Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Sloane
“You’re sure this is the right section?” Paige asks, craning her neck as we step out of the lobby and into the arena bowl.
“I’m positive,” I say, even though I absolutely am not.
Nancy laughs. “You say that like a woman who has never been to a hockey game but has Googled ‘best seats NHL’ exactly once.”
“That Google search was very thorough,” I tell her. “And expensive back then.”
The arena opens up in front of us, and for a second, I forget to keep walking.
It’s massive. Loud. Bright in a way that feels intentional, like every light and screen and blast of music is part of a ritual everyone else already understands.
I pause just long enough to take it in.
The scale. The noise. The choreography of it all.
“This is… a lot,” Paige says.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “It’s just a building full of people who are emotionally invested in men on knives strapped to their feet.”
Nancy hums. “You’re already using humor to cope. I love this for you.”
“I’m not coping,” I say. “I’m observing.”
That’s why I’m here.
Exposure. Optics. Understanding the environment.
Absolutely not because Colby Hayes is about to play a hockey game.
This is research.
This is work.
We make our way to our seats, and I notice something almost immediately.
How many people know his name.
Not his face. Not his voice. Just the name.
HAYES jerseys everywhere. On kids. On grown men. On women who look like they’ve been coming to games longer than I’ve been managing artists.
It’s… grounding. And a little unsettling.
“Okay,” Paige says as we sit. “So, where is he?”
“I didn’t say you were supposed to be watching anyone,” I say.
Nancy grins. “You didn’t have to.”
Before I can respond, someone taps my shoulder.
“Sloane?”
I turn, already braced for something awkward.
Instead, I’m met with a woman who looks confident, warm, and completely uninterested in interrogating me.
“I’m Annabelle,” she says, smiling. “You made it.”
“Oh, hi,” I say, standing automatically. “Yes. Hi. This place is… impressive.”
She laughs. “That’s one word for it.”
“And I’m Mia,” another woman adds, sliding into the row behind us. “Welcome to the party.”
“Thanks,” I say, finally remembering my manners. “This is Paige and Nancy. They’re here so I don’t have to figure this place out alone.”
Paige’s eyes light up. Nancy nudges me.
I wait for the question.
What are you to him?
How do you know Colby?
Is this serious?
It never comes.
Instead, Annabelle gestures to the ice. “You picked a good night. They should beat the Blue Jackets.”
Mia nods. “And if they’re not on their top game, we pretend they are until further notice.”
I blink.
“That’s… very generous of you.”
Annabelle shrugs. “It’s a learned skill.”
Somehow I start to relax.
This isn’t what I expected.
There’s no sizing up. No territorial edge. No subtle assessment of whether I belong here.
They just… make room.
Mia laughs softly. “They’re fun to watch,” she says, nodding toward the ice. “My husband’s the goalie, so I’ve learned early to enjoy the nail-biting moments or lose my mind.”
Annabelle smiles, a little wry. “I work in the executive offices. My dad owns the team,” she adds, like it’s no big deal. “And last year, when I really wasn’t expecting it, Bryce and I kind of fell into each other.” She shrugs. “Long story. Definitely a later conversation.”
The lights dim. The music shifts. The players spill onto the ice.
And there he is.
Colby Hayes doesn’t announce himself.
He doesn’t perform for the crowd or throw his weight around for attention.
He just skates.
Efficient. Controlled. Like the ice already knows him.
“Who’s that?” Paige asks, leaning forward.
I don’t answer right away.
Because I’m watching how the team orients toward him.
How they glance his way without thinking. How a younger player adjusts his position the second Colby lifts his stick.
He’s not loud.
He doesn’t showboat.
He directs.
“That’s Colby,” Annabelle says easily. “Captain.”
Of course he is.
He circles during warmups, focused, deliberate, and then his gaze lifts.
Finds mine.
It’s brief. Unremarkable to anyone else.
Not to me.
***
The puck drops.
The sound alone is enough to jolt my attention fully into the game. The crack of sticks. The thud of bodies against the boards. The speed is startling in person, faster, sharper, more violent than it looks on TV.
“This is weird,” I murmur, leaning back in my seat.
Paige tilts her head. “Weird how?”
“I haven’t been to a live game since Mack,” I say quietly. “I forgot how… much it is.”
Nancy snorts. “Ah yes. Mack. Patron saint of cocky hockey players who think fidelity is optional.”
Paige nods solemnly. “May he never darken an arena again.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “He ruined this for me a little.”
Nancy bumps my knee with hers. “Good news. This one looks like he may be the opposite.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Colby takes a hit early in the first period. Hard enough that Paige gasps.
He pops back up like it’s nothing.
“Okay,” Nancy says. “I see the appeal.”
“I’m not here to evaluate appeal,” I say automatically.
Paige snorts. “You absolutely are.”
Midway through the first, Colby makes a play that almost looks boring if you don’t know what you’re watching.
He blocks a lane. Redirects traffic. Calls for a line change with a subtle lift of his hand.
The crowd reacts anyway.
“Oh,” I murmur, before I can stop myself.
Annabelle smiles. “You saw that.”
“Yes,” I say. “I did.”
Hockey stops being background noise.
Late in the second period, the game tightens. Tied score. Tempers flare.
A younger player on Colby’s line makes a mistake, causing a turnover which was almost costly.
I brace for yelling.
It never comes.
Colby skates to him. Says something I can’t hear. Claps his glove once against the kid’s shoulder.
The player nods. Breathes. Resets.
The next shift is clean.
“That,” I say quietly, “is leadership.”
Annabelle’s expression softens. “Yeah.”
The crowd feeds off it. Every time Colby touches the puck, there’s a hum. Not excitement exactly.
Trust.
I don’t miss the way the team protects him. How they close ranks when things get chippy. How the bench watches him like he’s the axis everything turns on.
This is not the hockey player who broke my heart.
I don’t say that out loud.
Third period.
I catch myself leaning forward.
Holding my breath.
When Colby makes a crucial play in the final minutes, it’s fast and brutal, and beautiful all at once. He anticipates the pass before it happens, cuts into the lane, and snaps the puck past the goalie before the crowd can even rise to its feet. The red light flashes. The arena erupts.
I’m on my feet before I realize it.
Cheering. Clapping. Letting the noise take me with it.
And then it hits me...
I didn’t decide to do that.
It just happened.
Paige whoops and throws her arms around my shoulders. Nancy high-fives her over my head like this is their team now.
“Yes!” Paige laughs. “Okay, I get it.”
“That pass,” Mia says, leaning forward, eyes bright. “Bryce put that right where it needed to be and Colby capitalized on it.”
Annabelle nods. “Perfect timing. He drew the defense just enough to open the lane.”
I sink back into my seat, heart still racing, and realize I’m smiling too.
The horn sounds. The Acers win 3-2 in a very exciting game.
He skates first toward the crease, tapping gloves with the goalie, pulling him into the usual post-win swarm. Then, as he peels away toward the tunnel, he lifts his stick once, not a wave, not a show. Just a small acknowledgment meant for me.
Then we see each other.
Just a beat of eye contact that causes butterflies to explode in my stomach.
Then the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling out the three stars of the game.
When Colby’s name echoes through the arena, the place erupts all over again.
He turns back, skates out onto the ice for the lap, helmet off now, cheeks flushed, the grin he’s been holding back finally breaking loose.
Everyone around me is on their feet… Paige, Nancy, Annabelle, Mia… cheering like this is the most obvious thing in the world.
And when Colby circles the ice, he looks up again.
Finds us.
Finds me.
He lifts his stick in a small salute this time, unmistakable.
I cheer harder without even pretending I’m not, and the way his smile deepens tells me he sees that too.
***
After the game, he finds me near the tunnel.
“Hey,” he says, voice lower now. “Thanks for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “Great game.”
He adds, “To get the full experience, come to the team dinner tomorrow night. You're invited.”
He glances at Paige and Nancy then, polite and easy. “You're invited too. It’s usually loud and a little unhinged.”
Paige’s eyebrows shoot up. Nancy grins.
“I,” I hesitate. Then: “Yeah. Okay.”
Paige laughs under her breath. “Thanks, maybe next time,” she says quickly. "We have another commitment."
Nancy nods. “Yes we do.” She gives me a quick, unmistakable wink indicating message received; we know better than to tag along for this.
Paige turns back to Colby. “Seriously, thanks again for the tickets,” she says. “And congrats on the win. That was fun to watch.”
Nancy echoes it with a grin. “Great game.”
Then they’re gone, already halfway down the corridor, glancing back just once to give me an exaggerated thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd.
He nods, like that was the answer he hoped for but didn’t expect.
He walks me out through the corridors, close but careful. Our shoulders almost brush.
“What’d you think?” he asks.
“It’s… intense,” I say professionally.
He smiles like he knows there’s more.
At the doors, there’s a pause.
A moment.
He waits.
I notice.
And it unsettles me more than if he hadn’t.
“See you tomorrow. I'll text you the details,” he says.
“See you.”
As he walks away, I notice my heart is pounding.
Not from the game.
From the thought I haven’t let myself think all night.
This is dangerous.
But it’s not careless.
And the worst part, the part I really didn’t plan for, is that this suddenly feels like more than a favor.
More than optics.
More than something I can package neatly for my artist.
Because as I pull out my phone and see his name waiting on my screen, I realize I’m going to have to be very careful about which story I tell first.
The one I sell.
Or the one I’m starting to live.