Chapter 15
Blake
I don’t notice Perth immediately, which should bother me more than it does.
Noticing James Perth has been part of my job description for long enough now that I usually recognize him before he even steps onto the ice.
Tonight, however, my attention isn’t where it normally is.
Instead of tracking the opposing roster or scanning the crowd for familiar faces, I keep finding myself watching Lisa without meaning to.
It’s the way you watch someone when you’re still trying to convince yourself that what you’re feeling isn’t permanent yet.
It happens during the second period.
One second, she’s leaning forward slightly, elbows resting against the railing like she’s actually enjoying herself, laughing at something Tess says.
At the same time, Gwen points toward the Jumbotron, and the next second, something changes in her posture so subtly that anyone else would miss it completely.
But I don’t. She goes still. Not tense. Not startled. Still. Like someone who just heard their name spoken in a room they thought they were alone in.
At first, I assume it’s the crowd again. The Jumbotron moment earlier wasn’t exactly subtle, and getting booed by an entire arena isn’t something most people brush off easily, but this feels different from embarrassment, discomfort, or even anxiety.
This feels personal.
So I follow her line of sight. And I see him. James Perth. Standing two sections over like he belongs here. Like he always does. And suddenly the entire moment makes sense in a way I don’t like at all. Because that reaction wasn’t random, that reaction was recognition.
I don’t say anything about it during the rest of the game, partly because there’s no way to have that conversation in the middle of a packed arena.
Not with Zane’s parents sitting three seats away, pretending not to be disappointed in everything around them.
The other reason is that Lisa recovers so quickly afterward that if I hadn’t been watching her closely, I might have convinced myself I imagined it.
But I didn’t imagine it. And I’m not the only one who saw it. Leo did too. I know that before he even opens his mouth.
I find him near the tunnel after the game ends. Most of the crowd is already heading toward the exits, and the noise of the arena has dropped from deafening to manageable. It leaves behind the echo of skates being carried across concrete and the low hum of conversations fading into the distance.
He’s leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for me.
“You saw it,” he says before I even say hello.
It isn’t a question.
“Yeah,” I answer.
He nods once.
“So did I.”
There’s something oddly reassuring about that confirmation, even though I don’t know why yet.
“That wasn’t just the crowd,” I say.
“No,” Leo replies immediately. “It wasn’t.”
“Perth?”
“Yes.”
The word sits heavy between us.
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly restless in a way I can’t quite explain.
“You know something?” I ask him.
Leo doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he studies me for a second like he’s deciding how much I already understand before he adds anything else.
“I know enough to recognize when someone’s pretending they’re fine,” he says carefully. “And Lisa was pretending.”
She’s very good at pretending. Too good.
“You think Zane knows?” I ask.
Leo shakes his head immediately.
“No.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Didn’t think so.”
We step further down the hallway so people stop brushing past us every few seconds. The silence that settles between us after that feels less awkward than expected and more like both of us are trying to decide the same thing at the same time.
“I don’t like him being anywhere near her,” I say finally.
“That makes two of us,” Leo replies.
“Three,” I correct automatically. “Zane would lose his mind if he knew.”
“He will,” Leo says calmly. “Eventually.”
That word hangs there longer than either of us acknowledges out loud.
“You going to tell him?” Leo asks after a second.
“About Perth?”
He gives me a look.
“No,” he says. “About Lisa.”
Right.
That.
“No,” I admit.
“Not yet?”
“Not yet.”
He watches me like he’s waiting for the rest of the sentence.
“I don’t even know how I’d start that conversation,” I say. “Hey man, quick heads-up, I’m dating your sister, and also my biggest rival might be connected to whatever just happened in the stands tonight?”
Leo’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“Dating?”
I stop.
Right.
Apparently, that’s what I just called it.
“I mean,” I start, then stop again, because there’s no version of this conversation where pretending helps, “yeah.”
He doesn’t laugh.
Doesn’t look surprised either.
“How long?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit honestly. “Since she moved back.”
Leo nods slowly.
“You’re serious about her.”
“Yes.”
It’s the easiest answer I’ve given all night.
He watches me for another second before saying something that changes the entire tone of the conversation.
“Does Zane know you’re in love with her?”
I blink.
“I didn’t say…”
“You didn’t have to,” he replies.
There’s no point pretending.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I am.”
Saying it out loud makes it feel different.
Heavier.
Real.
“How long have you known?” Leo asks.
“Since the night she showed up in that apartment wearing bunny slippers and threatened to call the police on me,” I say.
Leo smiles slightly.
“That tracks.”
“I don’t know what to do about Zane,” I admit after a second. “Or Perth. Or whatever just happened tonight.”
Leo crosses his arms thoughtfully.
“You and Lisa will figure it out,” he says.
That simple.
That confident.
Like it’s already decided.
“You sound very sure about that,” I tell him.
“I am,” he replies. “She trusts you.”
That lands harder than expected.
“Does she?” I ask.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“And you trust her,” he adds.
“I do.”
“Then you’ll figure it out.”
I don’t go straight home after that conversation.
Instead, I drive around the city for almost forty minutes without realizing where I’m going.
The traffic lights and side streets blur past me while my brain keeps replaying the exact moment Lisa froze upon seeing Perth.
The way her shoulders tightened like she was bracing for something she didn’t want anyone else to notice.
I don’t like it. I don’t like any part of it. And I especially don’t like that she didn’t tell me why. Not because she owes me an explanation. Because I want to be someone she chooses to tell.
By the time I finally get back to my apartment, I already know I’m not going to sleep.
The place feels quieter than usual. Too quiet. Like something’s missing. It’s ridiculous, because Lisa has never actually lived here. Somehow, I still catch myself expecting to see her sitting on the couch with her feet tucked under her, like she belongs there.
I drop my keys on the counter. Walk past the kitchen. Sit down. Stand up again immediately. Then I do the only reasonable thing left. I call her.
She answers on the third ring.
“Hi,” she says, sounding surprised but not annoyed.
“Hey,” I reply.
“Everything ok?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
There’s a small pause.
“That’s suspiciously sweet,” she says.
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughs softly.
“I’m glad you called,” she admits.
That does something dangerous to my chest
“Good,” I say. “Because I’m calling to ask you out again.”
“Again?” she repeats.
“Yes.”
“I already went out with you once.”
“And it went very well,” I point out.
“That’s debatable.”
“It is not.”
She laughs again.
God, I like that sound.
“I’m serious,” I continue. “Second date. Your move.”
“My move?”
“Yes.”
“How is this my move?”
“Because,” I explain patiently, “I prepared options.”
There’s a pause.
“I don’t trust this already,” she says.
“You should,” I tell her. “It’s thoughtful.”
“Blake.”
“Yes?”
“What options?”
I grin even though she can’t see me.
“I have prepared three excellent date scenarios for your consideration.”
“Oh, my god.”
“Option one,” I begin, “fancy dinner somewhere that will make you pretend you’re not impressed even though you absolutely will be.”
“That sounds fascinating.”
“I know you.”
She doesn’t argue.
“Option two,” I continue, “live music. Small venue. No crowds big enough to make you uncomfortable. I checked.”
“You checked?”
“I plan,” I say proudly.
She laughs again.
“And option three,” I say more quietly, “a surprise date I’m not telling you anything about except that you’ll like it.”
“That’s not an option.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She sighs dramatically.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say gently, “you keep answering my calls.”
There’s a longer pause this time.
“Option two,” she says finally.
“Live music?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent choice,” I reply. “I agree.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m charming.”
She hesitates for just a second.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “You kind of are.”