Chapter Eleven
Dylan
Why am I feeling so nervous right now?
I’m never nervous before games. My pre-game jitters vanished somewhere around peewee league.
But tonight, I’ve reverted to being a twelve-year-old with sweaty palms, all because I know Cheyenne is going to be in the stands.
Which is weird, because it’s not like this is the first time she’s ever been to a Glaciers game . ..
I arrange my pads in perfect order, the same way I have before hundreds of games. Left shin guard, right shin guard. Chest protector. Elbow pads.
But somehow, everything feels off.
I grab my stick, the familiar weight feels strange in my hands.
The tape job is crucial—not too thick, not too thin.
Hockey players are notoriously superstitious, and I’m no exception.
Three wraps around the top, then working my way down in a perfect spiral.
But my fingers aren’t cooperating. The edge of the tape is uneven where it’s usually precise.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself, unwrapping the messy section to start again.
My phone buzzes on the bench beside me, and I nearly drop my stick reaching for it.
Cheyenne: Good luck tonight! We’re on our way. Genna says not to break your face because she needs you presentable for Christmas photos.
Good luck messages aren’t unusual—I get them from family, friends, even fans. But Cheyenne’s makes my stomach do a weird flippy thing that I don’t entirely hate.
My thumbs hover over my phone keyboard, trying to think of something witty to say back, when suddenly Paul is standing at my side, looking like he’s about to face a firing squad rather than play a hockey game.
“Hey, Williamston,” he says, his voice higher than usual. “You got a minute? I mean, not now obviously. But after the game?”
I set my phone down, Cheyenne’s text still unanswered. “Sure, man. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says too quickly. “Just wanted to talk about something. After the game’s fine.”
His nervous energy is distracting me from my own weird jitters. I’ve always prided myself on being a good teammate, on having the guys’ backs. “You sure? You look like you’re about to throw up, and I’d rather you didn’t do that on the ice.”
“I’m good,” Paul insists, though his face says otherwise. “Just ... after the game, okay?”
“Alright,” I agree, turning back to my stick. “I’ll find you.”
He nods gratefully and disappears, probably to pace anxiously elsewhere.
Rookies. Always so dramatic.
Coach Wilson enters the room, and the noise level instantly drops.
He gives the usual pre-game speech—nothing fancy, just reminders about what we’ve practiced all week.
I nod, but my mind keeps drifting to the stands, wondering if Cheyenne and Genna have arrived yet.
Wondering if Cheyenne is wearing team colors or her usual neutral tones.
Wondering why I’m suddenly so interested in what Cheyenne wears.
“Williamston,” Coach barks, snapping me back to attention. “You with us tonight?”
“Always, Coach,” I respond automatically, straightening up.
“Good. I need you sharp out there.”
I nod, forcing myself to focus. Hockey first. Whatever this weird Cheyenne situation is, it can wait until after the final buzzer.
By the time we line up in the tunnel, my pre-game jitters have mostly settled into the familiar pre-game focus. The roar of the crowd builds anticipation.
This is my element.
The lights dim in the arena, the announcement system booming with introductions. And then we’re released onto the ice, skating out through artificial smoke and blinding lights.
I do my usual circuit—three quick crossovers, a tight turn, a stretch to touch my toes—before taking my place for the national anthem. As the first notes play, my eyes scan the crowd, seeking out section 114, row F.
And there she is.
Cheyenne stands beside my sister, her hand over her heart for the anthem. She’s wearing a blue team jersey—my jersey, I realize with a jolt—and her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. Even from this distance, I can see her lips moving along with the words.
My heart pounds against my chest, so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t echo through my pads.
This is ridiculous. I’ve known Cheyenne forever. I’ve seen her in a team jersey before. I’ve seen her at dozens of games over the years. Why is my mouth suddenly dry? Why does the sight of her in the stands make my pulse race more than the thought of the game ahead?
The anthem ends, the crowd erupts, and we scatter to our positions for the opening faceoff. As the puck drops, the instincts kick in. I intercept a pass, send it up the ice to Cameron, then drive to the net.
The puck comes back to me, a perfect pass that lands right on my tape. I don’t think, I just react—a deke, a shot.
The red light is now flashing behind the goal.
The crowd erupts, and my teammates congratulate me. As I skate back to the bench, my eyes instinctively find section 114 again. Cheyenne is on her feet, jumping up and down, her face alight with excitement.
Our eyes meet for just a moment, and she gives me a thumbs-up.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I fist-bump the guys on the bench.
Scoring always feels good, but somehow, knowing Cheyenne saw it makes it even better.
The rest of the game passes in a blur. I play with an intensity that surprises even me, stealing glances toward the stands between shifts.
Every time I look, Cheyenne is watching the game intently, her expression shifting with each play.
She’s always been a genuine fan of the sport, even before I joined the team.
It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about her.
By the second intermission, we’re up 3-1, and I’ve contributed a goal and an assist. As we file into the locker room, Cameron claps me on the shoulder.
“Whatever’s got you fired up tonight, keep it going,” he says.
I mumble something noncommittal, not ready to examine too closely what—or who—might be responsible for my elevated play tonight.
The third period is a battle with the other team pushing hard to close the gap. But every time I catch a glimpse of blue in section 114, I somehow find another burst of energy.
When the final buzzer sounds, we’ve won 4-2. But my first thought isn’t about the win or my performance.
It’s about finding Cheyenne.
The locker room is raucous with victory music and journalists circling for quotes.
I answer questions on autopilot, ignoring one of the female reporters’ flirty advances, my mind already fast-forwarding to after the press has gone.
Finally, the media clears out, and I can shower and change.
I take more care than usual with my appearance, opting for a button-down.
“Hot date tonight?” Cameron asks, raising an eyebrow at my attire.
“Just meeting my sister,” I say, which is technically true.
He looks skeptical, but thankfully he doesn’t push.
By the time I exit the locker room, most of the team has dispersed.
The corridor outside is quieter now, just a few lingering staff and family members waiting for players.
I scan the area, looking for Genna’s dark hair or Cheyenne’s waves, when Paul approaches, his expression determined but nervous.
“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Thanks for making time.”
“No problem,” I respond, though I’m still scanning the corridor. “What’s up?”
Before Paul can answer, I spot them—Genna and Cheyenne, approaching from the family waiting area. Genna is carrying a festive tin, while Cheyenne holds a simpler container.
“We come bearing gifts!” Genna announces, her voice a little too bright. She’s nervous, I realize. I’ve known my sister long enough to recognize the slight pitch change when she’s anxious.
Paul turns at the sound of her voice, and the transformation is immediate. His whole body relaxes, his face lighting up with a smile I’ve never seen during team functions.
Oh. OH.
I look between my rookie teammate and my sister, the pieces suddenly clicking into place.
“The cookies are partly a bribe,” Genna says as Cheyenne hands me a Tupperware container. “To butter you up before we tell you something.”
“Really?” I pop the lid, pulling a cookie out and taking a bite. Gooey peanut butter goodness melts in my mouth, and I let out a light moan. “Mmm. That’s good. So, what’s on your mind?”
“Well...” My sister takes a deep breath, and I almost laugh at how weird she and Paul are acting about whatever it is that they have going on. “I was thinking Paul and I could hang out—”
“We’re going on a date,” Paul inserts, blurting out what I had already put together. “If that’s okay with you, because I don’t want to cause any riffs with the team.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “You want to take my little sister on a date?”
“Yes. I mean, if—if that’s okay...” Paul drags a palm over the back of his neck.
“Does he make you happy?” I ask Genna directly, ignoring Paul for the moment.
Genna nods, her smile softening. “Yeah, he does. He’s sweet and funny and actually listens when I talk.”
I turn to Paul, giving him my most serious stare. “You hurt her, they’ll never find your body.”
“Dylan!” Genna protests, but Paul just nods solemnly.
“Understood.”
“And you better have her home by midnight ... and drive the speed limit. She’s precious cargo.”
“Absolutely.”
I hold the serious expression for a moment longer before breaking into a smile and taking another bite of the cookie. “Had I not had these amazing cookies, maybe I would’ve thrown a bigger fit, but at this point...” I pause, my eyes bouncing between the two of them. “Go for it. Have fun.”
The tension dissolves, replaced by laughter and relief. Paul accepts the tin of cookies from Genna, looking at them like they’re made of gold. “You baked these?”
“With a little help,” Genna admits, glancing at Cheyenne.
“A lot of help,” Cheyenne corrects, speaking for the first time. Her voice does that thing to my insides again, a warm flutter I’m not used to.
Two minutes later, Genna and Paul are darting off down the hallway, barely muttering some version of goodbye on their way out.
It leaves me standing there alone with Cheyenne, who shakes her head.
“I don’t know why they worked themselves up about it so much,” she comments, reaching into the Tupperware I’m holding and grabbing one of the cookies. “It’s just a date.”
“Yeah,” I grunt, their laughter echoing down the hallway. “Listen to how excited they sound ... I’m not about to be the one who gets in the middle of that.”
“Look at you,” Chey snorts before taking a bite. “So admirably understanding.”
“Yeah, I know.” My eyes linger on the way she chews the cookie, her soft lips pressed together, and her hand catching any crumbs.
Why is it so adorable?
She then pulls out her phone, and I notice her scrolling to a rideshare app, obviously ordering a ride back home.
“I can take you,” I say, before even realizing what I’m offering. “I don’t mind.”
“Um, okay...” Cheyenne’s voice trails off. “Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up any afterparty plans you might have.”
“Nah, I’m not doing anything tonight.” I give her a grin. “In fact, do you wanna go do something? Maybe we could go ice skating? I mean, you brought cookies, so the least I can do is offer something in return.”
“How about we grab a hot chocolate instead? I’m not great at skating.”
I smile down at her, my entire chest feeling weird and warm. “Okay. That’s fine. So long as I get to keep those cookies.”
She giggles and then lets out a light, airy sigh. “I’m okay with that.”
“You sure? Even though they’re the best cookies I’ve ever had? That’s quite a loss.”
Chey’s warm, hazel eyes meet mine. “Of course. I made them for you.”
My heart feels like it could explode in my chest.
She made them for me.
“Don’t get a big head,” she adds, as if she can read my mind. “I might’ve mixed up the salt with the sugar in a couple of them.” She smirks.
I gasp in mock offense. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I guess you’ll just have to find out. It’ll be like Russian Roulette, cookie edition.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.” I chuckle, enjoying the playful banter with Cheyenne. She closes the lid on the Tupperware, her laughter filling the hallway as we make our way toward the exit.
And suddenly, my heart is fluttering with a strange mix of excitement and nerves at the thought of spending more time with her.