Zane is the last one on the ice.
He skates a slow warm-up lap, and I watch him from the corner of my eye the way I always do - tracking his movement, reading his body language. His ease on the ice. The slight tension in his shoulders.
He looks tired. Maybe a little distracted.
But when he glances over, he just gives me a small nod.
No sudden flash of recognition.
I exhale slowly.
See?I tell myself.Safe.
The drill starts.
I lose myself in it the way I always do - the puck, the scrape of blades, the calls from Coach across the ice. It’s the only place my brain stops spinning.
Halfway through, the whistle blows.
“Switch lines,” Coach calls. “Blake, Shaw, Russo - together. Let’s see that chemistry.”
I skate into position without hesitating, because that’s what Lee Shaw does. Lee Shaw doesn’t panic. He’s calm and focused.
The puck drops.
Russo wins it clean and slides it toward me along the boards. I collect it smoothly, head up, scanning-
Zane is right there.
Close. His eyes are on me through his helmet, unreadable.
For half a second, I hesitate - then I pass.
The puck lands on his tape perfectly, the way it always does, because that’s what we do. We read each other without thinking.
He catches it. Holds it for a beat.
Then he glances back at me.
Just a glance. Quick. Almost nothing.
But there’s something in it - a flicker of… what? Curiosity? Recognition?
I look away instantly.
The drill continues. I don’t look at him again.
But I feel his eyes on me for the rest of practice.
Afterward, I strip off my gear in Tara’s room faster than usual.
My hands are shaking.
He doesn’t know, I tell myself. He can’t know.
But Willow’s words won’t stop echoing.
You really think he won’t notice?
