This is not a referendum on my worth as a human being.
“First up,” the announcer says, voice booming through the rink, “we have…”
Leo hums quietly beside me.
I whip my head toward him.
“Do not,” I hiss.
“Do not what?”
“Do not hum like you’re watching your favorite show.”
He grins. “I really love suspense.”
“I will end you,” I whisper.
Tess snorts from my other side, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You’re both terrible,” she says, but there’s fondness in it. She nudges me gently. “You ok?”
I nod automatically. Then pause. Then shrug. “Define ok.”
“That bad, huh?”
I glance at the ice. The Grizzlies players are lined up near the boards, relaxed and loose, like this is just another day at work. They’re massive in that quiet, controlled way athletes are. All muscle, balance, and confidence. The kind of men who have never once questioned whether their bodies might betray them in front of an audience.
I swallow.
“I don’t want to be a joke,” I say softly.
Tess’s expression changes immediately. It sharpens. Grounds.
“You won’t be,” she says, without hesitation.
I want to believe her.
The announcer clears his throat again. “Our first participant is… Gwen.”
The world tilts.
Not dramatically. Not in a cinematic swoon. It’s subtler than that, like gravity shifts half an inch to the left, and my body has to scramble to adjust.
The crowd cheers.
Actual, real cheers. Polite, supportive, charitable cheers. Which somehow makes it worse.
I stare straight ahead.
No.
No, no, no.
Statistically improbable. Suspicious.
Slowly, I turn my head toward Leo. He is biting the inside of his cheek.
“Oh,” I say.
He looks at me, eyes bright, guilty, and completely unrepentant.
