“You’re okay,” I say casually, like we’re talking about the weather.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” I say, holding her gaze for a moment.Instinctively, I reach out and take her hand in mine. “Hey, I’m here.”
Her gait slows for a second as she looks down at my hand covering hers.
“I know you are.” She glances at me, nervous, yes, but she’s not retreating this time. We stay hand in hand, united, as we approach the main entrance.
The doors are already unlocked. The security guard looks up and recognizes me, and gives a quick nod.
“Evening,” he says, stepping aside.
“Hey, John,” I manage with a nod as I hold the door for Juliette and gesture her through.
“After you,” I say.
She takes a breath and walks in.
The lobby is calm and mostly empty, all clean lines and polished floors, banners hanging high above us like gentle reminders of past games and big moments. The lights are dimmer than usual, everything scaled back, like the building itself is exhaling.
Juliette slows as she takes it in and then lets out a nervous little laugh. “I see what you’re doing,” she says, glancing at me. “Bringing me here to get rid of the jump scare.”
“That, too,” I admit. “But I also wanted to share this with you.”
Her smile softens at that, just a touch. As we keep walking, she bumps her shoulder lightly into mine, like she’s testing the idea of closeness.
I take the opening.
I reach for her hand, slow enough that she has time to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers slide into mine easily, like they’ve been waiting there the whole time.
She glances down at our hands, then back up at me, her smile turning quieter, more real.
“See?” I say lightly. “Totally safe. No scary surprises yet.”
She laughs under her breath, nerves easing just a fraction, and lets her thumb brush against mine as we walk.
We pass through the corridor and push open the next door.
The arena opens up around us—quiet, empty, still. The air is cool and sharp, carrying that unmistakable clean cold that smells like winter and fresh starts. No crowds. No pressure. Just open space.
Juliette stops beside me, eyes wide as she takes it all in.
“This is the place I come when I need to let it all go,” I say quietly while I watch her looking at my arena. I want to see it through her eyes. “When things feel loud in my head.”
She turns toward me, listening.
“I thought it might help you, too,” I add. “But only if we give it a good memory first. Right?”
She nods slowly, then lifts her gaze—and freezes.
I feel it before she says anything. The way her hand tightens in mine. The sharp inhale she doesn’t quite manage to hide.
Her eyes are locked on the jumbotron, dark and dormant above the ice. Just a screen. Just a rectangle of metal and glass.
