The doors shut behind him, leaving me to process…a lot of things.
My phone is still in my hand.
I open it. Pull up Chloe’s contact.
My thumb hovers over the Call button.
Then I put the phone away.
I’m not texting her.
I’m not calling her.
I’m going to play the best game of my life.
And then I’m going to find her.
The game goes sideways in the first period.
Two penalties. One offside. Coach Jacobsen benches me halfway through.
I sit there, watching through the plexiglass, replaying every conversation with my dad. Every word about dreams and control and being human.
Stop protecting her from yourself. Stop performing.
The problem is, I don’t know who I am when I’m not performing.
Second period starts. Coach puts me back in.
“Kane,” he says. “Get your head in the game or get off my ice.”
I skate out. Take my position.
But my head isn’t in the game.
It’s thinking about Chloe. About armor coming off. About dragons and vulnerability and the fact that she posted that this morning—the day our contract ends.
Sometimes the armor has to come off.
Is she thinking about me too?
Stop protecting her from yourself.
The puck drops.
Chicago charges down the ice. Their left wing breaks free, heading straight for our goal.
I’m supposed to block him. It’s my job. My position.
Instead, I see Chloe’s face. The way she looked at me before everything fell apart.
I love you. Not Candy Kane. You—Brody.
The crowd noise fades. The ice disappears. There’s just that moment. That truth.
She loves me. The real me. The messy, imperfect, terrified-of-failing me.
And I pushed her away because I thought I was protecting her.
