With four minutes left, a man Ethan called “Bonesy,” but whose jersey had the name Bonnelli on its back, fired a shot that the Cleveland goalie kicked out. The rebound bounced to Bell, who snatched it and fired it into the net before the goalie could recover.
I was on my feet again, my voice joining the roar of the crowd.
When the final buzzer sounded, I sagged back into my seat, physically and emotionally wrung out.
“Hell of a game,” Ethan said, stretching his arms over his head.
“And it’s only preseason,” I observed with a huff of disbelief. If things were this intense now, I couldn't imagine what it would be like if the Marauders ever made it to the playoffs.
“Lots of guys trying to prove their mettle,” he said.
Ethan turned to me. “You sticking around?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to meet Taylor in a bit.”
He nodded and pushed to his feet. “Okay, well. Have a good night. I’m gonna head out.”
“Thanks for the company,” I said. “And the hockey lessons.”
“Anytime.” He clapped me on the shoulder, then headed toward the exits.
I stayed in my seat, watching the ice crew repair the surface until the arena was mostly empty. Then I made my way down to the main concourse and asked for directions to the friends-and-family entrance. Several people filtered past while I stood offto the side, hands in my pockets, trying to look like I belonged here.
Players started emerging twenty minutes later, Taylor among the first wave.
He was in a charcoal suit sans tie, carrying a leather duffel bag. His eyes found me immediately across the space. For a moment, we just stared at each other, then he crossed the concourse toward me, his stride casual, unhurried. To anyone watching, we were just two friends meeting up after a game.
“Hey,” he said, stopping a careful three feet away.
“Hey.” I wanted to close that distance, to pull him into my arms, to kiss him the way he deserved after playing like that. The way his teammates were being kissed.
Instead, I said, “You played really well.”
His mouth curved into a small, pleased smile. “Thanks. Did you find your seat okay?”
“Yeah. I sat next to Ethan, so I got to know him a bit better.”
“Oh shit, really? I didn’t know he was coming.”
“He said it was a last-minute thing, but he was good company. Was super patient explaining things when I got lost, which, I'm sad to say, was often."
He chuckled, and we fell into an awkward silence, surrounded by families reuniting, teammates laughing, and kids getting autographs. Everyone else got to celebrate openly. Everyone else got to touch the people they loved.
And here Taylor and I were, maintaining our careful three feet of distance like a chasm we didn’t dare cross.
My phone buzzed in my pocket—probably Michael or David with some crisis that needed immediate attention. There was always something. Always another fire to put out, another strategy to refine, another eighteen-hour day waiting for me to get back to.
“I should probably get going,” I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
Taylor took a step closer and dropped his voice. “Do you have to?”
I studied the way he was holding himself, as if he were bracing for rejection, and felt my resolve begin to crumble. There’d forever be more work to do. What was one night off if it made this man happy?
He glanced around again. “Come home with me, Seb,” he whispered, brushing his knuckles against mine. The touch was so brief that if anyone had been watching, they’d dismiss it as accidental, if they even noticed at all.
My fingers twitched, wanting to reach for him. I curled them into my palm instead.
I had three position documents to review. A press strategy to refine, since Kendra was still fighting us on calling out Merrick’s bullshit.
