69. LANE
LANE
I don’t hear the final buzzer so much as feel it. It’s in the way the bench empties and how the guys crash into each other. Gloves hit the ice, someone tackles me from the side and I go down laughing, the sound ripped out of me before I can stop it.
“Welcome back, man!” Leo yells. Matty smiles alongside him, offering me a hand.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m fighting for space. I feel like I belong in it.
I push myself up, shoving Leo as the guys circle around. I let it hit me—the noise, the energy, the way I love being part of this team.
Like I almost didn't lose it. My chest tightens again, but this time it’s different. Not pressure. Something heavier but better. Gratitude.
I’m fucking thankful for this. For the opportunity. For Cora to care enough not to give up on me, even when I was already planning my escape. For Coach Knight. For Coach Banks.
And for Oliver.
He skates over and stands on the edge, waiting for the team to disperse. When there’s a space, he taps my helmet.
“Good game. But you’re going down tomorrow.” He smiles at me like there’s no bad blood. Like he’s really okay after coming clean about that night. It hits me in the chest, harder than I expect.
I pull him in a quick hug, tapping my helmet to his.
Oliver claps me on the back and asks, “Any chance you want to hang out? Get some late dinner or something? My dad would love it.” He almost can’t look at me—the clear tell he thinks I’m going to say no. “But if you have plans with the guys—”
Shaking my head, I interrupt, “No plans. Let’s do it. Just let me get cleaned up.”
The game fades faster than I expect. By the time I’m out of the shower and in the hallway, it’s like everything’s already behind me.
Except Cora, and how she showed up for me.
No one’s perfect, not even Cora. But if this has taught me anything, it’s about what happens next. After the wrong decision or choice, that’s when people show you who they really are.
People can give up. Leave you behind. Or they can stay.
Guess I’m not used to the last option.
I drag a hand through my damp hair, bag slung over my shoulder as I step farther down the hall.
There she is.
She’s leaning against the wall, a few feet from the exit. Not scrolling her phone. Not talking to anyone. Just… waiting.
For me.
Her hands are tucked into the sleeves of her sweatshirt, shoulders pulled in like she’s trying to make herself smaller. When her eyes lift and meet mine, there’s something there I don’t expect.
Not relief, not even happiness, but almost like she’s bracing for what comes next.
My chest tightens. There are no words, even if I dug to the deepest part of me.
I just drop my bag and walk straight to her.
She barely has time to push off the wall before I’m there, pulling her in and lifting her clean off the ground.
She lets out a soft sound—half laugh, half surprise—as her arms come up around my shoulders, holding on.
I bury my face against her neck for a second, breathing her in like I need to make sure she’s actually here.
“Hey,” she says quietly, like she’s not sure if she should say more.
I set her back down, but I don’t let her go. My hands slide to her waist, keeping her close.
“Hey.”
Cora’s eyes flick over my face, like she’s checking something, making sure I’m okay. And I realize she probably hasn’t stopped doing that since the game ended.
“I—” she starts, then stops herself, shaking her head a little. “I didn’t know if I should wait or…”
She trails off.
“I’m glad you did,” I reassure her.
Her shoulders drop a fraction at that, the tension easing just enough for me to notice.
“Good,” she says, softer now.
My phone buzzes, probably Oliver telling me they’re ready.
“So, I’m supposed to get dinner with Oliver and Coach Knight—”
“You should go,” she interrupts, stepping back just enough that my hands fall away. “I’m sure it will be nice to spend some time with them.”
I don’t move. “You sure?”
Her eyes meet mine again, steadier this time. “Yes,” she insists. “Of course.”
I nod and then take a step back. Then another. This isn’t a trap, and I know it, but god damn… she’s hard to leave.
When I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, she calls, “Good game, Maxwell.” Her words are playful and light.
I shake my head, a quiet laugh slipping out of me as I take another step. But then I stop. I don’t want to leave it like this. So I go back, closing the distance again, until my fingers are tipping her chin and her eyes are locked on mine.
Slowly, I kiss her. Trying to tell her all the things I’ll get to eventually.
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s anchoring herself; for a second, it’s just her and me. When I pull back, her eyes are softer. Less guarded.
“Go,” she insists quietly. “I’ll see you later.”
I nod. But I only make it a few steps when I hear my name.
“Lane,” Coach calls, leaning against the wall a few feet down the hallway.
I walk over, already bracing.
He glances past me toward where Cora’s already off somewhere else, then back to me.
“This,” he says, keeping his voice low, pointing between me and where Cora was just standing, “is the first and last time I see the two of you together like that during the season.”
I nod once. “Understood.”
“I mean it.” His mouth twitches, just barely.
“I believe you.”
His hands rest on his hips when he continues. “You treat her the way she deserves. And then some.”
My jaw tightens. “I will.”
He studies me for a second longer, like he’s deciding whether to believe that, but his eyes soften when they land on me and I know he does. Or he’s trying to, at least.
“I’m glad you’re on this team, Lane. And for the people you have in your corner who didn’t give up on you. Even if I almost did.”
I didn’t expect an apology from Coach Banks. He didn’t have all the information and did what he thought was best. Him getting this close to saying sorry means more than he’ll ever know.
“Thanks, Coach.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m on your side. Don’t forget that, ok?”
“I won’t.”
And it’s the truth.