Page 28 of Love so Cold

"Come on, Liv," I whisper, as if she could hear me through the clamor below.

The shot fires off her stick like a comet, blazing past the goalie and into the net. The buzzer blares, and a cheer erupts, shaking the rafters. I can't help it, my eyes well up, and pride floods in, washing over all the other emotions. "That's my girl!"

I'm wiping tears when laughter pulls my gaze to the ice. It's Victor, surrounded by a swarm of tiny jerseys. They're jumping around him, victorious little conquerors. His arms are flung wide, corralling them into a group hug. A laugh escapes his lips, genuine and warm, and my breath catches.

He's different here, animated, alive. The mask of the stone-cold businessman has slipped, revealing someone... human. The kids pile onto him, and he stumbles, but he's laughing—a sound that seems to echo all the way up to where I stand, far removed from the celebration.

"Look at you, Victor Stone," I say under my breath, though it’s more to myself than him.

For a moment, I see a glint of what life might'vebeen, had things been different. Had Olivia's father not left, had we been a family.

"Anyone would be lucky..." I trail off, shaking my head. No, I can't go down that road. Not with Victor Stone. Not with any man. I’ve learned that lesson well enough.

But still, as I watch him with the kids, something tugs at a heartstring I thought I’d long since muted.

"Get a grip, Avery," I mutter, glaring down at the melting ice of my resolve. Victor's just another suit with an agenda. The whole "good guy" act is probably just for show. He knows exactly who I am—the thorn in his side, leading the charge against his grand plans to upend our lives for his shiny new development project.

"Olivia's just a pawn in his game," I whisper fiercely to the empty metal rows around me. It's like he's got this playbook for charming the town, and part of me hates that it might be working. But I won't let him use her. Not my Olivia.

"Men," I scoff, shaking my head as if I could physically dislodge the memories of promises broken and dreams deferred. "They'll say anything to get what they want." And I'm done being played.

I take a deep breath and rise, feeling the familiar armor of cynicism click back into place. My heart rate steadies, and I start the descent from my solitary perch, the sounds of the dispersing crowd growing louder with each step.

"Hey, Avery!" Samantha's voice cuts through the chatter as I near the exit. "Did you catch that last goal?"

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," I reply, offering them a tight smile.

"Quite the time for a bathroom break," Emily chimes in, eyebrows raised in playful suspicion.

"Nature calls," I shrug off Samantha’s smirk, trying to sound nonchalant. "And when it does, you gotta answer."

"True that," Jessica agrees, nodding sagely as we shuffle closer to the lobby doors, the echo of laughter and post-game excitement spilling out to greet us.

I can feel their curious eyes on me, but I keep my face neutral. They don't need to know about the storm that almost swept me away. Just like they don't need to know how close I came to believing in fairy tales again—even if only for a heartbeat.

I push through the crowd, my steps quick and deliberate, until I reach the quieter space of the lobby. It's a relief to be away from the packed stands, away from all those eyes that might notice the redness I can still feel in my own.

"Mom!" Olivia barrels into me, her gear bag swinging with the force of her excitement. "Did you see me? Did you see the shot?"

"Every second," I say. "You were amazing out there. I'm so proud." My heart swells, the way it always does when I look at her—this piece of me, so fierce and bright.

She beams up at me, her eyes shining. "I think Ilike Coach Victor better than Coach Marty. He's really good."

Her words hang between us, and I'm about to respond when Victor himself appears, his presence commanding even here among the celebration. "Hey now, don't let Marty hear you saying that," he says, a half-smile on his usually stoic face. "He'll be back next game."

Olivia throws her arms around him without hesitation. There's a moment, just a split second, where Victor looks like he's been thrown off balance. But then he returns the hug, his movements careful, controlled. Not quite natural, but not unkind either.

"Thank you, Coach Victor! For everything today." Olivia's gratitude is pure, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder how often Victor has been on the receiving end of such simple, honest thanks.

"Listen, Olivia," he starts, his eyes flicking to mine before settling back on her, "you guys worked hard for that win. You should be proud of yourselves."

"Still," she insists, pulling back with a grin, "you helped!"

I watch them, this man who, up until now, has shown the world nothing but coldness, offering her something like kindness. I remember being ten—how easy it was to believe in the goodness of people. Before life taught me to build walls and question motives.

"Alright, superstar," I say, squeezing Olivia's shoulder. "Let's get you home. You've earned a good night's rest."

And with that, I guide her toward the exit, my little girl's chatter filling the space around us, leaving Victor Stone and his unexpected warmth behind us for the night.

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