Cooper skates out a few seconds later, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way toward the net. The crowd picks up when hedoes, but he doesn’t react to it. He goes straight to the crease, tapping each post with his stick before dropping into a stretch.
He starts with one knee bent while the other leg is extended behind him, rocking his hips once before switching sides. He rolls his shoulders slowly, then reaches one arm across his body and holds it there for a beat before doing the same to the other.
When he rolls his right shoulder, there’s the smallest hitch. It’s barely noticeable. He resets like it’s nothing and settles in just as the first shot comes his way.
He drops easily, pads hitting the ice before he’s back up again. Another shot follows, and his glove comes up without hesitation, like he already knew where it was going. He resets, shifting his weight, tapping his stick once before the next one comes.
I find myself leaning forward without even realizing it.
But instead of heading straight back, he circles along the boards. My pulse picks up. He’s not in a rush. Just gliding along the glass, looking out into the stands like he’s taking it all in.
It takes him a second. The arena is crowded now, people packed shoulder to shoulder. His gaze moves row by row.
Then he finds me.
I see it right away. The way his shoulders loosen, the tension in him easing just a little.
Even through his mask, I can see the shift in his expression when he spots me. His eyes catch on the jersey I promised I’d wear, and something in his face changes.
I’m practically drowning in it—the sleeves past my hands, the hem brushing mid-thigh—but I’d wear it every day if it meant seeing that look on his face.
He lifts his hand in a small wave. Warmth spreads through my chest before I can stop it, and I’m already smiling back.
Atlee elbows me hard enough to knock me off balance. “Oh,” she mutters under her breath. “Get a room, will ya?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about me. “Wait—what?”
She gestures subtly toward the ice, then makes a dramatic show of fanning herself. “Careful. You’re about to melt the ice.”
My cheeks burn. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” She grins.
Before I can defend myself and before Cooper can skate away, Atlee reaches down and lifts the sign she’s been hiding between her legs like she’s been waiting for her time to shine.
BRINLEY’S WATCHING. DON’T EMBARASS YOURSELF LIKE THAT MIDDLE SCHOOL HAIRCUT.
I don’t even have time to process it before Cooper does.
He skates closer to the glass, squints at it, and then knocks his helmet against the glass. He yanks one glove off and tosses it to the ice, flipping Atlee off without breaking eye contact.
The people in front of us glance around at first, trying to figure out who he’s flipping off. Then their eyes land on the sign. From there, it’s quick—down to the jersey I’m wearing, then back to me.
I can practically see it click.
“Ohhh,” someone says from a few rows down.
A ripple of laughter spreads, followed by cheers. Heat crawls up my neck as more heads turn our way.
Cooper keeps his finger up a second longer than necessary, which only makes the section louder. Atlee gasps dramatically, clutching the sign to her chest like she’s been personally attacked.
He shakes his head, fighting a smirk, then looks back at me.
And I swear, even from this far away, it looks like he winks at me.
He grabs his glove, pulls it back on, and pushes off like nothing just happened.
I’m still trying to steady my breathing when someone slips into the empty seat beside Atlee. Dark hair pulled back neatly, a simple sweater that looks put together instead of thrown on. She carries herself like she knows exactly where she stands in a room without needing to announce it.
