She glances around pointedly. “Bold claim.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
That earns another softer, more surprised laugh. The armor cracks, just enough to let something genuine through.
She looks at my jersey, and I find myself hoping she doesn’t recognize the number. I don’t want the moment where her expression shifts recalibrates, decides who I am before I’ve earned it.
I get enough of that everywhere else. On the ice, in bars, at charity events, where people already know my stats before they know my voice.
Here, I want to be the guy who helps her not fall.
Hopefully.
She wobbles again a minute later, less dramatically this time, and I catch her without thinking. My hand tightens at her elbow, my body angling automatically to counterbalance.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, low enough that the mic won’t catch it.
And I mean it.
That surprises me.
I don’t know her. I’ve known her for maybe two minutes, most of which involved gravity trying to take her out. But there’s something about the way she keeps going. The way she jokes instead of apologizing. The way she doesn’t ask for reassurance but accepts it when it’s offered.
She’s brave in a quiet way.
The dangerous kind.
We skate together toward the boards, slow and careful. I match her pace without thinking about it, shortening my stride until it’s barely more than a glide.
She notices.
Most people do.
“Thanks,” she says again when we reach solid ground. “Seriously.”
“Anytime.”
She tells me her name. Gwen.
I tell her it’s nice to meet her. I can tell she’s expecting more. She’s expecting my name.
I don’t tell her. Not yet. I don’t want her to know everything that comes with it. Not yet. I want to hold on to this moment a little longer.
Behind the glass, I catch movement, Leo, doubled over laughing, completely losing it. His girlfriend, Tess, stands beside him with her arms crossed, looking like she’s about to murder him and start their whole relationship over just to do it again.
Ah.
This is one of those situations.
Gwen cracks a joke about lowering expectations. I laugh because it’s actually funny, not because I’m being polite. There’s a difference, and she clocks it.
“See you later, man,” I tell Leo.
The moment I address him, Gwen’s expression shifts to shock. Leo wanted to mess with her; he asked me to make sure her name got pulled from the bowl. I think she’s connecting the dots now. I also think Leo is in trouble.
I push back onto the ice. The moment snaps into its usual shape, noise, motion, and structure, but something has shifted. I feel it in the way my focus keeps dragging back to the bench, to where she’s standing with her friends, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
Blake skates up beside me during a stoppage, helmet still on, grin already forming.
