As we line up to head out, Steele bumps my shoulder. “You good, Lennox?”
I nod. “Yeah, I am.”
For the first time in days, it’s the truth.
The roar of the crowd crashes over me the second my skates hit the ice. It’s thunderous enough to rattle my chest and send a shot of adrenaline straight into my bloodstream. I glide toward the crease, my movements smooth and automatic as muscle memory takes over.
Warmups are a blur of shots snapping off sticks, pucks ricocheting off pads, and skates carving clean lines into the ice. I track everything without effort, my focus narrowing until there’s nothing but the puck and the rhythm of my breathing.
Then my gaze lifts toward the suites, and I see them.
Kia stands at the glass with Elody pressed right in front of her. Both are wearing my name and number. Elody is swimming in her jersey, sleeves hanging past her hands. The sight hits me hard, knocking the air from my lungs in the best possible way.
When my little girl catches me staring, her arms shoot straight up and she waves. I lift my glove just enough for her to see.
Everything I’m playing for is right there in that suite.
And it’s never meant more than it does tonight.
The puck drops. The first period is fast and punishing. Their offense is aggressive, pressing early, testing me. They’re trying to see if the noise, scrutiny, and weight of the week managed to get inside my head.
It hasn’t.
I track the puck through traffic. Dropping low when necessary and kicking rebounds wide. Smothering shots before second chances can form. Every movement is deliberate and precise. It’s as if my body finally remembers what it’s capable of.
Midway through the second period, there’s a breakaway.
The crowd rises as one, and their energy is electric. A player barrels toward me, stick twitching, eyes locked on the smallest opening. Time stretches as I read the fake for what it is and slide laterally, sealing the angle before he can react.
The save is clean, and the arena explodes into cheers. I stay down half a second longer than necessary, my breath coming hard inside my mask, allowing the moment to calm. Then I rise, tap the post once—my ritual—and lift my gaze back to the suite.
Kia’s hands are pressed to the glass, her eyes bright, as Elody bounces on her toes, pride radiating off her.
After that, the game gets easier. By the end, my legs burn, my lungs ache, and sweat slicks down my spine, but my head is clear. When the buzzer sounds and we pull off the win, the noise crashes over me all over again.
This time, instead of retreating from it, I let it wash over me as I look up to where my girls are waiting.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I have anything to prove.
How could I when I already have everything that matters?
45
Kia
Laiken’s lawyer’s office is polished in the way only high-powered law offices are, with neutral colors, framed degrees, and muted artwork chosen to impress without being distracting. There’s nothing personal here. Everything about the space is designed to keep emotion out of the room.
It doesn’t work.
Collin sits across from me, his knee bouncing beneath the conference table. He looks the same as he did when I’d catch sight of him around campus. Same handsome face and tousled black hair that used to make my pulse stutter.
Now, it does nothing for me.
Laiken sits beside me, close enough that our arms touch. He isn’t looming or posturing. He’s simply there for support. His presence is a steady line drawn between the past and everything that comes next.
A future waiting to unfold.
Mark clears his throat and slides the paperwork across the table toward my ex and his attorney.
