Chapter 9 #3
The Snow Leopards tie it up midway through the second period with a Theo snipe from the slot that rings off the post and in. The goal horn blasts, the lights go purple and gold, and CLAWS OUT flashes bright purple across every screen.
Morgan loses what's left of her mind, and Zoey?
She's finally having fun.
But somewhere in the chaos of the roaring crowd, the thumping bass, and Morgan waving that foam finger like she's directing air traffic, Zoey's hand moves to where mine is resting on my knee.
Without a word, without a glance, without a single signal that she's about to upend my entire universe… her fingers drift across the denim of my jeans and slide through mine, threading between my knuckles like she's been thinking about doing it for longer than she'd ever admit.
I go completely still, but don't dare look at her.
I don't even breathe. Don't do a single goddamn thing that might spook her into pulling away.
Her fingers are smaller than mine, but soft and warm.
The rest of the second period plays out through a haze I can barely track.
I don't let go of Zoey's hand once.
Cade wins a faceoff that leads to a power play. Samuel blocks a shot that would've tied it. The Snow Leopards take a 2-1 lead into the third.
Morgan screams herself hoarse three feet away, completely oblivious to the fact that her mother just reached across the divide between safe and terrifying and chose to hold on.
She chose me.
Down on the ice, the third period is a war.
Seattle ties it 2-2 with four minutes left, and the arena goes from celebration to cardiac arrest in a single shift. Morgan is gripping Zoey's opposite arm so hard I'm losing circulation.
"THEY CAN'T LOSE! THEY CAN'T LOSE!"
"They won't," I tell her, and I sound a lot more confident than I feel.
Ninety seconds on the clock and Nico calls a timeout. Samuel gathers the boys at the bench, and even from up here I can feel the intensity radiating off them.
The whistle blows for a faceoff at center ice.
Samuel wins it clean, kicking the puck back to the blue line. Silas fires a shot that Seattle's goalie stops, but the rebound kicks loose. The puck squirts free, bodies crashing after it.
And then Cade Jensen appears from nowhere.
"Morgan! This is it!" I say, squeezing Zoey's hand too tight.
Morgan squeals as the puck hits Cade's tape. He doesn't think twice. Doesn't hesitate. He just hits it with one touch, right into the top corner.
The net bulges.
3-2.
The arena detonates.
The goal horn blasts so hard the seats vibrate and purple and gold lights explode across every surface. Morgan is airborne, literally jumping on her seat, the foam finger windmilling above her head, screaming words that aren't even words anymore.
And then Jensen does it again.
With thirty-seven seconds left, Seattle pulls their goalie, and Cade picks the pocket at the red line, walks in alone, and buries it.
Hat trick.
Purple Snow Leopards hats rain from the upper bowl. The arena shakes so hard I feel it in my teeth. The Snow Leopards pile on Cade at center ice, and the scoreboard flashes 4-2 in letters taller than my grandmother.
Morgan is crying. Actual, real tears, streaming down her face, her foam finger pressed against her chest.
"That was the best thing I have ever seen," she sniffs, her voice wrecked.
Everyone is on their feet.
Everyone except us.
Zoey and I are still sitting with our hands still intertwined. I don't want to let go, but I finally turn to look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed from the cold arena air, her eyes bright, her lips parted in a breathless half-smile.
Morgan is above us, waving the foam finger at a group of kids three rows up who are waving back. Her attention is completely consumed by the post-game mayhem, so I lean across the armrest, pressing my lips to Zoey's ear.
"Thank you for coming tonight," I say, letting my breath tease her skin.
Her fingers tighten in mine. "Thank you for inviting us."
"I have one more surprise."
Her eyebrow arches, and there's the flicker of suspicion I've grown to love. "I swear to God, if it's more frozen soda—"
"It's not more soda." I grin, pressing my lips to her knuckles. Her breath catches and her eyes go dark. "It's for Morgan. You'll see."
She stares at me, and I watch the war play out across her features. The push and pull. The wanting and the fear.
Then she leans in with a smile and a shake of her head, closing the distance between us, and presses her lips against mine.
It's nothing like the kiss in the bakery that nearly knocked us both sideways. This one is gentler. A choice made in broad daylight, surrounded by thousands of strangers who don't matter at all.
But when she pulls back, her smile is the brightest thing in the entire arena.
Above us, Morgan spins, foam finger raised to the rafters, her voice soaring with the crowd.
"HUNT! CLAIM! STRIKE!"
And somewhere in the noise, in the chaos, in the gold confetti falling like snow around us, Zoey laughs.
And I know…
This is the sound I've been looking up into these stands for my whole life.