31
LEONORA
It feels wrong the second I step into the arena.
Like I’ve walked into somewhere I’m not supposed to be anymore - the stands.
I pull my coat tighter around me as Willow and Katie flank me like bodyguards, one on either side, as if that might make this feel normal. It doesn’t.
We slip into seats near the back, away from most of the crowd. Still close enough to see everything.
“You okay?” Katie murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say automatically. I’m not.
The ice gleams under the lights.
The Giants are already out for warm-up.
My eyes go straight to the line.
To my line - my position.
Except it’s not mine anymore.
Grant skates where I used to.
He looks good. Solid and well recovered.
It’s almost like he was always meant to be there.
Willow leans over. “You don’t have to stay if this is too much.”
“I want to,” I say. And I do.
Because this isn’t about me - not today.
The whistle blows. The game starts.
I force myself to watch properly.
To track the play. To stay in it.
Zane’s on the ice within the first shift.
Even from up here, I can see it immediately.
There’s an edge to him today. Scouts are out to watch him one final time - and, all being well, to make an offer.
I scan the stands - there they are.
A small cluster closer to the front. They’re the only people in the crowd with notebooks.
Go on, I think, as I watch him. Come on.
He doesn’t disappoint.
Midway through the first period, he cuts through the neutral zone, clean and confident, like he’s finally stopped overthinking every move.
He takes the shot without hesitation.
Goal.
I feel myself grin before I can stop it.
Zane skates past the bench, teammates slamming gloves against the boards.
“He’s so good,” Willow says quietly.
“Yeah,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the ice.
There’s a weird ache that comes with it being said out loud. Because I know exactly how good he is. I’ve played alongside it.
The game rolls on.
The team looks… fine.
More than fine.
Grant slots into the line without friction.
And I hate the thought that creeps into my head.
Maybe they never needed me at all.
The scoreboard keeps ticking in their favor.
Another goal.
Then another.
The Giants take control of the game like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
Like I was never there.
And then Zane scores again.
The scouts sit forward, watching him.
“I’m so happy for him,” I say, almost to myself.
Willow squeezes my hand.
“I know you are.”
And I am.
Even with the hollow feeling of sitting up here instead of down there.
And even with the quiet, uncomfortable realization that the team is still winning without me.
I watch him skate past the bench again.
He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be and I let myself just be proud of him.
ZANE
I know it’s coming.
Coach doesn’t say it outright, but when he claps a hand on my shoulder after the game and says, “Don’t disappear,” I get the message.
I have a shower and change.
Then I’m being steered - subtly but very deliberately - toward one of the smaller conference rooms off the main corridor.
Russo catches my eye as I pass.
“Don’t screw it up,” he mutters.
Helpful.
I push the door open. Three men sit around the table. One of them I recognize from the bar.
He looks up and gives a small nod.
“Zane Blake,” he says. “Good game. I’m Henry.”
“Thanks,” I manage.
I don’t sit until they gesture.
Henry leans back slightly, studying me.
“We’ve been watching you for a while,” he says.
“You’ve had a strong run this season,” another scout adds. “But what stood out over the weekend and at the game today-”
He taps his pen lightly on the table.
“-was your composure. You’re the kind of player we need.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak yet.
Because if I do, I might say something stupid like this is everything I’ve ever wanted.
Henry glances down at a folder, then back at me.
“Where are you academically?”
“Final year,” I say. “Exams in January.”
“Good,” he says. “Get that finished. Lakeview Titans are prepared to offer you a place in our development system next season.”
The words land - but it doesn’t feel real.
“We’d bring you in after graduation,” he continues. “Training camp first. If that goes the way we expect, you’re looking at a contract.”
My heart is hammering now.
Another scout leans forward. “We don’t make offers like this lightly.”
“Or frequently,” the third one adds. But you’ve got something,” he says. “Leadership and vision. You make players around you better.”
Henry closes the folder.
“We’ll send everything through your coach and your agent - if you have one.”
“I don’t,” I say.
“Then you’ll want one,” he replies, almost amused.
“Thank you,” I say.
I stand. Shake hands.
It all feels… strange. Slightly unreal. Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.
When I leave the room, the corridor feels louder. Brighter.
Like everything’s shifted half an inch.
This is it. This is what I’ve been working for.
And then - completely uninvited - I can’t wait to tell Leonora.
ZANE
By the time I finish with the Scouts, the building is almost empty. The only sounds left are the cleaning crews and the distant hum of the scoreboard powering down. The championship banner would have been hung here - if the conference hadn’t removed our win
I text her to meet me outside after the game ended.
I’m standing outside the main entrance, hood up against the cold, watching the doors. I hope she waited for me.
The doors open.
She steps out - blonde hair loose around her shoulders, a Blackwood hoodie that’s two sizes too big, her hands shoved deep in the pockets. Willow and Katie are with her, looking protective. They exchange a look and then Leonora steps forward.
“We’ll see you later,” Willow says. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Willow,” Leonora warns.
“Which leaves plenty of options.” Willow grins, then tugs Katie away, leaving us alone in the cold.
The parking lot is quiet now - just us standing under the streetlights. The frost is creeping across the pavements.
Leonora doesn’t move closer. Neither do I.
“You should be celebrating. You won your game.”
I cross the space between us before I can talk myself out of it. Close enough that I can see the faint bruise still coloring her jaw, the cut on her lip that hasn’t fully healed, the dark circles under her eyes that tell me she hasn’t slept.
“I missed you out there today,” I say.
Her eyes flick up to mine. “I was there watching.”
“I know.” I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers brush her jaw. “It wasn’t the same.”
She’s quiet. The cold air moves between us, her breath fogging in pale clouds.
“I got news,” I say. “After the game. The Scouts….”
Something shifts in her face. “Zane-”
“It’s happening. They want me to do the development season after my exams in January…”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she smiles, the kind that makes her whole face change.
“That’s-” She shakes her head. “That’s incredible. Zane, that’s everything you wanted.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
But I’m not looking at my future. I’m looking at her.
She sees it. I know she does, because her smile falters before she pulls it back.
“Really, you should be celebrating,” she says again. “Not standing out here in the cold with me.”
“I missed you out there,” I say again, lower this time. “And I missed the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching.”
“You saw that?”
“I always saw you. Every time you walked onto the ice.” I reach for her again, my hand finding her waist, pulling her closer.
Her hands come up, fingers curling into the front of my hoodie.
“Gosh, it sounds like you were really into Lee.”
“I was really into you. From the very start.”
I kiss her, slower this time, and her fingers slide into my hair, and for a moment there’s nothing else. No scandal. No Scouts and career decisions. Just her, just me, just how her body fits against mine.
She breaks the kiss first, but she doesn’t pull away. Her forehead rests against my shoulder, her breath coming faster than the cold air explains.
“I had a call with Markus,” she says quietly.
I still. “Your brother.”
“He saw the articles.” She stops. “About whether I’ve ruined his career. Whether Dad would be ashamed.”
My hands tighten on her waist. “Leonora-”
“He said he was proud.” Her voice is steady. “He also told me about something. A case. From the eighties. Justine Blainey.”
“Who’s that?”
“She was twelve. She wanted to play on a boys’ hockey team in Ontario. They said no, so she sued. The court said excluding her was discriminatory. She didn’t win everything. It was complicated. But she fought. And she changed things.”
I watch her face.
“What are you going to do with that?” I ask.
She pulls back slightly, like the question caught her off guard. “I don’t - I just - I thought it was something to hold onto. Something to remind me that I’m not the first person to fight this fight.”
“That’s good.” I nod slowly. “But that’s not what I asked.”
“You think I should do something,” she says.
“I think you already have. You won a championship.” I shrug. “Maybe that’s enough. Or maybe-” I pause. “Maybe you’re the one who gets to tell the story. Not them.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. The wind moves through the parking lot, and she shivers.
I kiss her neck - just below her ear, where her pulse is racing. She makes a sound, low and surprised.
“Your apartment,” she says. “It’s close, isn’t it?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Then stop talking.”
She kisses me hard, pulls back, and starts walking toward the parking lot.
I follow.
The door to my apartment closes behind us and she’s on me before I can turn the lock.
Her hands are under my hoodie, pushing it up, her mouth on my jaw, my throat, the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.
“You said you were over it,” she murmurs against my collarbone.
“I’ll never be over this.”
Her laugh vibrates against my chest.