Chapter Thirty-Eight
Theo
The hotel smells like money and lemon cleaner.
It’s not unpleasant so much as it’s unfamiliar, though it’s a little too polished, as well as too quiet.
Away games are always strange, but this one today feels heavier.
Finals don’t come around often in semi-pro. Not unless a dozen things line up just right. Injuries avoided. Momentum held. Luck not turning its back on you at the wrong moment.
But now, here we are: two towns over in Duluth, lake wind cutting sharp off Superior, scouts rumored to be in the stands tonight—regional, maybe higher—
And my leg still not right.
I roll my ankle carefully as I walk, testing it the way I have every morning since the last game.
It’s better than it was. That doesn’t mean it’s good.
Out by the auxiliary rink, Emery’s already waiting. She’s layered up in Moose gear with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looks calm in that way she always does before something big, no doubt having already thought through every outcome and made peace with them.
“Hey,” she says softly when she sees me, eyes immediately dropping to my gait. “How’s it feeling today?”
I shrug, then regret it when my knee twinges.
“Depends how honest you want me to be.”
We settle onto the mats near the boards, the rink still quiet except for the distant scrape of the Zamboni finishing up. She guides me through stretches slowly, checking in with light touches, careful pressure.
“I don’t think I’m starting,” I say eventually, staring down at my taped knee.
She doesn’t rush to contradict me.
“I know,” she says gently. “Coach mentioned it.”
That shouldn’t sting, but it does anyway.
I swallow it down.
“I hate that it’s this game,” I admit. “If it were any other… I could live with it. But this—” I gesture vaguely toward the rink. “This might be it for some of us. Or the start of something else.”
Her hand stills on my shin. “That doesn’t go away just because you’re not on the ice the whole time.”
“I know.” I exhale. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
She shifts closer, sitting beside me now instead of in front of me, shoulder to shoulder.
“You’re allowed to be disappointed,” she says. “You’re also allowed to protect your body.”
I laugh quietly. “You sound like a brochure.”
We sit there for a moment, listening to the hum of the rink coming to life around us.
“You ever think about what comes after?” she asks.
“All the time,” I answer. “Especially in the off-season.”
She glances at me, curious. “You never really talk about that.”
I hesitate, then shrug again—more carefully this time.
“I do contract electrical work in the summers. Residential, mostly. Some commercial if the timing lines up. It’s… different.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do,” I say after a beat. “I miss the ice, but I like having something that’s mine, and that’s not tied to a scoreboard or a roster.”
She smiles at that.
“That makes sense.”
“I’ll miss the chaos,” I add. “The boys. The noise. But balance matters. Semi-pro works for me because I don’t have to burn everything else down to chase it.”
Her expression softens. “That’s… really healthy, Theo.”
I snort. “Don’t tell anyone.”
She laughs, then grows quieter.
“I love it here,” she says, almost to herself. “Well, not here, but...”
“In Iron Lake?”
She nods.
“I didn’t expect to. I thought it would just be a stopover. Somewhere to breathe for a bit before moving on.”
“And now?”
“And now… Now, I don’t want to leave.”
The words land heavier than she probably intends.
“I’m staying,” she says, turning to look at me properly now. “With Beau. Permanently.”
Something tight in my chest eases, even as something else shifts into place.
Relief, mostly. A little ache.
And a quiet understanding that doesn’t need to be named.
“I’m glad,” I say honestly. “For what it’s worth.”
She searches my face, then reaches out, squeezing my hand.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
We sit there a moment longer, the rink filling up, voices echoing now, the distant sound of skates hitting ice.
“You’re still part of this, you know,” she says, nodding toward the rink. “Tonight. This team.”
I nod. “I know.”
My leg may keep me off the ice longer than I want, but it doesn’t take me out of the circle, doesn’t take me out of the room.
And it sure as hell doesn’t take me out of whatever this strange, shifting thing between all of us has become.
“Ready?” she asks, standing and offering her hand.
I take it, pushing up carefully. “Yeah.”
Finals may be equal parts messy and unpredictable, but standing here, stretching out the last of the stiffness, knowing where I stand—even if it’s not where I planned—I feel steadier than I have in weeks.
Whatever happens tonight, I’m not watching from the outside. I’m still part of it.
And somehow, that’s enough.