Pride. Joy.
That’s for you, I think.All of it.
I give her nothing. No nod, no wave, no acknowledgment that could be caught on camera or noticed by anyone watching. Just a half-second of eye contact before I skate back to the bench.
But she knows.
I can tell by the way she sits back down, pressing a hand to her chest as if trying to steady her heartbeat.
Yeah. She knows.
We win 4-3 in overtime.
I don’t score the winner—that’s Logan—but I do get the assist, a sweet cross-ice pass that he buries top shelf.
The locker room is chaos afterward. Music blasting, guys yelling, the usual post-win energy that never gets old, no matter how many times you’ve felt it.
I shower, change, and answer the required questions from the media with my standard non-answers. Yes, shoulder felt good. Yes, the team played well. No, I’m not thinking about playoffs yet, just taking it one game at a time.
Finally, I escape.
The hallway outside the visitor’s locker room is mostly empty. A few equipment managers are packing up, and some arena staff are starting the cleanup.
And there’s Tori.
She’s leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, pretending to look at her phone. When she sees me, she straightens.
“Good game,” she says. Casual. Professional.
“Thanks.” I stop in front of her, close enough to smell her shampoo. “Shoulder held up.”
“I noticed.” A smile tugs at her mouth. “That second goal was nice.”
“Just nice?”
“I’m not going to inflate your ego, Bishop. It’s big enough.”
I step closer and lower my voice. “I was looking for you. After the goal.”
Her breath catches. “I know.”
“Did you like it?”
“Zayden—” Her cheeks flush. “We’re in public.”
“So?”
“So anyone could see—”
“I don’t care.” The words come out rougher than I intended.
She stares at me, lips parted, eyes wide.
Then the locker room door bangs open.
I step back so quickly that I nearly trip over my own feet. Tori is already moving, putting professional distance between us as her expression smooths into something neutral.
Logan bounds in, bag slung over his shoulder, still riding the high from his goal. “Bish! You coming out with us? Found this sick rooftop bar—” He pauses, glancing between us. “Oh, hey Tori. You coming too?”
