Page 28 of Hearts on Ice
And I wasn’t sure if I could pull away.
And wasn’t that strange? I’d sat next to him before, five seasons’ worth of travel, and it had never felt like this. Never left me hyper-aware of the length and shape and position of his body.
So I stayed still. Didn’t lean in, but didn’t lean away. Just sat there, pretending to be part of the quiet like nothing unusual was happening, while every part of me knew it was.
By the time we pulled into San Francisco, the spell broke. Luggage thumped out from the undercarriage, guys herding toward the lobby under fluorescent lights, voices rough with sleep.
Hotel lobbies all looked the same—neutral carpet, too much glass, the kind of lighting that made everyone look tired. We shuffled through check-in.
The next night, everything clicked. Justin controlled the faceoffs like he owned the circle, Trembley’s passes landed tape to tape, and Carter was everywhere—relentless, loud, grinning through the sweat.
By the third period, we were tied, both benches on edge. Then a rebound kicked out in front of the Falcons’ net, and Carter buried it clean. 3–2, Grizzlies.
When the horn sounded, the bench emptied. Gloves tapped helmets. Coach caught my eye across the chaos, a quick nod that said everything. For a second, the noise blurred, and it felt like the whole world had narrowed to that look.
The win carried us through the night—laughter over dinner, music on the bus back to the hotel, that rare kind of tired that feels earned.
But the Falcons came back harder the next evening—sharper, faster, hungrier. Every shot felt heavier, every shift shorter. Weheld them off until the final few minutes, when their top forward cut across the slot and lifted one glove-side, perfect aim. I caught a piece of it, not enough.
4–3, Falcons. Close enough to sting.
In the locker room afterward, no one said much. Just the sounds of Velcro, running water, and the kind of quiet that follows a fight you almost won.
Coach moved through the rows, voice calm, light on reprimand. “Good effort,” he said. “We’ll take the lessons, not the loss.”
Most of the guys slapped backs or muttered good-nights on their way to the showers. The room smelled like sweat, tape, and a little disappointment.
Coach lingered, standing near the bench a moment, head tipped down, the hum of the dryers filling the silence. Then he crossed to me. No clipboard this time. No game face. Just him.
“Tough game,” he said quietly. “You kept us in it.”
I stayed sitting, towel loose around my neck. My gloves were still beside me, a half-finished thought. “Didn’t feel like enough.”
“It was,” he said. His voice had a rough edge—low, steady, not just saying it to make me feel better. “You gave them one hell of a wall to climb.”
That did something to me—made the loss hurt a little less, or maybe just made it real in a different way. I looked up. His eyes met mine and held, steady as the ice we’d just left. No pity there. Just understanding.
For a second, I thought he might say more. Then he glanced away, thumb brushing his jaw like he was catching himself.
“Next one’ll go our way,” I said, because I needed to fill the space.
He nodded once. “Wouldn’t bet against it.” His mouth lifted, faint, but the look in his eyes stayed serious.
He lingered another heartbeat before heading toward the door, leaving the faint smell of soap and winter air in his wake.
I sat there longer than I meant to, gear half-off, chest still tight—not from the loss, but from the quiet way he’d saidyou kept us in it.
Chapter 14
Drew
Air travel always made me restless. Maybe it was the waiting, the cramped seats, or the way the engines roared just loud enough to drown out thought. We’d taken the bus to LAX. Everyone looked half-dead or half-wired—the usual travel limbo. I’d ended up by the window, Carter beside me. A minute later, he swapped with Miguel so he could sit across the aisle with Tank. Which left Miguel sliding into the seat next to mine—same as always.
He stowed his bag, then looked over with a sheepish grin. “Guess I’m back in your row.”
“Guess so.”
We both buckled in. The cabin door sealed with a muffled click, and the air changed—thicker, quieter, that hush before the engines wake. A few last zippers rasped, overhead bins slammed shut, and the flight attendants began their safety demo, all bright smiles and hand signals.
