Chapter 14
Lisa
I tell myself I am prepared before we even reach the arena doors.
I already knew, when Zane mentioned the game earlier that week, that I would eventually have to face the reality of sitting close enough to the ice again to hear the blades cut into it and feel the vibration of players crashing into the boards.
Still, preparation turns out to be something entirely different from actually stepping through the entrance tunnel.
The rink temperature drops several degrees in a single breath.
The familiar smell of cold air, rubber flooring, and metal railings hits me all at once.
The feeling is so immediate and physical that my body reacts before my mind has time to catch up with what is happening.
It is ridiculous, I remind myself as we move forward with the rest of the crowd toward our section.
This is hockey, not figure skating, and nobody here expects me to perform, compete, or land anything perfectly on one foot while pretending not to feel fear.
Yet the closer we get to the opening where the rink becomes visible, the more my chest tightens as though my body still believes I am about to skate onto the ice myself instead of sitting safely in the stands like any other spectator.
“Hey,” Leo says quietly beside as he catches up with me, “you ok?”
It is not the kind of question someone asks out of politeness or obligation. It’s also not the kind of tone people use when they expect an easy answer. It makes it harder to brush off, even though I am very good at brushing things off.
“I’m fine,” I say anyway. Technically, I am fine, I am breathing and walking and functioning, which counts as fine in my book, even if my lungs still feel slightly too tight for comfort.
He studies me for another step or two, as though he is deciding whether to believe me. Then he lets it go without pushing, which somehow makes the moment feel even more significant because he respects my answer, even when he clearly suspects it is incomplete.
Leo somehow knows exactly where our section is, which is not surprising, because he always seems to move through spaces as if he has memorized them in advance.
I follow him through rows of cheering fans until we reach the seats he has been guiding us toward.
Instead of spotting Gwen waving from the row ahead like I expected, the first thing I see is something that makes my steps slow without my permission.
My parents are standing there.
For a moment, I honestly think I must be mistaken.
There is no reason they should be here, and certainly no reason they should be here without warning me first. However, then my mother turns slightly, and I recognize the orange Grizzlies scarf around her neck.
It is still folded too neatly to look like something she chose for herself rather than something she picked up at the merchandise counter on her way inside.
The confirmation settles in my chest with a weight I had not prepared for.
“Oh,” I say quietly before I can stop myself.
Leo notices immediately.
“What?” he asks.
“My parents,” I answer, keeping my voice low even though they have clearly already seen me.
My father is standing with his arms crossed, the same way he used to stand at the edge of figure skating rinks when I was younger.
He always watches without speaking or smiling.
He watches as if evaluation were the only purpose of his presence.
Suddenly, I am not entirely in the arena anymore, but somewhere much colder and much smaller, where every movement mattered more than it should have.
I quickly grab my phone and warn Gwen.
ME: Parents alert!
I see Gwen waving from the top while she makes her way down to us. Her orange blouse is bright enough to catch my attention even across the section.
“Finally!” I call out as they reach us. Hugging everyone quickly gives me something practical to focus on, rather than the fact that my body still hasn’t fully relaxed after stepping into the building.
I hug Tess first, then Gwen last, leaning closer than necessary so I can whisper, “I texted you earlier, did you see it?” before I let go.
She tilts her head and shakes it slowly.
“No, why?”
I step aside.
“My parents decided to surprise Zane and show up to his game,” I say. I carry a smile that feels carefully constructed rather than natural.
The look Gwen gives me immediately tells me she understands exactly what kind of surprise that is.
“Mom,” I say, turning slightly so I don’t have to look directly at my father yet, “I want you to meet Leo and Tess and, of course, Gwen.”
She shakes their hands politely. Her expression is composed and distant in the same way she used to greet judges after competitions she didn’t approve of.
“Glenda,” she says.
My father does not introduce himself.
“Hello.”
That is all.
And somehow that single word carries the same weight it always has.
For a second, no one speaks.
The silence stretches just long enough that I become aware of how loud the arena suddenly feels around us. There are too many voices layered together in the background. People are laughing, cheering, and moving past our row while the five of us stand here, pretending this interaction is normal.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say finally, because saying something feels safer than saying nothing.
“We wanted to see Zane play,” my mother replies.
Not you.
Not both of you.
Zane.
I nod.
“I was about to get us drinks,” I say quickly. I need the movement more than conversation. I need to create distance before the old feeling in my chest settles too deeply. “Can I get you something?”
“Why don’t I help you?” Leo offers immediately.
The relief that follows that sentence is almost embarrassing in its intensity.
“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly. “That would be great.”
Sorry,” I whisper to Gwen as I pass her.
She smiles softly. It helps more than she knows.
The walk toward the bar gives me a moment to breathe again. Distance from my parents has always made everything easier, even when I was younger and still trying desperately to impress them rather than learning to live without their approval.
“They didn’t tell me they were coming,” I say quietly once we are far enough away.
“You ok?”
“Yes,” I answer automatically.
He doesn’t challenge it.
He nods once and keeps walking beside me toward the concourse. He is giving me exactly the amount of space I need without pretending he didn’t notice anything at all.
And for a moment, before the game even begins, I realize I am already grateful he came tonight.
We have just given everybody their drinks when Enter Sandman starts playing.
The lights dim across the arena. The crowd rises to its feet so suddenly that the energy shifts from background noise to something physical enough to feel in my ribs.
The sound of thousands of voices chanting together creates the same strange mixture of excitement and pressure I used to feel before stepping onto the ice at competitions where everything depended on three minutes of perfection.
I grip the railing harder than I mean to. Holt skates out first. Then Blake.
Even from this distance, I can recognize the way he moves differently on the ice than he does anywhere else. It’s sharper and faster and more controlled, like the confidence he carries so casually in everyday life suddenly has direction and weight behind it instead of floating freely around him.
Then Zane skates out last. He slows when he sees us. He winks at Gwen. Then he sees our parents. His smile disappears immediately. He looks at me. I smile back reassuringly. I didn’t know either. He understands. He always does.
The game starts fast enough that I almost forget myself for a few minutes. The puck moves too quickly for my eyes to track properly, and the crowd around us keeps shouting encouragement and insults and chants loud enough to drown out everything else.
Then Blake gets slammed into the boards. The sound echoes across the rink. My stomach drops instantly.
He recovers immediately, fights his way free, passes the puck back toward Zane, and seconds later, Zane scores. The arena explodes around us in cheers loud enough to vibrate through the floor beneath my feet.
For a moment, I forget about the ice. For a moment, I cheer.
During the break between periods, the Jumbotron flickers to life above us. I relax slightly because the break gives me something else to focus on besides the constant motion on the rink.
“I love this part,” I say automatically.
“What is it?” Gwen asks.
“They film famous people and awkwardly make them wave,” I explain, laughing lightly.
The camera slowly moves across the crowd. Actors. Sponsors. Someone from a reality show. Then…
“No way, James is here,” I gasp before I can stop myself. The camera cuts directly to him. James Perth.
The crowd reacts immediately. The reaction is a strange mixture of cheering and booing, filling the arena in uneven waves of noise. It makes my chest tighten before I even fully understand why.
“Who is that?” Gwen asks.
“He’s on the Hawks,” I say quickly. “Long story. We don’t like him.”
That part is true. Just not the whole truth. Then the camera keeps moving. Closer. Closer. And suddenly…
Gwen’s face appears on the Jumbotron. The reaction is instant. Unlike the mixed response Perth received, there is no cheering now, only booing. Loud. Sharp. Overwhelming.
She waves because that is what you do. Because that is what I told Gwen to do. Because I don’t know what else to do.
“I got booed,” Gwen says once the camera moves on, her voice sounding distant.
“They don’t know you,” I tell Gwen immediately, placing my hand on her shoulder without thinking. “It’s because of that article about the fight at the party. It’ll pass.”
Even as I say it, my pulse is racing. Because suddenly… I see him. Not on the screen. In person. Standing two sections away. Watching. James Perth.
And for a split second, I am no longer in a hockey arena, surrounded by friends and noise and light and safety. Still, back in hallways and airports and hotel rooms, where every conversation felt like walking across thin ice. I was always scared it would crack beneath me if I said the wrong thing.
My hands start shaking. I turn back toward the rink immediately so nobody else notices. Except someone does. Leo. He doesn’t say anything. He just shifts slightly closer beside me and hands me another drink. It’s like he already understands what I’m trying not to show.
I take it. Smile. And keep watching the game like nothing happened at all.