Chapter 5
NAOMI
The box suite in the Whalers arena is bedlam. Delightful, sticky-fingered, sugar-high bedlam.
And honestly? Naomi is kind of thriving.
After the hospital visit yesterday, Naomi and Mila spent the morning transforming the suite at the arena into the Whalers Wish Box. Every banner is straight. Every gift bag is loaded with goodies and perfectly arranged.
Naomi had expected today’s game to be a logistical nightmare, but the truth is…she’s having fun. Actual fun. Her face hurts from smiling and her phone is buzzing with compliments instead of corrections. For once, she doesn’t feel like Mila’s tagalong or Richard’s afterthought.
She crouches—carefully, because platform heels and carpet are not friends—and helps a little girl adjust her sparkly headband before ushering her toward a giant fuzzy whale doing an awkward jig in the corner.
That’s Finn. The Whalers mascot. Blue fur, oversized eyes, and a tail that’s currently being yanked with squealing delight by a toddler who has zero fear and a face painted like a butterfly.
“Gentle tail grabs, please,” she calls out cheerfully.
“Finn’s gonna do a backflip!” one boy declares with full conviction.
Finn does not do a backflip. He trips and recovers with jazz hands. The room goes wild anyway.
Before Naomi can wrangle a few more kids for the next photo op, Mila claps her hands. “Alright team, who is ready to go see the players?”
The kids erupt. Like, full-body levitation. They’re vibrating with excitement. Even the shy ones who clung to their parents an hour ago are now bouncing on their toes or wiggling in their wheelchairs, gripping foam fingers and the VIP passes on lanyards Naomi printed for them earlier.
They head out as a swarm—parents, nursing staff, volunteers, and kiddos trailing behind Mila like ducklings. Naomi takes up the rear, emergency pack of wet wipes clutched in her hands and platform heels clicking with every step down the corridor to the elevator that will take them to ice level.
She wore her highest heels she brought to Hartford for tonight’s event. Gave herself a pep talk in the mirror in her hotel room. No one will look down their noses and make her feel small. Not even a certain giant goalie with a shitty attitude and a staring problem can knock her down tonight.
The kids are buzzing. They pass through the maze of the arena, and Naomi feels the shift in the air—game night energy. Crisp, cold, sharp as a skate blade.
The players filter into the tunnel one by one in full gear, navy and green jerseys, their skates click-clacking on the rubber matting.
Jesse greets them first, arms wide. Carter follows, voice booming as he offers enthusiastic fist bumps to the kids. Pavel crouches down and lets the toddler from earlier try on his helmet, and Naomi’s ovaries make a formal complaint.
Then, as if the universe has decided she’s having too much fun, it sends in the final boss.
She clocks Tall’s arrival—hard not to, really, when he’s a walking fortress of a man in full goalie gear.
His mask is shoved up, revealing the same serious, glowering expression from earlier today.
His short, sandy-blond hair is damp with sweat and curling slightly at the edges, jaw locked, neck ink peeking out from the collar of his chest protector.
A kid near her gawks at Tall, wide-eyed. “Is he a robot?”
Tall leans his stick against the wall and bends down—slowly, like he’s calculating the physics of not squashing anyone—and fist bumps the boy with exaggerated care. “Yes,” he says, dead serious.
Naomi snorts before she can stop herself. “Yeah, that tracks.”
He turns his head, mask still propped up, stormy blue eyes meeting hers. He doesn't smile, but a flicker of amusement crosses his face, gone almost before she can catch it.
“Careful,” he says, voice maddeningly low. “From down there, everything probably looks impressive.”
She sputters. She cannot with this man. Physically cannot. Earlier today he ignored her entirely, and now he’s got jokes?
“Oh, so now you’re talking?”
He tilts his head slightly, heavy brows drawing close, blinking at her like she’s the one being weird.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I talk?”
Heat rushes to her face. She checks for nearby little ears before hissing up at him, “Do you have any idea how badly I want to strangle you right now?”
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like he’s privately amused by her impending meltdown. “Doesn’t seem realistic. You’d need…I don’t know, a ladder?”
Her jaw drops, hands flying to her hips in outrage. “I’m just saying, it’s pretty bold pretending you didn’t completely ignore me earlier.”
There’s a pause, where his eyes slide across her face, taking in her pinched expression.
“I was focusing,” he says, voice flat, finally looking away as a blast of rock music filters in from the ice.
“Focusing,” she echoes.
“I need a calm mind before games,” he says. “Can’t be distracted by pocket-sized trash talkers.”
Naomi’s mouth opens, then shuts again.
Of course. He was working. This is literally his job. And she—well, she’d been sulking because he didn’t acknowledge her witty commentary.
Mortification creeps up her neck in a slow, rising wave.
God. Maybe she’s the problem. Maybe she barged in where she doesn’t belong, trying to be clever, when she’s really just—loud. Distracting. Too much.
Before she can spiral further, Jesse bounds over high-fiving kids like he’s hosting a game show.
“Like I said,” he crows, jabbing his padded fist into Tall’s chest. “Housecats. Don’t question it.”
Naomi bites her lip, a little ashamed for not understanding. She hadn’t meant to mess with his pregame focus.
She squares her shoulders and steps closer, clearing her throat. “Hey.” She reaches for the goalie stick Tall had leaned against the wall and turns to offer it to him. “I’ll let you get back in the zone. Here—”
What happens next is nothing short of an apocalypse.
Tall recoils as if she’s just tried to hand him a live grenade. “Don’t—” His voice slices out, sharp and alarmed. “Don’t touch the stick.”
Naomi freezes. “I…what?”
He doesn’t reach for it. Just stares at it in her hands like it’s cursed. “It throws off the balance.”
Naomi stares at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”
“He’s dead serious,” Jesse says, stepping in like this is completely routine. “I once sneezed near it and he made me leave the locker room.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he adds, calling over his shoulder to a trainer in a Whalers polo. “Yo, Greg! we need another twig for T!”
The trainer reappears moments later, jogging out of the tunnel with a replacement stick. He’s wearing gloves. Gloves. Like he’s handling radioactive material.
Tall takes the now ruined stick from Naomi and leans it against the wall in the exact position it had been before, then accepts the new one from the trainer with a solemn nod.
Naomi’s eye twitches.
Carter wanders by, clocking the exchange. “Yeah, don’t touch the stick.”
She lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’m going to stand over there and not touch anything for the rest of my life.”
Turning on her heel, Naomi moves toward a kid whose foam finger is now dripping with bright red slushie.
Her face is hot. Her pride is shredded. She feels like a teenager caught microwaving tinfoil.
And as she crouches to hand the kid a wet wipe, she’s almost certain she can feel Tall’s eyes still on her.
Or maybe she’s just imagining it.
Either way—lesson learned. No stick touching without consent.