Chapter 7 #2
I left it at that—she’d talk when she was ready. In that sense, we were very much alike.
Warmup wound down, lights shifting again as players started peeling off toward the tunnel in groups. Matt passed our side, close enough to see the focused line between his brows, how he barely even seemed to register the noise anymore. No glance, nothing.
Good.
A tiny little bit brutal, maybe, but good.
Because that was the only way this would work. My life here, his down there, a wall of plexiglass between us. A couple of free tickets in my inbox didn’t change any of that.
“You know,” Naomi said from beside me, still a little too serious. “It’s okay if this one isn’t all casual and easy in your head.”
“But it is,” I said, not sure who I was even trying to convince.
She snorted. “Sure, babe.”
Down on the ice, Matt stopped near the tunnel, talking to a teammate, his head bent slightly under the lights. He belonged here—to the ice, the arena, the crowd. And I…
Fuck.
If this went wrong, if I slipped, got selfish, got stupid, exposed us somehow… I wouldn’t just ruin the part where it was a hot body in a luxury high-rise with privacy windows. I’d be the thing that cracked his world right open.
He skated off to a roar, his blue jersey disappearing into the tunnel.
The music swelled even as my stomach dropped.
Casual.
Casual.
So, fine. I got it—the appeal, the noise, the sheer, body-level force of it.
I still only saw the puck in flashes. A black flicker, then nothing, then suddenly seventeen thousand people reacted and my body caught up a beat later. Mostly I followed movement—the direction everyone turned, the collisions, Matt.
When Seattle got the puck clear, the whole arena surged upward around us. Blue and silver and voices crashing into each other, seven minutes to go and Seattle up by one. Felt like the whole fucking city on its feet.
And, well. Matt.
He took the puck in stride, one touch and then another, body low and fast as he slipped past a defender.
He didn’t score, but it barely mattered.
An animal roar still rewarded the attempt, rattling the bones of the building.
Play stopped a second later, and everyone crowded into one of those painted circles in the ice, shoulders tight, waiting.
Matt bent low across from another guy, said something sharp to the teammate on his left without even looking at him, got a quick nod back.
Then the puck hit and the whole knot of bodies blew apart again before I fully understood what I’d just seen.
A second later, two players hit the boards right in front of us, glass shuddering so hard I felt it in my teeth. Jesus.
I was not a document-your-life person. No gorgeously plated avocado toast, no coffee art, no outfit of the day.
Most things felt cheaper the second you turned them into content.
But… this. Strange and massive in a way that could crush something.
The shaking arena, Naomi next to me in red heels and red lipstick, and Matt out there on the ice, a blur of motion and skill.
This was a picture. Just so I could look at it later and think, No, okay, that actually happened.
I pulled out my phone. “Selfie,” I told Naomi, and she arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“You’ve changed.”
A laugh tickled my throat. “Shut up.”
She leaned in, and I angled us with the rink stretched out behind, all white glare and movement. I snapped a second picture, Naomi utterly impeccable while I looked dazed around the edges, just as my screen lit up with a text.
Reid. Reid?
Stay where you are after. I’ll collect you.
That… huh. No hello, no please. Borderline rude, like he expected me to do exactly as he said because the world was meant to bend around his agenda. My face might have shifted through some complicated set of emotions because Naomi elbowed me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I showed her the phone. “I think?”
She made a quiet little noise. “Oh, babe.”
“What?” I asked, too fast and just a little defensive.
“He’s having you fetched.”
“Fetched?” I snorted. “What, like a rental car? A gallon of milk from the gas station?”
“Close enough. Apparently, you’re part of the itinerary.” She settled back in her seat, mouth curving up. “Best guess? He wants to see you swoon.”
Okay, so, what the hell? But also—it felt like it, just a little.
Below us, the play turned ugly as it wound toward its final minutes, sticks clashing and bodies slamming the boards.
I kept losing the puck, but not Matt—somehow I could always pick him out, right in the middle of the mess.
People were on their feet, screaming and clapping, and I was right there with them, out of my seat, yelling. Then the final horn.
We’d won.
The crowd brought down the house as the team gathered at the center. For a few seconds, Matt was just one body among others, lost in a celebratory huddle. When he emerged, it was with his helmet off, triumph shining on his face, chest rising under his pads.
The camera found him, blew him up to giant proportions as he acknowledged the crowd but not me. Not that he should. In fact, he very much should not. For his sake more than mine.
And yet Reid had told me to wait.
“Well.” Naomi bumped my elbow. “That was something, huh?”
I tried to be clever, to reach for a joke, and came up empty. “Yeah. It was.”
She watched me for a moment. “You good?”
“Define good.”
“Not spiraling about the thirty different ways in which this could all come crashing down.”
“Ah.” I smoothed a hand down the front of my jacket. “Then, no. Not entirely good.”
She didn’t try to talk me down, just angled closer until our shoulders overlapped and stayed there while the section emptied in waves, leaving trash in their wake—popcorn scattered, plastic cups tipped over, paper napkins crumpled up underfoot.
Finally, Reid appeared at the aisle, radiating the same sharpness as when we’d first met. His gaze swept over me, then Naomi, one eyebrow tilting higher than the other. “You made it,” he told me, somehow making it sound like a diagnosis.
I let my smile tilt sweet. “Surprised?”
His mouth pursed, considering me as if this was about something wholly different than occupying a free seat for the duration of a game. “A little,” he said then. “Anyway, come on. He should be finishing media.”
A small, humiliating jolt hit under my ribs. I nodded at Naomi. “This is my friend Naomi. Okay if she comes, too?”
She got to her feet before Reid had a chance to reply. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m purely decorative.”
His attention flicked over her coat and heels, the whole polished shine of her. “You said it, not me.”
She beamed. “I wouldn’t want to oversell myself.”
“Right.” He adjusted his sleeve, lips flat and eyes entertained. “Better to be underestimated, then?”
“I like to exceed expectations.”
One side of his mouth twitched. Then he nodded, turned, and started walking without checking whether we chose to follow.
We did. He took us into one of those in-between arena spaces that seemed reserved for rich people and logistics, the noise of the crowd fading into something muffled and distant.
Team photos on the wall, a symphony in blue and silver.
Other people moved around us, Reid greeting some of them without slowing down.
Next to me, Naomi lowered her voice. “He acts like he’s delivering a package he advised Matt not to order.”
“That’s Reid for you,” I said, and she scoffed.
“So I’ve gathered.”
Just ahead, Reid stopped near a side corridor and checked his watch. “Wait here,” he said.
Nod and smile, I told myself. You want him on your side.
“Is that an order?” I asked instead.
His gaze shifted to me, blue eyes sharp but not actually unkind. “It’s an invitation. Take it or leave it—but I think you’ll take it.”
Damn.
“It’s like you know me,” I said sweetly.
“Isn’t it just,” he shot back, only to pivot on his heels and disappear down the corridor.
Okay then. I shoved my hands into my pockets and took in the space—a silver wall and wilting flowers on a side table, a glossy sign pointing toward a premium lounge, another toward the bathrooms, well-dressed people drifting past. As far as waiting rooms went, I’d seen worse.
“Well,” Naomi said, voice thoughtful. “The lighting is poor, the decor is retro, and the service was abysmal. On the bright side, the entertainment portion of the evening delivered. I’ve paid more for less.”
A smile tugged at my mouth. “It was free.”
“My point precisely.”
Then Reid’s voice sounded in the corridor, closely followed by Matt’s lower tenor. My entire body sat up and paid attention.
Matt.
He walked out as if he owned the place—might as well.
The game still clung to him, evident in the set of his shoulders, but he’d lost the gear, face fresh and hair still a little damp.
His blue team jacket was half-zipped over a black shirt, and for one short second, I forgot what exactly I was doing here.
Forgot Reid half a step behind him, Naomi at my side, all of it.
Matt’s gaze landed on me so fast it felt like instinct. “Hey,” he said, stopping right in front of me. No touch, no smile to speak of. Just that hot, steady focus. “You stayed.”
Like it mattered.
My stomach flickered with a mix of warmth and nerves. “Of course.”