Page 158 of Puck Me Back to Life

“No, you weren't.”

The argument continues without me. I don't hear most of it because they're right.

I saw it too. Every single time someone says my name, Ash smiles. Not a huge grin.

Not something dramatic. Just warm. Easy.

Like my name has somehow become something pleasant inside his head. The realization pinches somewhere beneath my ribs. Nobody has looked happy to hear my name in a very long time.

I find myself staring at him longer than I should.

He's laughing at something Dante says now, shaking his head while effortlessly gliding backward across the ice.

God. He's done so much for me. He's carried me through panic attacks. Held me while I cried.

Fed me.

Protected me.

Made me laugh.

Bought me books because he'd noticed I'd finished the last one.

Even now he's standing here smiling because somebody mentioned me.

What exactly have I done for him?

The question follows me through the remainder of practice. Coach finally blows the final whistle.

The locker room fills with the familiar sounds of equipment hitting concrete floors, showers turning on, and conversations overlapping in every direction.

I shower quickly.

Dress.

Pack my bag.

Across the room, Noah finishes taping his stick before sliding it into his equipment bag.

He's almost out the door. If I don't do this now, I never will.

I swallow hard. “Ash.”

He looks up from tying his shoes. “I'm gonna talk to him.”

His expression immediately sharpens. “You sure?”

“No.”

A tiny smile flickers across his face. “Honest answer.”

“I think I need to.”

Ash studies me for a long second.

Finally, he nods. “I'll be right here.”

Somehow those four words steady me.