34. leo
THIRTY-FOUR
leo
T he next week feels like a blur of exhaustion. Between hockey practice and helping Tina, I barely have time to think, let alone breathe. Most nights, I’m crashing into bed, and the only moments I see Victoria are when she swings by the house with takeout.
Since I haven’t found someone to help Tina yet, I finally sent a letter to Coach Jenkins requesting a short leave of absence. I didn’t include details about Tina—the fewer people who know, the better. I can’t risk her situation getting leaked to anyone outside of those I trust, and I know the coach’s wife isn’t exactly my biggest fan. He’s going to have to trust that I’m asking for this leave for legitimate reasons.
So when I show up for the game tonight and see Zach, the GM, standing beside Coach Jenkins, my stomach sinks. They exchange a few words, and Zach’s eyes flick toward me.
While we’re doing pre-game drills, Coach’s gaze shifts across the rink to where Victoria has just arrived, wearing my jersey, sitting next to Jaz in the stands. She gives me a small wave, her smile lighting up the arena like a ray of sunshine through clouds.
Her hair curls around the Crushers logo on the jersey, and her smile makes my heart catch before I show off with a quick slap shot that launches the puck into the net. She gives me a thumbs-up, and I lift my glove in response, my chest tightening as she turns around and shows off the name on the back. When I see her in my jersey, all I can think is, She’s mine.
I pull up the sleeve of my shirt, pretending to adjust my gloves, and take a big inhale. This is the same jersey she wore when we had our date under the pergola, and it still carries the faintest hint of her—soft and sweet, like she’s wrapped up in every thread.
She doesn’t just wear my jersey tonight. She owns it, like she owns every part of me. And somehow, knowing she’s out there with my name on her back makes me feel like I could face anything. Even her leaving.
“Leo,” Coach calls out, waving me over while we do warm-up drills before the game. My stomach coils as I skate over.
Tina’s accident couldn’t have come at a worse time, and now my future feels like it’s in his hands, the one person who has the power to make or break my career.
“What’s up, Coach?” I ask.
“I got your request about taking a leave of absence,” he says, his eyes drifting to the warm-ups on the ice. “You’re asking for time off. What’s the reason?”
“I can’t tell you.” I shift on my skates. “But I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“How long?”
I hesitate. “That’s the catch—I don’t know. It’s a complicated situation.”
Coach crosses his arms. “Leo, we get it. Life happens. But the team needs stability and you need to be in practice. Without details, it’s hard for us to approve this. We can’t have missing players.”
“Listen, I’m not asking for a handout,” I say. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to work as soon as I figure out some things.”
Coach puts his hands on his hips. “I know you have a lot on your mind these days. But you can’t live up to your potential without being here, practicing with the team. This is your job. And without knowing why you need this time off, it’s hard for me to grant this request.”
I glance over at Victoria who is laughing at something Jaz says. She looks so beautiful, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Coach follows my line of sight, and his expression softens. It’s clear he’s still got a soft spot for Daddy’s little girl. “As for your request, I’ll consider it. But no promises that Rafael Marco will approve this.” Then he sighs. “Just play a good game tonight, and maybe you’ll get on his good side?”
“I will, Coach,” I say, skating back to join my teammates.
The buzzer sounds, snapping me out of my thoughts as I line up for the face-off. The puck drops with a sharp clatter against the ice, and the opposing team comes at us hard and fast. This is what I’m used to, what I was born for, but tonight I’m going to need to prove I’m worth keeping.
I channel all my adrenaline into my game, and I’ve never played better, skating my hardest, fighting for the puck every chance I get. The game flies by like it always does—but knowing Victoria is there, watching me, cheering me on, makes all the difference.
Brax gets one shot in the first period, and Lucian scores at the beginning of the second. By the third period, we’re tied two to two, and I know we need one lucky break to push us ahead. Lucian sends the perfect pass my way, and I weave through defenders until I find an opening. A quick deke to the left, then a sharp snap shot to the top right corner, and the puck sinks into the net as the red light flashes and the crowd erupts.
Even though my teammates swarm me instantly, my eyes go straight to her. She’s on her feet, her smile so big it makes me feel like I’ve won more than a game. Her hands tuck into the long sleeves of my jersey and for a split second, I can see us—years down the road, her still in the stands wearing my name, giving me that same sweet smile.
I skate over to the plexiglass where she meets me, our hands lining up on the glass screen between us.
“It’s the shirt, right?” she says. “That’s why you were able to score the winning goal.”
“The shirt is magic,” I say. “But it’s you wearing my jersey that makes it even better. Putting my name on your back is the closest I’ll ever get to claiming you in front of the world.”
Her face breaks into a smile so wide, I forget the tiredness in my bones or the hard hits I took on the ice. We just stand there, soaking up this moment, knowing it might be our last game together for a while.
For the first time in weeks, I feel like everything is going to be okay. Because no matter what happens off the ice, as long as I have this memory of her looking at me like that, I’ll always have something to play for.
After the postgame press conference and a shower, I return to the rink and sneak into the back to watch Victoria’s practice with Peter. It’s late and the lights are dim, so it’s easy to slip into the back row of seats and watch Victoria with Peter. She doesn’t see me—she’s too focused on the ice.
They attempt a triple axel, their movements in perfect sync. On the second try, they nail it, and for a moment, it’s like watching magic. Victoria’s grace and Peter’s strength create something breathtaking. When he lifts her above his head, she looks weightless, as if she’s flying.
During their routine, my eyes land on something else, and it stops me in my tracks. She’s still wearing my jersey from the game. My name stretches across her back, the sleeves slightly too long, the hem brushing her hips.
Those words echo in my mind, the ones I said when I gave it to her: It’s not just a jersey—it’s a piece of me. Seeing her in it now feels like she’s carrying me with her, even if she leaves.
I lean back, the realization settling in. She belongs out there, and I can’t be the one holding her back just because I’m scared the voice in my head is true.
What kind of selfish person would I be to ask her to stay just to silence my own fears? But as I watch her, the thought I can’t shake is this: What if letting her go means I lose her again?