13 intermission rules
By the time the first period ends, I already know two things.
We're playing well.
And Madi looks like she'd rather be anywhere else than here.
Not subtly, not in a way only I would notice-obviously. Deliberately. Like she's committing to the bit so hard that it stops being believable and starts looking like she's been personally wronged by the existence of hockey.
Which-
to be fair-
she probably feels like she has.
Still.
It's a problem.
I push my helmet off as I skate toward the bench, barely registering anything Coach is saying because my attention keeps drifting toward the stands instead. It doesn't take long to find her.
It never does.
She's sitting between Jess and Riley, wearing my jersey like it's evidence against her in court, arms crossed, posture stiff, expression completely unimpressed. Jess is talking animatedly, Riley's leaning in, clearly engaged, and Madi-
Madi looks like she's counting down the seconds until she can leave.
Declan follows my line of sight and immediately grins. "Your girlfriend looks thrilled."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Right," he says. "Still looks like she's attending a funeral."
"I know."
"That seems on brand for her," he adds.
"That's not helpful."
"Nothing about this is helpful," he says. "That's why it's entertaining."
I ignore him, grabbing a towel and dragging it over my face before heading toward the exit that leads up into the stands.
"You're going up there?" Declan calls after me.
"Yes."
"Please make it worse," he says. "I need content."
"I'm not making anything worse."
"That's optimistic."
I don't respond.
By the time I reach her row, Jess has already spotted me.
Of course she has.
Her expression shifts immediately, something amused and far too aware, and she nudges Riley like she's cueing her in. Riley glances over, then back at Madi, then back at me, her mouth curving slightly.
Neither of them says anything.
They don't have to.
Madi turns a second later, probably because the energy shifted, and her expression-
somehow manages to look even more miserable.
"That's your face," I say as soon as I stop in front of her.
She looks up at me, unimpressed. "This is always my face."
"That's concerning."
"That's consistent."
I glance at Jess and Riley briefly. "Can I-"
Jess is already standing. "Oh, absolutely."
Riley follows her without hesitation, brushing her hand lightly against Jess's as they move down the row together, neither of them even pretending they're not going to watch this unfold.
Of course they are.
Madi leans back in her seat, looking up at me like this is already a conversation she's not interested in having.
"If this is about the game, I'm doing my best," she says.
"That's the problem."
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "You want me to try less."
"I want you to not look like you'd rather be in a cemetery."
She doesn't even pause. "I already feel like I am."
"That's exactly the issue," I reply. "You can't look like that."
She studies me for a second, then tilts her head. "So what exactly is the expectation here?"
"That you look like you chose to be here."
"I did choose to be here."
"You look like you regret that choice."
"I do regret that choice."
"Not publicly," I say. "Publicly, you're fine with it."
She exhales slowly, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "You're asking me to change my entire personality."
"I'm asking you to make it less obvious."
"That I don't enjoy this."
"Exactly."
She considers that, then shifts slightly in her seat, uncrossing her arms like she's testing it out.
"Like this," she says.
"Better."
"Still miserable."
"Less cemetery-adjacent."
"That feels like progress."
"It is."
There's a brief pause.
"You're very specific about this," she says.
"You're very obvious about everything."
"That's intentional."
"That's a problem."
"For you."
"For both of us," I correct.
She doesn't argue.
Which is new.
Jess says something from a few seats down, her voice just loud enough to remind me this isn't a private conversation, even if it feels like one for a second.
I glance over briefly, then back at Madi.
"Just-adjust it," I say. "A little."
She exhales, then shifts again, this time letting her shoulders drop slightly, her expression softening just enough that it doesn't look like she's actively suffering anymore.
It's not a smile. But it's... better.
"There," she says. "Less dead inside."
"That works."
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
"I won't."
Another pause settles between us, quieter this time.
"Are you winning?" she asks after a second.
"We're fine."
"That sounds vague."
"It's controlled."
"Like this," she says.
"Exactly like this."
Her mouth curves slightly at that, not enough to be called a smile, but enough that it changes something about her expression.
There it is.
"That," I say.
"What?"
"Keep that."
"That's not sustainable."
"It doesn't have to be."
She shakes her head lightly. "You're very particular."
"You're very difficult."
"That's intentional."
"I'm starting to notice."
Jess calls out again, something about the period starting, and I step back slightly, already knowing this conversation is over.
"I have to go," I say.
"Please do," she replies.
I take another step back, then pause.
"Less cemetery," I add.
She gives me a look. "No promises."
"That's fine."
Because now-
she doesn't look like she hates being here.
Not completely.
And for the first time since I walked over-
that's enough.