Not to the booze. Not even to the past.
But to the version of herself she finally felt safe being.
I sat there for the rest of the game with my heart pounding and my throat dry, barely tracking the puck or noticing the score. My eyes kept drifting back to where I’d seen her sitting, even though the camera had moved on.
I told myself a hundred different reasons to stay in my seat.
She didn’t need me.
It wasn’t my place.
They looked happy.
None of it stuck.
I needed to see her.
I needed her to sign the paperwork for Arthur.
That was the reason I gave myself, over and over, sitting there in the stands while the game dragged on in front of me. That was the only reason I was even here. Not for the way she smiled.
I needed her signature. Her presence. Her damn consent to move anything forward with the estate.
She was sitting right fucking there. In the same damn building.
It was fate. Some cosmic shove. It wasn’t personal. It was about Arthur.
That’s what I kept repeating. Not love. Not grief. Not unfinished history.
I needed her for one thing. And this was my chance.
I stayed tucked up high, letting the crowd move around me, letting the noise wash over the parts of me that still ached when I thought about her. I watched Dirks skate, watched the clock tick down, and tried to ignore how badly my hands were shaking.
When the buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted, I finally stood. I pulled my hood up. And put my head down.
I moved with the rest of the fans, letting the wave carry me toward the lower levels where the tunnel was.
Security didn’t stop me. I still had enough pull to lie and say I was coming to see old teammates. My boots echoed down the corridor as I slipped into the quieter part of the arena, where the fluorescent lights buzzed and the concrete felt colder.
This was for closure.
This was necessary.
By the time I reached the hallway near the locker rooms, everything in me was tense and burning. My hands were clenched into fists in my pockets. My jaw locked tight.
The hallway was empty. I scanned the corners. Pushed open the side door. There was nothing.
They were gone.
“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath, the word cutting out of me like a blade. “I missed them.”
I was about to give up. The hallway was empty. The arena had quieted to nothing but?—
A strangled moan.
I stopped dead and turned my head only to hear it again.
My pulse spiked. That wasn’t nothing. That washer. That was a sound I knew down to my marrow.
