“Fine,” I say. “I’ll ask him.”
Her grin is victorious. “Excellent.”
I reach for my phone, my pulse picking up as Sawyer’s name lights up the screen. Theo’s birthday sits right there in my hand, along with the possibility that saying yes might not tip my world off balance after all.
Maybe saying yes this time simply opens the door to something good.
CHAPTER 17
SAWYER
That sharp, clean bite hits my lungs the second my skates touch down for the second period, the Birdcage roaring back to life around us as we pour out of the tunnel. The lights blaze overhead, reflecting off the freshly cut ice, the cardinal logo at center rink glowing like it knows something I don’t.
I skate a lazy arc near the blue line, stretching out my legs, stick tapping the ice in a familiar rhythm. Warmups are muscle memory. My body knows what to do even when my brain is…elsewhere.
Which it is.
I’m scanning the crowd and I don’t mean to. It just happens. My eyes keep lifting, sweeping over navy and gold jerseys, couples leaning together, kids with foam fingers and popcorn. I’m not looking for a puck or a play.
I’m looking for her. For honey blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, big brown eyes that sparkle with gold flecks, and that little half-smile she does when she’s pretending not to be amused. For Juliette, sitting somewhere up there, maybe with Theo beside her, maybe rolling her eyes at how ridiculous hockey arenas are.
But I know better. She’s not there.
And yeah, that shouldn’t matter. I have a game to play. A division rival from Florida breathing down our necks. A scoreboard that’s still too close for comfort after a brutal first period.
But still. Here I am. Looking. I’m chiding myself internally when a solid shoulder slams into mine.
“Are you planning to skate tonight or just here sightseeing?” Owen jokes as he bounces off me.
I steady myself. “Do you always run into me during warmups, or is this a special occasion?”
Campbell slides in on my other side, smirking. “We’re just making sure you stay on your toes, mister. You know. Focus. Task. Hockey.”
Owen cranes his neck, following my line of sight toward the stands. “Dude, weseeyou. Eyes up there. Head somewhere else. Get it together.”
“I am together,” I protest.
Campbell snorts. “You’re emotionally elsewhere.”
Owen gives me a playful punch in the shoulder. “Come on, Stockton. You’ve had a great game so far. Don’t go all soft now.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. You’re right.”
The horn blares, slicing through the noise. Second period. Game on.
Florida comes out hard. They always do. They’re fast and relentless, all teeth and forecheck, and they spend the first few minutes grinding us along the boards like they’re trying to wear the Dominion down one bruise at a time. The pace is brutal. Every shift feels like a sprint through wet cement.
The crowd roars. The puck snaps. Sticks clash. Sweat drips into my eyes.
I forget about everything except the game. About Juliette. About the stands. About the fact I already know she wouldn't come even if she could. I heard her say she had plans with Vivian tonight anyway.
Instead, I’m here. Present and focused, and in my zone. All that exists is ice and motion and the thud of my skates pushing harder, faster.
And then—I see it. Opportunity.
The puck pops loose in the neutral zone, squirting right onto my stick like it was meant for me. I explode forward, legs burning, wind roaring in my ears as I cut past one defenseman, then another.
Their goalie drops low…I don’t.
