Page 98 of Hearts on Ice
He looked at me like he’d heard it anyway.
And for a heartbeat, the air changed—quiet, charged, the world falling away until it was just us. His breath mingled with mine, our foreheads almost touching.
That’s when the cough came.
A single sharp sound.
We both turned.
Sam stood at the threshold, a frozen look spreading over his face as he took us in—me kneeling in front of Miguel, my hand still on his cheek.
No words. Just that look.
My hand dropped.
And then he was gone, the door banging shut behind him.
Silence swallowed the room.
For a few beats I didn’t move. All I could hear was the slow drag of my own breath.
Miguel’s eyes still fixed on the place Sam had been. His jaw worked.
“He saw us,” he said.
“We don’t know what he saw,” I forced out, keeping my voice neutral, coach-flat.
Miguel’s mouth tugged into something that wasn’t a smile. “You know what he saw.”
My fingers flexed at my sides, useless. I wanted to tell him I’d carry whatever was coming. But footsteps echoed closer in the corridor. Someone laughed. A cart rattled past.
“We’re out of time,” I said gently. “Get dressed.”
He nodded once. I turned and walked for the doorway because that’s what it had to look like—a coach checking on his goalie, nothing more.
Out in the hallway, it felt like stepping from the only safe room into a storm.
*****
Cabin lights low. The plane hummed through the dark sky. Most of the guys passed out the second the wheels left the ground; bodies learn to sleep wherever the job says sleep. I stayed upright, seatbelt biting my hip, eyes on the tiny red “No Smoking” sign because it was easier than staring at the back of Miguel’s head.
He was two rows up on the other side, aisle seat. I could see the edge of his jaw reflected in the window, the rise and fall of his chest. His hands were buried in his hoodie pocket like he was keeping them from reaching for anything.
I’d said it a hundred times: what happens off the ice stays off it. The team deserves a coach who keeps the lines clear—no favoritism, no blurred boundaries. I still believed that.
But I also believed in the look he gave me in that empty locker room—eyes red, voice wrecked—like I was the only person left holding him together.
Sam saw it.
He saw the way I crouched in front of Miguel, my hand on his face, trying to pull him back from the edge. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a confession. But I know what it must’ve looked like from where Sam stood.
My guard was down. Every wall I’d built to keep this quiet was gone, and all that was left was how much I loved him.
I hadn’t been thinking about how it looked—I’d been thinking about the man I loved sitting there blaming himself for a loss that belonged to all of us.
And that was enough for Sam to know.
If this comes down on anyone, let it come down on me.
