The arena explodes, but he doesn’t celebrate.
He turns, skates back to the bench as if it were inevitable, as if nothing in this building touches him. Like nothing ever touches him at all, like the old Luka that I first met. But I know what’s behind that jersey, past those pads. A side of him that I wish everyone could see, because then they would love him as much as I do.
Love… oh God, I do. I love him, and he’ll never know it. I’ll never get to say it. Even if I did, he’d only think I was trying to manipulate him further.
By the time the final buzzer sounds, I’m on my feet. They won, and I wish I could celebrate with him.
The players begin their slow skate around the ice, and then he looks up.
Not scanning. It's just a casual glance, until his eyes find me by accident. The shift in his demeanor is immediate—unmistakable.
He stops so abruptly that ice sprays from beneath his skates, his body going rigid in a way that makes my stomach drop.
Even from here, I can see his jaw tighten, his grey-blue eyes flaring with annoyance, or anger… or both. He didn't expect to see me, and he isn't happy about it.
Molly inhales sharply beside me.
"Oh God," she murmurs. "You were right."
He doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts one gloved hand and points up towards the exit at the top of the stairs.
It isn’t a question or a request. It’s a demand. My pulse spikes so fast it feels like it might burst.
"Shit," Molly whisper, grabbing my arm. "I’m sorry."
"It’s fine," I say automatically, though it absolutely isn’t. "I need to get this over with."
"I’ll wait in the car," she says.
I nod and then I stand because whatever this is about to become, I have to find out how this ends.
A shiver runs through me as I walk through the cold cement corridor. The noise from the rink echoes off the walls. It’s all distant cheers and music like we’ve stepped outside the world where everything makes sense.
He’s already waiting.
Helmet tucked under his arm. Gloves still on. His skates making him even taller than he already is, towering over me, shoulders squared in a way that tells me he hasn’t cooled down from the game… or from being blindsided when he saw me in the crowd.
He doesn’t move toward me.
"You shouldn’t be here," he says, his voice annoyingly even, almost as if he can’t feel anger or frustration towards me because he’s already completely removed emotionally from this conversation.
I stop a few feet away from him, careful not to close the space without permission. I don’t throw Molly under the bus for 'adultnapping' me and bringing me here against my will. None of this is her fault.
"I didn’t mean to blindside you. I wasn’t going to bother you. I just wanted to see you before I left," I say quietly.
"The game is televised. Next time, just watch from home like everyone else."
I hold back the tears trying to form. It’ll only make it worse.
He glances away, as if he knows I’m trying to hold them back and he can’t stand to witness it.
"I’m sorry, Luka. For how this all happened."
"I know you say you're sorry. I got the texts," he says, as if my texts were an inconvenience to read.
"You didn’t write back."
"That should have told you something."
