He hesitates. Clara leans forward an inch, expression unchanged. “Record someone else.”
He turns back fast. Like her composure carries teeth.
Two seats down, a girl I don’t recognize leans into her friend’s ear, whispering while staring straight at me. Her friend glances at the ice, then back to my mouth like she’s translating it into text.
I lower myself into my seat carefully. Standing is a declaration. Sitting is one too. Somewhere behind us, laughter pops—too bright, too rehearsed.
“Rossi’s got a type,” a male voice says, smug and loud.
Another voice answers, female and sharp. “He doesn’t date. He claims.”
Heat climbs my neck—irritation, clean and focused.
Maya turns, already primed. “Oh my God. I will eat her alive.”
“No,” Talia says. Absolute.
“She literally said—”
“I heard,” Talia replies, eyes on the ice, attention on me. “Do you want the section to watch you bleed for him?”
That lands clean. Heavy. Because it names exactly what they want—a fracture, a spectacle, a confession dressed as emotion.
Genny tilts her head. “They’re weighing leverage versus liability.”
Clara’s gaze cuts to the tunnel, then back to me. “And checking if he’s softened.”
I release one slow breath. Anchored. “He hasn’t.”
Maya’s mouth opens with something reckless queued, then the crowd surges again as Gio skates past. He keeps his focus forward this time. The crowd doesn’t.
And I feel it—the way I’ve become a fixed reference point. Absence will read as loss. Every sound I make now reads as ownership or surrender.
My pulse stays steady. Because the truth settles clear and unflinching: this pressure doesn’t fracture me. It fits.
The third period drains toward its final minutes. The arena slides into ritual—standing early, chanting like volume bends fate, edging toward exits like patience is optional.
I stay seated. Track the clock. Track the tunnel. Hold the promise centered in my sternum like weight I chose.
Genny’s eyes flick to me. “You’re going.”
“I said I would.”
Clara keeps her gaze forward; her knee shifts in, forming a quiet barrier. “You want one of us with you?”
“No.” Clean. Purposeful.
Maya’s brows lift. “That’s the first time you’ve ever—”
“Talia,” Genny says. Final.
Talia studies my face. “Do you want company, or do you want control?”
I swallow once. “I want it handled.”
Maya leans in anyway. “If he does anything weird down there—”
“He won’t,” I cut in, sharper than intended.
