If Colton told me it would be packed with hockey royalty, assorted billionaires, and someone who once guest-judged on Top Chef, I probably would have been a nervous wreck. But the place is phenomenal. Floor-to-ceiling windows, leather seats worth staging a coup for, and a cheeseboard that has its own publicist. There’s a glass wall separating us from the rest of the arena, so the noise comes in like weather—a pressure drop, then a surge, then a lull.
Livy sits on a high stool next to us, legs swinging. She’s decided the cheeseboard is “mid”, but the Swedish Fish are “gas.” I know this because she keeps narrating her snacking experience in “TikTok English”, which she isn’t allowed to but picked up in carpool.
Then the boys come out on the ice, and I catch the worry in Liora’s blue eyes. “I just hope there’s no brawl,” she says. “Bears games always end in blood.”
“Brawl?” I say, because, yes, I am an idiot and have never watched professional hockey with people who take it seriously.
She nods and I notice Priya holding Liora’s hand. “Houston and Riley. They hate each other. Two seasons ago, Houston pushed Riley’s buttons and he punched him so hard Houston missed the rest of the season. It’s, like, THE rivalry.”
I look at Livy, already worried for bringing her. “Oh, I don’t know if she should watch this game then. I don’t want her to see a fight.”
Priya leans forward and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I bet he’s secretly hoping you’ll see him win one. It’s a sports-hunk thing.”
“I don’t like fighting though, so I really hope this Houston knows how to behave today.”
“I hope Riley keeps his cool. He’s improved, but honestly… I wouldn’t bet my hand on it,” Liora replies, shaking her head. “My man has a temper.”
I try to laugh but it comes out strangled. Colton’s whole career is based on controlled violence, which is maybe why I’ve avoided watching him play live. I have the legal bandwidth for high-drama, high-stakes face-offs, but not, apparently, for grown men slamming each other into tempered glass.
On the ice, the players streak past in navy and gold, moving fast enough to make my eyes work overtime. The Falcons logo looks less like a bird and more like something designed to attack small villages.
Colton is still the easiest one to spot.
Of course he is. Tallest on the ice, broadest shoulders, skating with this unfair kind of smooth control that has absolutely nothing to do with the giant-enforcer image he seems to enjoy. He moves like the laws of physics have made a special exception for him.
His number flashes by and for reasons I’d rather not examine, a sharp pulse of adrenaline jolts through me. That’s my husband. And the captain of the team. I stare at the C on his jersey with pride.
“He looks different on skates,” I say.
Liora glances at me. “In what way?”
“I don’t know. He seems… happy.” The words slip out before I can stop them, so I quickly add, “Like he actually wants to be here.”
“Yeah,” Liora says with a smile. “The guys really love what they do. Everyone deserves to have that—something they’re excited to wake up for.”
“Like you with figure skating,” I say.
She shrugs. “Yeah, and you with being a lawyer.”
I smile automatically, but my eyes drift to Livy.
I’m not sure it’s being a lawyer that gives me that feeling. Not really.
It’s the kids. The ones I can help. The ones I can protect when no one else does.
And Livy.
The one who matters most of all.
Priya scrolls through her phone. “Have you seen this?”
She thrusts the screen at me, and I see, to my horror, a picture of myself taken from somewhere in the stadium, mid-cheer. My mouth is open, my arms raised like I’m testifying to some higher power. Good Lord. Caption: “His fiery lawyer is all of us when Colton King scores.”
My face burns. “I look like I’m giving birth to a sea monster.”
Priya and Liora giggle.
“Own it”, Priya says. “Also, that photo got reposted by the official Falcons account. Check your DMs.”
