There’s a strange tension between us now.
Not awkward exactly.
Just… charged.
He still hasn’t fully worked out what to do with the truth about me. I can see it sometimes in the way he looks at me between plays, like he’s trying to fit two versions of the same person together in his head.
Admiration and confusion tangled together.
But whatever he’s feeling, he’s pushing it aside on the ice.
He’s playing the best hockey I’ve seen from him yet.
He’s on point in a way that makes it clear he knows exactly who’s watching.
Once during a stoppage I follow his gaze toward the stands.
It doesn’t take long to find them.
A small cluster of men in dark jackets near the middle rows. Not cheering or even reacting much. Just watching, notebooks in their hands.
Scouts.
I look away before they can notice me staring.
The game keeps grinding forward.
One period.
Then another.
Still no goals.
The arena gets quieter as the tension builds, every missed shot pulling a frustrated groan from the crowd.
By the time the final minutes tick down, even the benches have stopped shouting.
Everyone is just waiting for something to break.
But nothing does.
The buzzer sounds.
0–0.
Players coast slowly toward the benches while the referees gather near center ice.
The announcement comes a moment later.
Shootout.
I rest my hands on my stick and draw in a slow breath.
Three games in two days.
One more moment to decide how this one ends.
ZANE
