This crowd didn’t scare me. Not anymore.
This is what he needs me to do, I told myself again. Show up. Stand tall. Be unbreakable.
So I did. I fixed my eyes forward, jaw set, back straight. Whatever storm was coming next—we’d face it. Together.
The puck dropped, and the arena exploded into chaos. A wall of sound slammed into me from every direction—horns, chants, boots stomping against metal risers. I could feel it in my bones. My heart kicked up to match the tempo on the ice, and suddenly I was breathless, teetering between terror and exhilaration.
I leaned forward in my seat, fingers white-knuckled on the edge of my chair. The crowd’s energy surged like electricity, hot and manic, threading under my skin. I didn’t belong here. But Nick did. And I was here for him.
He flew onto the ice like a man possessed—shoulders squared, jaw tight, every inch of him coiled for war. The moment his stick touched the puck, the world narrowed to just him. Everything else fell away.
He was beautiful like this—focused, ruthless, fluid. My breath caught watching him weave through traffic like the other players were just pylons. But then?—
Crack.
Jake barreled into him with a brutal shoulder hit, knocking Nick sideways with so much force my entire body flinched. Gasps scattered through the section, but the refs didn’t move. Didn’t call it.
“Come on,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
As if that wasn’t enough, another player slashed at Nick’s stick, yanking it clean from his hands. Still no whistle. Still nothing.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to vault over the glass and make the call myself.
“Stay focused,” I whispered instead, like if I said it enough, it would be true—for both of us.
Gary’s team played dirty, and they knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn’t just a game. This was punishment. This was intimidation. And Nick was the target.
But he got back up.
Because that was what he did.
He grabbed a pass without hesitation and surged forward, cutting through the ice like he was built from blades. The crowd roared around me, but I barely registered it. My focus was locked on him, on the lines of his body, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the goal like it was a promise he’d made to himself.
“Come on!” I shouted, louder than I meant to, but no one heard me in the din. Or maybe they did. I didn’t care.
Nick dipped around one defender. Then another. My pulse stuttered, hope and fear tangling in my throat.
He wound up and fired.
The puck flew like a bullet, slipping past the goalie and smashing into the back of the net with a satisfying thunk.
GOAL.
The place exploded.
Cheers, screams, stomping—thunder that shook the seats. I surged to my feet, screaming so loud it scraped my throat raw. “YES! That’s it!” I shouted, not even trying to blend in.
He scored on them. Right in their house. And I was going to celebrate it.
And then?—
SPLASH.
Something cold and sticky exploded across my face and chest. I blinked, stunned, as cola dripped down my cheeks and soaked into Nick’s jersey on my body. The entire row behind me erupted into laughter.
A soda.
Someone had thrown a full soda at me.
