Page 99 of Second Sin

He glances down, then back up—eyes catching mine again. Holding.

“And not just the usual stuff—school, pressure, bad days. I’m talking about the kind of dark that doesn’t back off. The kind you don’t know how to name when you’re a kid, because no one around you does either.”

The room has gone still.

“Hockey gave me structure. Purpose. A place to go when my head wasn’t right. It gave me coaches who noticed when I wasn’t okay—even if they didn’t always know what to do about it. It gave me teammates. Ice. Discipline. Noise. Something to pour it all into.”

He shifts his weight slightly, then exhales.

"I’m supposed to be good with words. I’m not. Watch any post-game interview and you’ll get the picture."

A small ripple of laughter.

“But I know what it’s like to be a kid who doesn’t have the tools. Who thinks he has to tough it out. Who’s told to ‘man up’ when what he needs is someone to notice he’s slipping.”

He swallows.

“Mental health isn’t weakness. It’s human. And every kid—every player, every person—deserves support. Deserves to feel seen. Deserves a place to land when it gets too heavy to carry alone.”

His voice cracks just slightly at the edge.

“That’s what this program does. It catches people before they fall too far. Gives them space to talk. To heal. To figure things out.I wish I’d had something like it when I was younger.”

He exhales slowly. Fingers tap once against the side of the podium—subtle, almost like he's trying to shake the emotion off. He glances down, then back up, eyes sweeping the room.

A pause. Just long enough to let it land.

“So if you believe in this—if you believe kids deserve better—open your wallets.”

His mouth quirks, just barely.

“And make it hurt a little. Means you’re doing it right.”

Laughter breaks the tension—gruff, genuine.

Then he nods, a single small motion, and steps away from the mic.

Applause crashes around him.

But he doesn’t look at anyone else when he walks off that stage.

Just me.

And God help me, I fall a little harder.

CHAPTER 38

SEBASTIAN

The applause fades as I step down from the stage. I should go back to my table. Sit. Smile. Nod like I give a shit about the rest of the speeches. But I don’t.

Instead, I find her.

Need her.

The way she grounds me. The way she unravels me.

My legs move before I can talk myself out of it.

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