Page 96 of Stick Fight

“Gaga!”

I catch her and spin her up into the air, her curls flying, her laughter bubbling out like sunshine. My throat tightens. “I missed you, Stella,” I whisper.

She cups my cheeks in her little hands and presses a sloppy kiss to my lips. I laugh, tearfully, and hug her close. I don’t ever want to let go.

“Are you ready to go to the rink?” Maeve asks, tugging clothes from a drawer.

Before she finishes the question, Stella’s already wrestling out of her pajamas, half-dancing in anticipation. Twenty minutes later, snack consumed and jacket zipped, we’re piled into Maeve’s SUV, winding toward the arena. My fingers fidget in my lap as familiar street signs flash by.

As we pull into the parking lot, something catches my eye. Several things do, in fact. “Is this skate for the families of the Bucks?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

“Yes. Something like that,” Maeve says quickly, eyes avoiding mine. And before I can ask more, she’s out of the car, unbuckling Stella and grabbing the oversized bag of skates and winter gear.

I reach for the bag. “Let me.”

She hands it over with a relieved smile, hoisting Stella onto her hip. I follow her across the parking lot, until something freezes my steps. A familiar vehicle sits parked near the entrance. I know that car.

It’s my car. Well, it used to be. Roman bought it for me. Said he wanted to make my life easier. My feet root to the pavement. “Maeve… Roman’s here.”

She stops mid-stride, glancing back. Her eyes flick to the SUV. “Yeah,” she says softly.

“Why would he be here?” My voice is thin. “He doesn’t have a kid. Does… does his wife have a niece or something?”

She winces but doesn’t answer.

“I can’t go in there.” The air feels thin. My pulse is pounding in my ears. Just the idea of seeing him, of seeing him with Avery, is a vice around my chest.

Maeve hesitates, shifting Stella’s weight in her arms. “Okay,” she says, after a moment. “Just help me get Stella inside, and then you can take my car back if you want. No pressure.”

I look at the massive gear bag in my hands, then at the little girl bouncing on Maeve’s hip, eager and clueless. I can’t leave her juggling this on her own. Nor can I let Stella walk through a parking lot, not at her age.

“I’ll help you in,” I say quietly. “Then I’m gone.”

Maeve nods. We don’t say more. But as we walk toward the rink, I feel it in my bones. Something is going on.

My steps slow again and Maeve must pick up on it, because she says, “You probably won’t even see him.”

I nod. “I’ll get you in the doors, and then I’m gone.”

She nods too, biting her lip. Again. That lip’s going to be raw by the end of this. Why is she so jittery? Is she that afraid I’ll run into Roman and spontaneously combust? We step into the rink, the cold air immediately wrapping around me like a ghost from the past. I shift the heavy bag in my arms, ready to hand it over, but before I can, Maeve bolts.

“Maeve, wait,” I call after her, but she’s gone. Practically sprinting toward the change rooms like she’s on fire. What the hell? Do I just leave the bag here? Drop it and flee like I should’ve in the parking lot?

Then Josie appears out of nowhere, smiling like sunshine. Sweet, steady Josie. She doesn’t have kids, so what’s she doing here?

“Josie,” I say, clutching the bag like a lifeline. “Can you give this to Maeve? I really need to go.”

“Absolutely,” she chirps, and then snatches the bag with one hand while grabbing mine with the other.

Before I can protest, she’s dragging me deeper into the arena. Her grip is iron, her stride relentless.

“I… I reallyhave to go,” I manage.

“Sure you do,” she says lightly.

We round a corner, and suddenly I’m facing the glass, and I freeze. On the ice is a runway. An actual, full-on runway. Why is there a runway here at the rink?

“What’s that for?” I ask, blinking like I’m seeing things.

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