Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MAYA
Lila’s legs bounce so fast on the taxi seat I’m surprised the whole car doesn’t take flight.
“Do you think Bear will see me?” she asks again, eyes glued to the city lights streaming past the window.
I tug the little purple beanie lower over her ears and stroke the pom-pom. “He’ll see you, baby. You look like the team mascot.”
She beams, practically vibrating. Her hoodie sparkles under the streetlights, and the back of it, custom stitched by Mia, apparently, reads JACKSON 47.
She’s wearing light-up Raptors sneakers, glitter claw gloves, and that blinking necklace Dylan added “for maximum drama.” Between all that and the tiny foam finger she insisted on bringing, she looks like Raptors Christmas exploded in child form.
She’s never looked prouder of anything in her life.
And I’m smiling, but it’s a tight kind of smile. My stomach’s doing slow, nervous flips. I keep checking the cab doors are locked. Keep glancing out the window even though I know Owen booked this cab through the team. I know we’re safe. But anxiety doesn’t listen to logic. It never has.
He wanted us there. He made sure we’d get there.
But part of me still feels like an imposter stepping into someone else’s real life.
The stadium looms ahead; huge and glowing, alive with energy.
The second we walk inside, the noise hits.
People cheering, announcers booming, the heavy bass of pre-game hype music thudding through the floor.
It should feel exciting. But it knocks the breath out of me.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been to a match before, this is a new city.
Somewhere I’ve never been, and the fans tonight seem a lot more fierce than The Raptors home crowd.
Too loud. Too many bodies. Too many exits I can’t see.
I push the panic down.
“This way, Ms. Dawson,” a stadium employee says, leading us to our seats near the glass. Private. Safe. Owen arranged it, thankfully.
Lila grabs my hand and pulls me forward. “I’m gonna wave so hard Bear has to see me.”
She presses up against the plexiglass, practically fogging it up with her breath. “There he is! I see him! A four and a seven!”
And I see him too.
Owen skates in slow, controlled loops, long strides carrying his huge frame across the ice like it weighs nothing. He looks calm. Focused. Intimidating as hell in his gear, but I can still see the softness in his eyes when he turns our way and spots Lila.
He grins, helmet tilted. Taps his stick against the glass twice.
Lila loses her mind. “He saw me! Bear saw me!”
Something blooms warm and full in my chest. Something dangerously like hope.
The game is brutal.
Within the first few minutes, one of the Raptors takes a dirty hit from behind, and the crowd explodes. Lila shrinks into her seat, looking at me with wide eyes.
“Is that allowed?”
“Not really,” I murmur, jaw tight.
Before I can say more, Owen is on the ice. And everything changes.
He doesn’t hesitate. Skates straight for the offender, shoulder-checks him into the boards with enough force to rattle the glass in front of us. The other guy gets up swinging, but Owen’s fists are already flying. Controlled. Measured. Devastating.
He’s protecting his teammate. Doing his job.
But it’s hard to watch.
The thud of fists. The crash of helmets. The roar of bloodthirsty fans.
I’ve seen violence before. Christ, I’ve lived through it. But this is different. This is structured, sanctioned. Owen isn’t a man losing control, he’s a man in complete control. And still, my body tenses with every blow. I know too well what fists can do.
Lila hides behind my arm. “Is Bear okay?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am.
By the second period, the score is tied 1–1.
Owen’s been in the penalty box twice, face flushed, a gash bleeding sluggishly near his cheekbone.
He’s exhausted, bruised, and yet every time he looks toward the bench, someone claps him on the shoulder.
A rookie passes him a water bottle without being asked.
Murphy yells across the ice, “You got the next one, Jacko!”
It’s the kind of camaraderie I never understood before. The kind of loyalty that isn’t loud or flashy but bone-deep.
And I watch it all with a lump in my throat, because I think I’m starting to understand what Owen meant when he said the team was his family. I’m starting to see why he stays, why he fights, why he plays even when he’s hurting.
They look out for each other. They show up. That’s more than I’ve had in a very long time.
The third period is chaos.
Tempers boil. Fans scream. The opposing team gets desperate. They shove harder, skate faster, trying to intimidate. They slash at Murphy’s ankles. Cross-check Dylan. But The Raptors hold the line.
Owen takes a nasty hit and crashes into the boards near our section, glass rattling inches from Lila’s nose. She gasps.
My whole body seizes.
But he gets up. Always gets up.
And then there’s redemption.
With three minutes left, The Raptors recover the puck, there’s a clean pass up the ice, and Murphy slaps it straight into the top corner of the net. Goal. The whole stadium erupts.
3–2. Final score.
Lila screams, “BEAR WINS! BEAR WINS!”
And I feel something I haven’t in years; pride that doesn’t cost me anything. Joy that isn’t followed by fear.
We wait by the bus in the cool night air. Lila’s practically asleep on her feet, still clutching her foam claw. I hold her close and try not to let my nerves creep in again.
We’re joining him post-game so we can travel back together on the team coach.
Owen insisted, he didn’t want us in a taxi alone after the game.
So, now I’ll see him through their eyes, not as the gentle man who bakes with my daughter, but as the bruised, battered enforcer who just went to war for his team.
The locker room door swings open, and players trickle out. Murphy spots us and grins. “Hey, superstar,” he says to Lila. “Your sign worked. Lucky charm, huh?”
Lila nods solemnly. “I’m gonna come to every game.”
He shoots me a wink. “You better. Jacko’s been floating all day.”
Then Owen steps out and my chest aches.
He’s changed into a hoodie and sweatpants, his kit slung over one shoulder, a thin dressing now covering his cheek. His eyes lock onto mine like I’m the only person in the world.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough from shouting and ice time.
Lila launches at him. “BEAR! YOU WON! I SAW EVERYTHING!”
He scoops her up and winces. “Oof, careful there, Jellybean. Still got ribs.”
“You beat them up!”
He laughs, low and rumbling. “Only a little.”
He looks at me, something tender and tired in his gaze. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for surviving,” I whisper.
He leans down, pressing his forehead gently to mine. “Always.”
The team coach is nice. Comfortable. Warm. Dimly lit with low chatter and the soft hum of engine noise. Lila’s curled up beside Owen, her head resting on his lap, clutching the foam claw like it’s her most prized possession.
Across the aisle, Dylan’s playing cards with Murphy and Ollie, muttering curses as he loses again. The rookies sit near the back, quietly sharing snacks and trading stories. One of them shyly offers Lila a gummy bear, and Owen raises a brow but lets her take it.
The bus smells like menthol and sweat and aftershave. It smells like family. And I don’t know when it happened, but somehow, we’re part of this.
Lila starts to doze halfway through the ride, Owen stroking her hair absently.
“You alright?” he murmurs, voice low.
I nod. “Watching you fight tonight… it scared me.”
“I figured,” he says quietly. “You were pale after the first hit.”
“It wasn’t just the violence. It was the control. You… didn’t even flinch.”
“I can’t afford to lose control out there,” he says. “That’s not who I am.”
I swallow. “I know. But it still… reminded me. Of other things.”
His jaw tightens. “I hate that.”
“I hate that you got hit.”
“I’d do it again,” he says, looking down at Lila. “For my team. For you.”
Something in my chest stutters.
It’s not the fists that scare me. It’s how much I care. How quickly he’s become home. How easy it would be to fall, and fall hard.
But then Owen meets my eyes again, soft and unflinching. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Maya.”
And I believe him. “I’m not afraid of you.” Maybe for the first time in my life, I believe someone when they say that. I slide my hand across the aisle and take his.
Lila snores quietly. Owen smiles. And I let the rhythm of the road rock us all toward something I never thought I’d find again.
Safety. Warmth. A team.