“Who was that?” he asks.
I shrug. “A participant.”
Blake’s grin is the kind that should come with a warning label.
He’s my best friend, which means he knows exactly where to poke if he wants a reaction. He also knows I’m not in the mood to be poked because my brain is doing that thing where it replays a moment like it’s trying to learn it by heart.
I keep thinking of Gwen’s laugh. The way she said, “Define good,” like she was daring the universe to argue.
The split second before she fell, her face tightened, and she braced for impact. Physically and otherwise.
I don’t like that I noticed all of that. I especially don’t like that I’m still noticing it now while we’re waiting for the next segment of the event, while the rink crew resets cones and props for whatever ridiculous “fun” thing the organizers have planned.
I shift my grip on my stick, like that’s going to reorganize my thoughts into something acceptable.
Blake leans closer. “Was she Leo’s friend? Do you know her?”
I keep my eyes forward. “I don’t. And that’s ok. It’s better this way.”
“Uh-huh.” He draws the syllables out like he’s tasting them. “Because you’re a generous citizen. A man of the people. A humble Grizzly, saving civilians from the ice with no desire for recognition.”
“Exactly.”
Blake’s chuckle is sharp. I hate that he knows me this well. We’ve been playing ice hockey together since we were fifteen. We were drafted in the same year, and from the day we met, it somehow worked.
I stare out over the rink. The crowd is still loud, still happy. The announcer is pumping up the energy in the stands. Kids in oversized Grizzlies jerseys wave orange foam claws. Cameras are everywhere, phones, staff photographers, maybe even local sports media, because of course there are.
This is supposed to be harmless. So why does my chest feel tight?
I follow Blake’s line of sight to the bench area near the boards, where Gwen stands with Leo and Tess. She’s holding a cup of something steaming, shoulders hunched against the cold. She’s laughing at something Leo says, but it’s not the same laugh as on the ice.
This one is bigger. Brighter. More practiced.
Armor again.
I didn’t think I’d be able to tell the difference that quickly, but I can. I can because I’ve seen my own armor from the inside.
When you’re being watched, you become a version of yourself you can control.
I’ve been doing it for years.
“Stop looking,” Blake says, amused.
I snap my eyes away. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.” His grin softens, the teasing shifting into something more careful. Blake taps his stick lightly against the ice. “So is she Leo’s friend?”
“Yeah. He wanted to mess with her, have her name pulled because of some dare.”
“Leo’s dating the bakery owner, right?” Blake says, like he’s listing facts off a stat sheet. “Is she the coworker or something?”
“Coworker, but friend first, I think,” I say, because it’s clear in the way Tess keeps touching Gwen’s elbow, checking in without making it obvious. “They’re close. At least that’s what Leo said.”
Blake hums again. “So she’s in your orbit now.”
I glare. “She’s not in my orbit.”
Blake’s eyes sparkle. “Zane.”
