Page 99 of Hearts on Ice
Miguel was twenty-eight. He had years left to climb. I’d used more than my share of second chances. I wouldn’t let mine be the reason his ends.
I closed my eyes and heard his voice in the crease before every game:una por la familia, una por mí. Tonight in that broken room he’d added one more without saying a word. I felt it like a hand against my heart.Una por ti.
I wanted to walk the two rows, slide into the seat beside him, put my palm on the back of his neck, and tell him I was proud. Tell him I loved him. The words sat heavy behind my teeth, the way they had for weeks. It was a secret I was saving for the right time, but now…
I sighed.
We touched down in L.A. just before four. No one said much—just the clack of seatbelts and the scrape of bags as we stood.
We loaded straight onto the team bus. Normally that last ride home felt easy, guys half asleep or cracking jokes. This time there was silence. Miguel sat near the front, hoodie up, earbuds in. I kept to the back, watching the city lights slide by.
My phone buzzed.
Miguel:You want me to wait?
Me:Better not.
A pause.
Miguel:You sure?
Me:Yeah. Go straight home. Text me when you get there.
Three dots blinked, disappeared. Then:
Miguel:Okay.
I stared at the screen until it dimmed. The reflection of my face stared back—drawn, older, a man who’d finally gotten what he wanted and had no idea how to keep it.
I wanted to tell him to screw caution, to wait anyway, to come with me like always. But one wrong move and the whole season wouldn’t be the only thing over.
I shifted my gaze to the front of the bus. He hadn’t looked back once. His shoulder brushed the window, his head tipped just slightly toward the glass. I knew that posture—every mile of exhaustion tucked behind it.
At the rink, the bus doors hissed open. One by one the guys climbed off, shouldering bags, murmuring goodbyes.
Our eyes met once when his car pulled up. A heartbeat—nothing more, but it carried everything.
He got in, shut the door, and the taillights faded into the dark.
I stood there until the lot emptied out, hands shoved deep in my jacket pockets, fighting the stupid urge to chase after him.
Chapter 36
Miguel
I unlocked the door just after six. The sky outside had started to pale, but inside everything looked the same as when I’d left—clean, quiet, waiting. I set my bag by the wall, kicked off my shoes, and pulled out my phone.
Me:Home safe.
The message sent with a tiny click. I left the phone faceup on the counter and leaned there until the screen dimmed. No answer yet. Maybe he’d already fallen asleep. Maybe he just couldn’t risk replying.
Sleep wasn’t going to happen. I showered until the hot water ran thin and stood there anyway, forehead against tile, watching steam smear off the mirror like it was trying to erase me.
Sam’s face kept rising up, the way he’d looked at us down that hallway, surprise first, then something that flattened out into calculation. Sam never said the wrong thing out loud. His talent was saying almost enough and letting the room fill in the rest. I saw the way he’d looked at Ry and Xander when they’d come out last season. While most of us were excited for our two stars, Sam wasn’t bubbling over with enthusiasm and support.
There was nothing for him to gain by keeping quiet. No loyalty there. Loyalty’s something you build, brick by brick, joke by dumb joke. Some guys never lay a foundation.
If Sam talked, it wouldn’t only be my name dragged through whatever came next. It would be his, and that thought was worse than the loss. I could take being the headline. I couldn’t stomach being the reason he was.
