Chapter 4 — Carter #2
He followed her to the supply table behind the check-in booth. The ballroom was filling slowly: volunteers arriving, athletic department staff checking donation stations, a few players wandering in looking uncomfortable in collared shirts.
Carter grabbed the name tag box from the shelf above Lena before she reached for it.
She looked up. “Show-off.”
“Efficient.”
“That’s my word.”
“I learned from the best.”
Her eyes softened.
Then she glanced around and lowered her voice. “How’s the shoulder?”
He frowned. “How do you know about that?”
“Coach mentioned you went to the trainer.”
“Coach has a big mouth.”
“Carter.”
“It’s fine.”
Her eyes narrowed.
He sighed. “It’s sore. Not serious.”
She stepped closer, and suddenly the supply table felt a lot like the supply closet.
Dangerous geography.
“Can you do the speech?” she asked.
Damn her for seeing it.
Damn him for liking that she did.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I have.”
His entire body went still.
“Hey,” she said softly. “You don’t have to perform for me.”
Carter looked at her.
The noise of the room thinned again, the way it always did when she spoke to the part of him no one else seemed to notice.
“I’m not,” he said.
Probably too much.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“I did read the speech,” he said.
“Twice?”
“Three times.”
Her mouth curved. “Overachiever.”
“Trying to impress a girl.”
He stepped closer.
Her eyes lifted.
“Yeah,” he said. “On me.”
Her expression changed, all flirty challenge melting into something warmer and more dangerous.
The walkie-talkie crackled again.
“Lena? Name tags?”
Carter grinned.
She pointed at him with the name tag box. “Do not look proud of yourself.”
“I’m trying to impress a girl. Pride is part of the package.”
They returned the name tags to check-in just as the first wave of donors began arriving.
Lena was everywhere.
Greeting donors. Directing volunteers. Adjusting signs. Calming Denise. Reassigning Mason after he referred to the silent auction as “competitive shopping.” Saving Tank from a four-year-old who asked why his eyebrows looked sad.
Actually helping.
He guided donors to tables, rounded up players for their shifts, fixed a microphone stand, carried extra chairs, and stopped Mason from introducing the children’s puck challenge as “Tiny Violence for Charity.”
Every few minutes, Lena looked at him.
Five minutes later, while she checked donation cards near the sponsor wall, Carter stepped close behind her, not touching except for the briefest brush of his hand at her waist as he reached around to straighten a crooked sign.
“Careful,” he murmured near her ear. “People are watching.”
Her breath hitched.
But her voice stayed steady. “Then behave.”
His smile touched her ear. “That’s what got us into trouble.”
She turned her head just enough for their eyes to meet.
The look she gave him was pure fire.
Then Denise appeared with a tablet, and Lena became professional again so quickly it was honestly impressive.
Carter, on the other hand, needed a full minute.
Mason materialized beside him holding a tray of cookies. “You okay?”
Carter took one automatically.
Mason looked between him and Lena. “Are you two doing secret flirting? Because if yes, please remember I am emotionally fragile and love gossip.”
“We are working.”
“Your face is not working.”
“My face is none of your business.”
“Your face is making bad choices in public.”
Carter shoved the cookie into Mason’s mouth and walked away.
Parents, students, donors, faculty, hospital staff, and a terrifying number of children moved through the event stations.
The puck booth had a line. The raffle table was busy.
The silent auction already had bidding wars over a spa basket and signed Ridgeview jersey.
The donation screen near the stage showed a number that kept climbing.
Lena stood offstage with the printed speech in her hands.
For the first time all night, she looked nervous.
Carter knew because she was holding the paper too tightly. Her knuckles were pale.
He stepped beside her. “Hey.”
She glanced at him. “Hey.”
He gave her a look.
She exhaled. “I hate that you’ve learned that.”
“Your fine is different from my fine.”
He looked toward the stage. Denise was testing the microphone. Coach stood near the front table with the hospital board members. Logan, Mason, Jonah, and Tank hovered off to one side, pretending not to watch.
Exposure.
He could already feel the room looking at him. Waiting for him to be funny, easy, charming. Waiting for him to make something heartfelt sound painless.
But Lena stood beside him.
Carter looked down at their joined hands, then at her.
A steadying one.
His chest tightened.
“Lena,” he said quietly.
“You look beautiful.”
Her lips parted.
“You already said that,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m repeating it because I forgot the entire speech again.”
A laugh broke out of her, soft and startled.
Exactly what he wanted.
“There,” he said. “Better.”
“Carter.”
Her expression shifted. “You’re going to be good.”
He wanted to joke.
Instead, he nodded once.
“Only because you wrote the boring parts.”
She smiled. “And you wrote the parts that made people feel something.”
A dull thump echoed through the ballroom.
“Good evening, everyone. If you could please turn your attention toward the stage, we’re going to begin our opening remarks.”
Denise introduced the event, thanked the university, thanked the hospital, and then turned toward them.
“Please welcome our student event coordinator, Lena Brooks, and Ridgeview Hockey’s Carter Hayes.”
The room spread out in front of him: donors, parents, teammates, Coach, hospital staff, kids holding foam pucks and cookies.
Lena began.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight for Ridgeview Hockey’s Hearts and Helmets Fundraiser benefiting the children’s wing at St. Mary’s Hospital.”
Carter looked at her instead of the crowd.
Then she turned slightly.
His cue.
Carter stepped to the microphone.
Barely.
He hoped no one noticed.
Then Lena’s fingers brushed his wrist behind the podium.
He looked up.
“People think hockey players show up when there’s a scoreboard,” he began.
But steady.
“So much of what we do is measured in goals, wins, losses, saves, hits. We’re used to crowds when something big happens. A horn. A cheer. A whole arena reacting at once.”
So he kept going.
“But the kids at St. Mary’s are fighting harder than any of us fight on the ice, and most of the time, they don’t get a crowd chanting their names.
They don’t get a horn when they make it through another treatment, another test, another long night where they have to be braver than any kid should have to be. ”
Did not run.
“Tonight is about showing up for them. It’s about reminding those families that they aren’t alone, and reminding ourselves that being part of a team should mean more than what we do in a rink.”
Always back to Lena.
“So thank you for showing up. Thank you for giving. Thank you for helping us turn one night at Ridgeview into something that reaches beyond campus.”
Lena stepped back toward the microphone, her voice softer now.
“Every donation tonight supports real families during real moments of fear, hope, and courage. We’re honored to be a small part of that, and we’re grateful you chose to be part of it too.”
She turned to him.
Their eyes met.
Together, they said, “Thank you.”
Mason whooped from the side until Coach smacked the back of his head.
Carter exhaled a breath he felt like he had been holding all day.
They stepped offstage together.
The second they were behind the curtain, where the noise was muffled and the lights were dim, Lena turned to him.
“You did it,” she said.
Carter laughed once under his breath, the relief hitting him all at once. “I didn’t pass out.”
“I’m not.” Her eyes searched his. “I’m proud of you.”
The applause still rolled beyond the curtain. The event was still moving. People were probably looking for them.
He did not care.
“Lena,” he said.
Her smile faded into something warmer. “What?”
“You can’t say things like that to me back here.”
“Why?”
“Because this is where I kiss you.”
For one second, she looked toward the curtain.
Then back at him.
“Then hurry,” she whispered.
Lena rose into him immediately, her arms sliding around his neck. Her mouth opened under his, and Carter forgot the applause, the room, the fundraiser, everything except the way she felt pressed against him and the quiet sound she made when his thumb brushed her jaw.
She tugged lightly at the hair near the nape of his neck.
His entire body went hot.
“Brooks,” he murmured against her mouth.
They broke apart just as Coach Harlan stepped halfway backstage.
Coach stared at them.
Carter, because apparently his survival instinct had died during the speech, said, “Team morale is high.”
Coach closed his eyes.
For a long second, he said nothing.
Then he opened them and pointed toward the ballroom. “You two have thirty seconds to look professional.”
“Yes, Coach,” Carter said.
Coach’s gaze narrowed. “Do not make me regret telling you to take a risk.”
Lena’s hand slipped from his neck, but she didn’t move away completely.
Coach looked between them once more, then disappeared back through the curtain.
Silence.
Then Lena covered her face with both hands. “Oh my God.”
Carter laughed quietly. “Could’ve been Mason.”
She dropped her hands and glared. “That is not comforting.”
“It should be. Coach won’t make T-shirts.”
“Mason absolutely will.”
“He might already have a design.”
“Carter.”
He reached out and smoothed one strand of hair back from her cheek.
Her glare softened despite her best efforts.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
“No.”
“Because of Coach?”
His hand stilled.
She looked up at him, and the vulnerability in her face hit him harder than the applause.
“This is moving fast,” she said.