Chapter 52
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
DYLAN
It’s game night, and I’m wired. Not from the usual nerves.
Not even from the pressure of needing a big win after last week’s loss.
No, tonight, it’s something way worse. Mum’s here.
In the building. At her first ever live game.
And after months of begging, bribing, guilt-tripping and practically blackmailing her, she’s finally come down to see me play.
I pace around the player’s lounge, tugging my hoodie over my head, then dragging it back down again. Murphy watches me from where he’s slouched in a chair, smirking.
“Christ, mate,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re worse than Ollie before his first playoff game.”
I flip him off without much heat. My mind’s already somewhere else.
Namely Mia. And the fact that in about five minutes, I’m dragging her into the private family section to meet my mum.
Secretly. Without making it look like anything weird is happening.
Because the last thing we need is the team, or worse, Coach, figuring out that Mia’s not just the team physio to me anymore.
She’s everything.
And I’m fucking useless at hiding it. Jonno shouts for warm-ups to start, and Murphy hauls himself up. “You’ll be fine,” he says, clapping me hard on the back. “You love her. She’ll love you.”
“Talking about my mum or Mia?” Murphy winks and jogs off toward the rink.
I take a second to breathe deeply and try to look like a normal, fully functioning adult male.
And not some lovesick idiot who’s about to introduce the girl he’s head over heels for to his mother under the sketchiest circumstances imaginable.
Good luck, Winters.
I spot Mia immediately as we head onto the ice for pre-game warm-ups. She’s standing near the bench, clipboard in hand, head down like she’s double-checking something important. But her eyes flick up and catch mine, and for half a second, everything else disappears.
The noise. The lights. The players shouting. It’s just her. God, she’s beautiful. I can’t smile because I can’t give anything away. But my chest feels like it’s splitting wide open.
As I skate past, close enough that the air stirs the loose strands of her hair, she flicks her gaze down in a way that almost no one would notice.
But I do. It’s the smallest thing, but it’s ours, and it’s enough to get me through the warm-up session.
After, I strip off my helmet and jog off the ice toward the family area. Mum’s waiting, tucked near the back, looking small but fierce in a navy jacket and sensible boots. She spots me instantly, her whole face lighting up. My throat goes tight. Jesus, I’ve missed her.
“Mum,” I say, and suddenly I’m twelve years old again, crashing into her arms after scoring my first goal. She hugs me hard, smelling like all things home.
“You look so grown up,” she says, stepping back to look at me. “When did that happen?”
“Couple of weeks ago,” I joke.
She laughs and cups my cheek, her hand warm and familiar. “You were brilliant out there,” she says.
“It was just warm-ups.”
“Still brilliant.”
I smile, ducking my head. “Mum, there’s someone I want you to meet,” I say, my heart hammering. Her eyebrows lift sharply, and I know she’s curious. I turn and there’s Mia, hovering back a little, pretending to check something on her clipboard but obviously stealing glances at us.
I catch her eye and give her the tiniest nod. She walks over, composed, professional, but there’s a flush in her cheeks I can’t help but feel smug about.
“Mum, this is Mia Clarke,” I say. “She’s our team physio.”
Mia sticks out her hand, polite smile in place. “Mrs Winters,” she says warmly.
“Maggie, love. Please.” Mum beams, gripping Mia’s hand between both of hers. “And it’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
Finally meet you.
Not meet you. Finally. Mia catches it, too, and her eyes flicker but she just smiles. “And you,” she says, steadily.
“You take good care of my boy, I hear,” Mum says, squeezing Mia’s hand before letting go.
I want to crawl into a hole and die. Mia laughs, it’s easy and pretty. Melodic even. “I try,” she says, shooting me a quick sideways glance that makes my stomach flip.
Mum leans in slightly, lowering her voice like we’re sharing some big conspiracy. “He’s always been a stubborn one. Won’t listen to good advice. But he’s got a good heart.”
“I know,” Mia says quietly. Our eyes meet and I know she’s no longer talking about hockey. My mum sees it. Of course she does. She smiles this small, knowing smile that makes my chest ache. She knows. She knew the second she saw us.
The team starts filing back into the locker room, shouting and clattering.
I have to go. But I linger a second longer, soaking it all in; the weight of Mia beside me, the warmth of my mum’s approval, the stupid, terrifying, but incredible feeling that somehow, against all odds, this is real.
“I’ll see you after the game, just stay here and I’ll come get you,” I say to Mum.
“You’ll smash it, love,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I turn to Mia. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to. It’s in her eyes; bright and fierce and mine. I jog off, heart pounding like I’ve already played the whole damn game.
The game itself is a blur. I’m sharper than I’ve been in weeks, adrenaline burning through my veins in the best way.
Every shift feels electric. I score once in the second period, and assist twice.
The crowd’s roaring, chanting my name, and I swear I can feel Mum’s pride like a physical thing in the stands.
And Mia; somewhere behind the bench, watching. Always watching.
The thought makes me play harder and we win, four-two. By the time the buzzer sounds, I’m flying. Not just from the win. From everything. Mia. Mum. This impossible, ridiculous, and perfect life I’m somehow building.
After the game, back in the lounge, Mum’s waiting with a hot cup of tea and a look that could strip paint. “So,” she says casually as I flop into the seat across from her. “You and the physio, huh?”
I choke on my Lucozade.
Mum smirks. “I’m not stupid, Dylan,” she says, sipping her tea. “You look at her like she hung the stars.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, half-laughing, half-mortified. “It’s complicated,” I admit.
“Complicated because of work?” Mum questions, I can see the worry etched on her brow. I nod. “And you love her?”
I nod again, my throat too dry to speak.
Mum just smiles, it’s warm and wise. “Good. She’s lovely. And she clearly adores you.”
“Think so?”
“I know so,” Mum says. “I’ve been alive a lot longer than you, love. You can’t fake the way she looks at you.”
I sit back, feeling something deep and hot and aching uncoil in my chest. Relief.
Gratitude. Love. All tangled together.
“Just be careful,” Mum says gently. “And don’t let fear stop you from being happy.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
When everyone’s trickling out, Mia catches my eye across the stadium.
It’s just a glance along with a tilt of her head toward the corridor.
Meet me. I wait a beat and then I tell Mum to have a seat for a second before I slip away.
I find her leaning against the wall by the physio room, shadows pooling around her.
I reach her in two strides. She smiles up at me, and it’s the kind of smile that knocks all the air from my lungs. “Your mum’s incredible,” she says softly.
“She likes you.”
“I like her.” We stand there, close but not touching, hearts hammering, the whole world holding its breath around us. “I’m proud of you,” she says, her voice thick. “You played amazing tonight.”
“I was showing off,” I say, grinning.
“For me?”
“For you.”
Her breath hitches. God, I want to kiss her.
Right here, where anyone could see. But I know that’s too dangerous, and I will not put her at risk, not any more than I already have.
Instead, I brush my fingers along the back of her hand, it’s the smallest, most secret touch.
More of a promise that we’ll find a way. Together.