, on her feet and cheering. Jamie’s beside her with his arm slung casually over her shoulders. Our eyes meet across the arena, and she blows me a kiss that no one else would notice.
I’m on top of the fucking world.
In the second period, I assist on a goal from Wyatt. It’s one of the most beautiful cross-ice setups that he easily buries. The kid is beaming when he glides past me. I tap his helmet because I remember what it felt like to score like that, back when everything was new, and the league still felt like a miracle.
I only need two points now. One away from tying the record. Another one, and I beat it.
Damien slams me into the boards after a whistle, and I laugh in his face because nothing can touch me tonight.
“That all you got? Small-dick energy.”
“Fuck you, Cross.”
“Maybe later. But you’re not my type. Not sure you could get me off,” I throw his way so he knows that Kendall talked to me. If he wants to threaten my girlfriend, fuck him. No secret is safe.
His face goes red, and I skate away, still laughing.
Then the TV time-out comes. The Jumbotron switches from replays to crowd shots, and it’s followed by the Kiss Cam. A cheesy heart-shaped frame appears around random couples, and everyone cheers while strangers make out for the camera. An older couple pecks sweetly, and the crowd awes. Two guys in matching jerseys kiss, and the arena goes wild. A woman grabs her boyfriend’s face and really goes for it, tongue and all.
And then the camera finds Jameson and Kendall. At the top, it saysRe-Kendall-ed…
The heart frame surrounds them, and the crowd starts chanting, “KISS! KISS! KISS!” because everyone knows who they are.
Coach Hart’s daughter and her ex-fiancé—how romantic. The whole arena loves a good love story.
“Don’t do it,” I whisper, watching.
Jamie turns to look at her. She’s smiling that polite, public smile I’ve seen her give reporters and strangers, and he says something I can’t hear. She laughs and shakes her head, and the crowd chants louder, stomping their feet, demanding a kiss. He whispers something in her ear before cupping her face, going for it.
What happens is not lips pressed together for half a second to satisfy the camera.
His fingers slide into her hair, tilting her head back, and his mouth opens against hers. I can see the moment their tongues meet because her demeanor changes, softening into him. Her hands grip his shoulders like she needs something to hold on to. She arches into the kiss like she’s starving for it, like she’s done this a thousand times before, like her body remembers exactly how to fit against his. His thumb strokes along her cheekbone while he kisses her deeper, and she lets him, melting into his chest. From here, it looks like she’s lost herself.
The kiss goes on and on. Three seconds. Five. Seven. The crowd is cheering so loud that the boards vibrate. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and I can’t breathe or move. I’m frozen on the bench with my water bottle halfway to my mouth, watching my brother’s tongue memorize my girlfriend’s mouth on a fifty-foot screen while twenty thousand people celebrate.
When they break apart, they stare at each other.
Something passes between them, and it looks private. They’re both breathing hard, eyes locked, and then Jamie smiles at her. It’s real, the way he used to smile at her. And she grins back, her lips swollen, looking like a woman who remembers what she’s been missing.
The camera cuts away to another couple, and my teammates are talking beside me, but I can’t hear them over the blood rushing in my ears.
“Your brother’s a lucky guy,” Hunter says, elbowing me. “She’s hot as fuck.”
I don’t respond. I stare at the ice and try to breathe through the anger spreading through my chest.
“Look like a couple; don’t act like one.”
That’s what we agreed to. Even Jamie agreed.
That looked like two people who replayed two years of history in a single kiss.
The whistle blows, and I have to go back on the ice. My legs feel like they belong to someone else as I skate to the face-off circle.
Damien finds me thirty seconds later, skating too close, his breath hot through his cage.
“Holy shit.” He’s grinning so wide that I can see it through the metal. “And all this time, I thought Kendall was yours. Shit, Patty. Are you two sharing her?”
I focus on the puck and the play.
