Colton
Only thing I focus on better than puck, is you.
I stare at the words until my heartbeat evens out. Then, from nowhere:
Colton
What’s Livy thinking?
I glance back through the glass. She’s looking for me, scanning the crowd. When our eyes meet, she gives a little wave.
Jenna
She’s loving it
Jenna
Also, she wants to know if you’ll win.
He replies instantly.
Colton
Always do, if you’re watching.
I smile, then bite down on it, and go back inside. The rest of the game happens in lightning speed. Bears tie, Falcons pull ahead, the clock ticks down. I was ready to ease up again but with three minutes left, I feel the tension before I see it. Colton’s line is back in, and so is Houston, face already red, mouth moving as he skates up. I don’t have to lip-read to know he’s talking shitagain. That guy can’t help himself can he? Riley is there, too, and his jaw is clenched. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“That’s not a rivalry,” Priya says. “That’s sexual tension with extra murder.”
Liora sighs. “Priya.”
“Sorry,” she says. “It’s true, though.”
Livy’s back at my side and I catch her hands in fists. She says nothing, but her eyes are huge. I try to act calm, but my body knows better. My chest is tight, my legs locked. I want to look away but can’t. I’m not cut out for this. Brawls. Fights. I don’t like it. I want Colton to be okay. I can’t watch him risking anything.
They line up for the face-off. The ref drops the puck. Houston slams into Riley, shoulder first, and before the whistle can even shriek, Riley’s glove is off and he stands up shouting something but I can’t hear. That tension makes me feel sick.
A punch lands, then another. But it isn’t Riley who throws the third—Colton is in, grabbing Houston, twisting his arm, and then, in one blurred motion, the two of them are down on the ice.
The box goes berserk. Priya screams. Even the influencers put down their drinks.
And me?
I can’t hear a thing. The world tilts. There’s blood on the ice, but I can’t tell whose. I pull Livy against me, hoping she won’t see anything of this.
The refs pull them apart. Colton’s lip is split, blood on his chin, but he’s fucking smiling. Houston is yelling, face puffy, his own blood trailing down his sleeve.
Livy stands on the seat and stares, open-mouthed. For a second, I’m afraid she’ll cry.
But she doesn’t. She says, in a voice that rings clear above everything: “Dad won.”
I want to tell her that fighting is not a solution to anything but the next second there’s a buzzer and the game is over. The Falcons have won. But I don’t recover like that. No—my whole body feels numb. I tremble and sweat and… I am going to kill Colton King.
The tunnelsbeneath the Arena are a fever dream of sweat, camera flashes, and controlled mayhem. Livy has her hand wrapped tight around mine, while we try to find our way through security. The smell down here is…not what you’d expect from a venue with a raw bar upstairs. More like chlorine, old tape, and a faint, ever-present note of blood, which almost makes me vomit. Colton in a fight… him being in danger. I can’t do this.
We hurry past three women in matching fur coats who are shouting into some Snapchat filter about how “Houston is an absolute monster,” which feels dramatic but pretty accurate. I just can’t believe Colton punched him in front of his daughter. Things went well with his custody case, yes. But things aren’t settled yet and I bet his stupid ex and Botox Batman will use this against us. I am almost spitting fire.
Right behind them, a man in a Falcons jersey at least two sizes too small is yelling insults at no one in particular and everyone at once.
