“I saw,” I say with a laugh. “Third period was wild, right?”
He nods hard, but there’s a hitch. Just a beat where the excitement doesn’t quite land the way it should.
My eyes flick up automatically, scanning their crew, taking human inventory.
No David?
Theo smooths the front of his jersey, rocking slightly on his heels. Still happy. Still buzzing. But quieter now. Like someone turned the volume down just a notch.
I straighten and look at Juliette. “Everything okay?”
She nods, stepping a little closer so Theo’s attention stays elsewhere. Her voice is soft, controlled.
“He didn’t make it,” she says. “He said he’d call. He didn’t.”
Something tightens in my chest. Anger.
I glance back at Theo, who’s suddenly very interested in a framed photo on the wall.
“He was excited,” Juliette adds. “He still is, but he’s a kid who has been disappointed. Again.”
I nod slowly. “As he would be.”
She exhales, the sound barely there. “I shouldn’t be surprised; I just don’t like it when he is.”
I meet her eyes, searching them. I can see in her reflection all the things she’s not saying. The moments she’s covered over the years, and done it with her head held high because she is all class. Cranky, but classy. My kind of woman.
It only takes a second for me to understand exactly what this moment is asking of me.
“Give me one minute,” I say.
“Sawyer—”
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, already backing away. “Don’t move.”
I turn before she can argue and head down the hallway, thoughts tripping over each other.
Equipment room. Youth skates.
The team keeps extras for player family skates, PR events, the occasional ‘bring your kid to the rink’ day. I’ve watched teammates chase their small urchins across fresh ice more than once.Which means there has to be small sizes somewhere in there. Please let there be small sizes. Please.
I throw open the door and scan the shelves, thankful when I see a pile of extra inventory. Somehow—miraculously—a pair in Theo’s size.
I grab them and jog back, adrenaline hitting different than it did on the ice five minutes ago.
“Okay,” I say, dropping into a crouch in front of Theo. “How do you feel about a birthday upgrade?”
His eyes go wide. “What kind of upgrade?”
“An on-ice one.”
Juliette sucks in a breath. “Sawyer?—”
“I know,” I say gently, glancing up at her. “But trust me.”
She studies my face for a long beat, something unreadable drifting through her brown eyes, and then she nods.
The arena is still alive when we step out—people milling, laughing, celebrating, not quite ready to let go of a night that just punched their playoff ticket. The ice is cleared except for a few staff members, the lights still bright, the space wide and unreal.
