I watch her go.
In the locker room, Silas spots the cup immediately. "What the fuck is that?"
"Creatine."
He grabs it, sniffs, and sips. He reads the label. "She made you a custom pre-workout?"
"Apparently."
Theo says nothing. He stares at the cup like he's running something through his head at high speed.
I pull my jersey on and don't offer anything else.
On the ice, I find my stride quickly, the familiar ease of skates on a clean surface. When I glance up at the stands, she's there in the third row with her black raincoat folded beside her.
She raises her hand when she sees me.
I don't wave back. I hold her gaze until her hand lowers slowly to her lap. Then I look away and push off, picking up speed.
Around me, a few of the guys are already glancing up toward the stands, wondering.
She brought me a drink she mixed herself. She called instead of texting. She showed up ten minutes early, wearing red rubber boots, in the rain.
She wasn't expecting any of this to be hard.
A slow smile crosses my face before I can stop it.
This is going to be a problem.
Chapter 10: Adela
Therinkiscolderthan I expected.
I pull my coat tighter and climb to the third row. Not too close — that would be presumptuous. Not too far — I need to see, to observe, to learn something from being here.
Cody never invited me to practice. Not once. I only went to games when my schedule allowed, when he remembered to tell me they were playing. Sitting in these bleachers feels like trespassing on a version of his life he never showed me.
I try to shake it off and watch.
The guys move through drills with focused intensity — sticks cracking, skates hissing, voices calling out plays I don't understand. I find Beckett by his number. He moves withaggressive confidence, body-checking a player into the boards hard enough that I flinch.
Is any of this sincere? I study them, looking for something. But they're just guys, playing hockey, and being a team.
The longer I watch, the less certain I feel about why I came.
When practice ends, I wait in the hallway outside the locker rooms. The door swings open, and Beckett emerges with a few others — tall, flushed, still carrying the energy of the ice. He gestures toward me.
"This is Adela."
Brief, assessing glances. No introductions. They nod and move past like I'm part of the wall.
Then it’s just me and Beckett left in the hallway.
"Don't you have class?" he asks.
"Yeah." I shift my weight. "But I figured I would thank you for…” I catch the look in his eyes and shake it off. “Sorry,” I say, feeling awkward. He waits patiently. “Cody never invited me here before."
"I know."
