“I didn’t rig it,” he says quickly. “That implies fraud.”
“You absolutely rigged it,” I reply.
“I nudged the universe,” he says. “Very gently.”
“You pulled a string,” I accuse.
He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I know a guy.”
“You know a guy on the Grizzlies,” I say flatly. “You have an insider.”
“I know a couple of guys on the Grizzlies,” he corrects. “One of them is very good at following instructions.”
Tess crosses her arms. “Leo.”
“What?” he says. “She put her name in the bowl.”
I did. This part is important. I did this. No one forced me. No one tricked me into writing my name on that little slip of paper, folding it once, and dropping it into the bowl as if I were brave and spontaneous and not deeply aware of my own center of gravity.
But knowing Leo tampered with fate, even just a little, makes everything sharper. If I survive being on the ice, I will get him back.
“Why,” I ask slowly, “would you do that?”
He looks at me. Really looks. His teasing softens.
“Because you’re always the one on the sidelines,” he says. “And you never get pulled into the middle unless you put yourself there. I just… helped.”
I open my mouth to yell at him. Nothing comes out. Because beneath the meddling and the chaos and the billionaire audacity, I know what he’s saying is true. And, weirdly, it sounds nice when he says it like that.
I am the helper. The support. The funny one who claps the loudest for everyone else. I am very good at standing outside the spotlight.
The announcer’s voice cuts back in. “Gwen, if you’ll make your way to the ice…”
“I don’t have to,” I say immediately.
Leo nods. “You don’t.”
Tess nods too. “You really don’t.”
The crowd doesn’t know that yet. They’re still clapping, still waiting, still assuming this is all part of the fun.
I look down at my boots. The skates heavy, unforgiving. Already judging me.
My heart is racing now, but not in the panicked way I expect. It’s fast and loud, yes, but there’s something else underneath it.
Defiance.
I think of every time I’ve laughed something off so no one else would feel uncomfortable. Every time I’ve said, It’s fine, when it wasn’t. Every time I’ve watched someone else be chosen.
I think of how I put my name in that bowl with shaking hands and told myself I could leave before it mattered.
It matters.
“Gwen,” Tess says gently. “Whatever you decide, we’ve got you.”
I nod.
I take a breath.
