"That's more like it," Mara called. "Run it again. Faster this time."
The hours blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and effort. Lou's muscles burned, her lungs ached, her equipment grew heavy with sweat. But every time her legs threatened to give out, every time her lungs screamed for mercy, a glance to the sideline steadied her—Camille leaning forward in her seat, her blue eyes bright, her smile a beacon in the dim arena.
They ran line drills and breakout patterns and defensive zones until the movements became automatic. They scrimmaged against each other in rotating lineups, Lou guiding the defensive unit while Rowan led the offense in Camille's absence. The ice grew rutted with their effort, the boards shaking with every impact, the arena filling with the sounds of a team fighting for survival.
Finally, Mara blew her whistle. "That's enough for today. Good work, everyone. We'll pick this up tomorrow—same time, same intensity."
Lou skated to the bench on legs that barely supported her weight. Her jersey was soaked through, clinging to her skin like a second layer. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, salt stinging her eyes, her body aching in places she'd forgotten existed. The boards welcomed her with a solid thump as she leaned against them, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Butbeneath the exhaustion was something else—a fierce, burning satisfaction that she hadn't felt in weeks. The particular joy of having given everything and found more to give.
Camille was waiting at the bench, her crutches abandoned against the boards, her smile wide enough to light up the entire arena.
"You looked good on the ice." Camille's voice was soft, meant just for Lou. "You still have it."
Lou pulled off her helmet and wiped the sweat from her face, grinning despite her exhaustion. "I thought I'd forgotten how to do this. How to push through the pain, how to lead from the front instead of hiding in the back."
"You didn't forget." Camille reached out and squeezed Lou's gloved hand. "You just needed someone to remind you."
The team filtered off the ice around them, players heading for the locker room and showers and the particular relief of training done well. Frankie paused long enough to clap Lou on the shoulder, her scarred face creased with approval. Rowan offered a shy smile before skating away, already reviewing the drills in her mind.
"One week," Lou said, looking at Camille. "One week until we face the Wildcats. One week until we find out if any of this was enough."
"It's enough." Camille's certainty was unwavering. "You're enough. This team is enough. And when we hit that ice, the Wildcats aren't going to know what hit them."
Lou laughed—a real laugh, the kind that had been absent from her life since she'd sent that cowardly text message and retreated into isolation. "You sound pretty confident for someone who can't even play."
"I can still intimidate them from the sideline." Camille'seyes sparkled with mischief. "And I plan to be the loudest cheerleader in the arena."
"That's not very dignified for a professional athlete."
"Dignity is overrated." Camille pulled Lou closer, mindless of the sweat and the equipment and the few remaining teammates still gathering their gear. "I'd rather be undignified and in love than dignified and miserable."
The words landed in Lou's chest and stayed there, warm and solid as a heartbeat. She was loved. She was wanted. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, she was exactly where she belonged.
"Come on," Lou said, nodding toward the locker room. "I need a shower, you have your little skate, and then I want to spend the rest of the evening with you."
Camille gathered her crutches and followed Lou off the ice, her injured leg moving carefully but steadily. The walk to the locker room was slow, their bodies close enough to share warmth, their voices low enough that nobody else could hear.
"Did you mean what you said?" Camille asked. "About being back not because you're fixed, but because you're showing up anyway?"
Lou considered the question. "Yeah. I did. I'm not okay yet—not completely. But I'm learning that okay isn't a destination. It's something you work toward, every day, one step at a time."
"That's pretty wise for someone who spent the last week eating cold pizza and watching reality television."
"I never said I handled my crisis well." Lou shoulder-checked Camille gently. "But I'm handling it better now. And I'm going to keep handling it better. Because that's what you do when you love someone—you try to be the best versionof yourself. Not for them. For yourself. Because they deserve to be with someone who's actually trying."
Camille stopped walking, her hand catching Lou's arm. When Lou turned, Camille was looking at her with an expression that was equal parts tender and fierce.
"I love you," Camille said. "I know I've said it before, but I need you to hear it again. I love you, Lou Calder. All of you—the brave parts and the scared parts and the parts that eat cold pizza for three days straight."
Lou pulled Camille into her arms, equipment and crutches and all, and held her tight. The arena around them faded—the ice, the boards, the fluorescent lights and the smell of sports and sweat—until there was nothing left but this. Two people, holding each other, choosing each other, fighting for a future together.
"I love you too," Lou whispered against Camille's hair. "And we're going to win this thing. All of it. The game, the qualification, whatever comes next. We're going to win it together."
Outside the arena, the Phoenix Ridge sun was beginning its descent toward the mountains, painting the sky in stripes of orange and pink. A new week was starting. A final challenge was waiting. And for the first time in longer than Lou could remember, she was ready to face it.
Not alone. Never alone again.
24
