“That winger.”
He follows my gaze.
The injured player tries to push himself upright and fails, his weight collapsing awkwardly again as the trainers rush onto the ice.
Markus winces. “Ouch.”
Then he watches another few seconds and adds quietly, “Yeah… he’s not just walking that off.”
Willow’s cheerful expression fades as the reality sinks in.
Eventually the referees break up the fight, and the injured player is helped carefully off the ice, barely able to put weight on his leg.
The energy in the arena shifts after that.
The Giants still lose. Again.
By the time the final buzzer sounds the crowd is already trickling toward the exits.
We file out with them into the cold night air.
The walk back across campus is quiet for a minute.
Then Markus glances sideways at me.
“You’re better than most of those guys.”
I snort. “Please.”
“I’m serious.”
I roll my eyes, but he keeps talking. “And I can see how much you still love it.”
The cold air fogs in front of us as we walk under the streetlights.
Markus slows slightly. “I have an idea. It’s a little crazy but hear me out.”
His tone makes me glance up.
He’s looking at me with the same thoughtful seriousness he uses when he’s analyzing a play.
What the hell is he about to suggest?
Then he says-
“You should transfer.”
I blink.
“To a college with a proper women’s team,” Markus continues. “Somewhere that actually lets you play. I know you’ve just started here, and I can see how much you like it. You’ve got friends.”
He glances at Willow, a quick apologetic look, before turning back to me.
“But I can see it, Leo.” He’s called me that since I was small. “You’re missing out by not playing. Trust me.”
The idea lands between us like a stone dropped into stillwater.
Willow, walking on my other side, goes very quiet.
