“Good God! You’re not helping,” I said, but I was smiling despite myself.
“Look,” Tyler said, “we’ve got your back. If you want to acknowledge him somehow, we’ll run interference. If you want to pretend he doesn’t exist until after the game, we’ll support that, too. Whatever you need.”
“What I need is to play hockey and not think about the fact that the person who . . .” I gestured at myself, unable to find the words.
“The person who makes you painfully cheerful?” Erik suggested with a smirk.
“The person whomatters,” I corrected, “is watching me for the first time.”
“Then play like you always do,” Erik said. “Play like the captain we know you are. The rest will takecare of itself.”
Coach’s voice boomed across the locker room. “Warmups in two minutes! Let’s go, gentlemen!”
The familiar pre-game energy kicked into high gear. Guys grabbed helmets, checked gear one last time, and donned the quiet, focused intensity that always descended before we took the ice. I stood and pulled my jersey over my head, the weight of the C settling against my chest with a little more weight than normal.
“Ready, Cap?” Tyler asked.
“Ready.”
The arena was already half full, the early crowd settling into their seats with beers and nachos and the anticipatory energy that came with Thursday night hockey. I skated a few laps to get my legs under me, then moved into our shooting drill, trying to focus on the familiar rhythm of skate-pass-shoot rather than scanning the stands for a familiar face.
I failed.
On my third lap around, I spotted them.
Section 108, about twelve rows up.
Jacks wore a Lightning jersey—myjersey—I realized with a jolt of something that felt like pride and possession all tangled together. Beside him sat Benji, Finn, and a woman I didn’t recognize but who was clearly a friend based on the way they were laughing and gesturing toward the ice.
He looked good.
Really good.
The jersey fit him perfectly, and even from this distance I could see the way his face had lit up when he’d spotted me on the ice. He raised his hand in not quite a wave, but an acknowledgment. I had to force myself to look away before I did something stupid like skate into the boards.
“Found them yet?” Tyler appeared beside me during a line change.
“My seats in 108.”
“He’s wearing your jersey?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Nice. Very subtle.” Tyler grinned and pushed off toward the neutral zone. “Watch this.”
I watched in horror as Tyler made a deliberate lap toward Section 108, slowing as he approached the boards near where Jacks was sitting. At the last second, he raised his stick in a clear salute, grinning up at the stands.
Then he winked.
And then—and I swear my heart stopped—heblew a kiss.
The cameraman was already on it, filming the whole thing and tossing it to the control room where . . . yeah . . . they put it on the Jumbotron.
Jacks’s friends erupted in laughter.
I caught them elbowing each other, delighted by the attention. Jacks looked equal parts amused and horrified, his face flushing even from this distance.
“Tyler’s subtle,” Erik said, appearing on my other side.
