Chapter Nine
Maren
Ridgeview week changed the air.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
By Friday afternoon, Lakeview State arena felt like someone had tightened every bolt in the building.
The student section signs were already stacked near the tunnel.
The alumni table had doubled its supply of navy towels.
Athletic Communications had three different backup batteries charging in my office because apparently rivalry games drained electronics and souls.
The Wolves logo at center ice looked brighter.
Meaner.
Ready.
I did not believe in buildings having moods.
This one did.
It wanted blood.
Preferably Ridgeview’s.
I stood in the media office reviewing Carter’s feature cut while Patty from alumni relations reorganized name tags in a way that felt personally violent.
“Hazel and Grady arrive at five,” she said.
“Good.”
“Tessa and Rhett are doing donor greeting at six.”
“Good.”
“Sloane and Jace are confirmed for the pregame alumni clip.”
“Good.”
“Eden and Mason will help with the family reception.”
“Good.”
Patty stopped.
“You are saying good without listening.”
“I am listening.”
“Then what did I just say?”
“That every prior couple is arriving on schedule and emotionally available.”
Patty blinked.
Then nodded.
“Actually, yes.”
Excellent.
My professional competence remained intact.
My personal competence was less clear.
Because Carter’s face was paused on my screen.
Again.
Not the grin.
Not the public version.
The clip from the empty stands yesterday.
His voice low.
“I do miss him. But I do not know if he is real or just something I made up because I am tired.”
I had not planned to use that line.
Too personal.
Too raw.
Too much.
Unfortunately, it was the whole feature.
Carter Vance did not need a piece about being the funniest man in a locker room.
Everyone knew that.
He needed a piece about what happened when the funniest man stopped making every exit look like a punchline.
I dragged the clip into the timeline.
Then stared at it like editing could be a moral problem.
Patty leaned over my shoulder.
“That is strong.”
I jumped.
“Do you hover professionally or recreationally?”
“Both.”
“Please stop.”
She smiled and walked away with the name tags.
I saved the file.
Then closed the laptop before I could overthink myself into cowardice.
At four, I went down to the lower bowl for pregame b-roll.
Ridgeview had not arrived yet.
Lakeview was running optional movement skate.
No contact.
No systems.
Just legs.
Carter was on the ice with Green, Nolan, Rhett, Mason, and Jace.
The core group.
The room.
He looked loose.
Too loose.
No.
That was unfair.
He was skating well.
Laughing when Nolan nearly tripped over a pile of pucks.
Tapping Green’s stick after a clean shot.
Circling back to say something to Mason that made Mason smile in the small, reluctant way of men who had learned happiness against their will.
Then Carter looked up.
Found me.
Because of course.
His grin started.
Stopped.
Changed.
Not disappearing.
Settling.
He lifted two fingers from his glove.
Small.
Not a show.
I nodded once.
Professional.
Mostly.
Through the lens, he looked different now because I knew more.
That was the danger of knowing.
It ruined the easy version.
It made every smile more expensive.
Coach Adler blew the whistle from the bench.
“Vance.”
Carter skated over.
Adler said something I could not hear.
Carter listened.
No joke.
No bow.
No public deflection.
Good.
Very good.
Annoyingly good.
I filmed it.
At five, Hazel and Grady arrived.
Hazel hugged me like we were already friends and not two women who had shared exactly one emotionally invasive conversation.
Apparently that was enough at Lakeview.
Grady carried two garment bags and looked deeply resigned to group coordination.
“Do you need anything?” Hazel asked.
“Three more hours and emotional distance.”
She smiled.
“Can only help with one.”
“Which?”
“Neither, probably.”
“Excellent.”
Tessa arrived next with Rhett, then Sloane with Jace, then Eden with Mason. The hallway filled with greetings, laughter, old jokes, inside jokes, and the specific warmth of people who had fought hard for each other and then stayed.
It should have made me feel outside.
It did.
But not only.
Because Hazel pulled me into the group when Tessa asked who had the updated schedule.
Because Eden complimented my timeline without making it sound like a personality disorder.
Because Sloane looked at my camera setup and said, “That angle will make the banner look iconic,” which was both true and useful.
Because Carter, across the hall, watched it happen and did not interrupt.
Did not make a joke about me being adopted by the Lakeview wives.
Did not turn my inclusion into his moment.
He only smiled.
Small.
Proud maybe.
Careful.
That almost undid me more than if he had made it easy to be angry.
At six twenty, Ridgeview arrived.
The building changed again.
Louder.
Sharper.
The student section, already half full, booed the second red jersey appeared near the tunnel.
Ridgeview players grinned like they enjoyed being hated.
Of course they did.
Villains with strong penalty kill numbers.
Carter came out for warmups at six thirty.
Helmet on.
Jaw set.
The smile was gone now.
Not hidden.
Absent.
This was hockey Carter.
Not funny.
Not easy.
Focused.
Ridgeview’s top forward, a senior named Blake Soren, skated past him during warmups and said something.
Carter’s head turned.
Just slightly.
Soren smiled.
Carter smiled back.
Oh no.
I knew that smile.
Not the happy one.
Not the shield.
The blade.
I lifted the camera.
Through the lens, I caught Rhett skating between them without looking like he was skating between them.
Dark hair. Calm face.
Captain work.
Carter moved away.
Good.
My shoulders lowered.
Tessa appeared beside me.
“You’re filming him like he is a bomb.”
“He might be.”
“Fair.”
I glanced at her.
She held two bottled waters and looked much too relaxed for a rivalry game.
“Should you be somewhere?” I asked.
“Probably.”
“Helpful.”
“I came to bring you water.”
She handed me one.
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because you have been running around for three hours and your face says you forgot human maintenance.”
I took the bottle.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
She looked toward the ice.
“Carter doing okay?”
“I do not know.”
“Because he is hard to read?”
“No. Because I can read him.”
Tessa’s expression softened.
That was worse than concern.
I pointed at her.
“No.”
“I said nothing.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is married to Rhett. It has range.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
She bumped my shoulder lightly.
“Good luck tonight.”
“With work?”
“With whatever category Carter is.”
Then she left before I could object.
Coward.
Accurate coward.
The game started like a lit fuse.
First shift.
Ridgeview hit hard.
Lakeview hit clean.
The crowd roared at every touch like the puck had personal significance.
I filmed from the platform for the first period.
Carter’s line went out third.
Soren matched.
Of course.
Ridgeview knew where to press.
On Carter’s first shift, Soren leaned in after a faceoff.
Said something.
Carter smiled.
Small.
Wrong.
Then the puck dropped.
He won the draw cleanly to Rhett.
Skated hard.
Took contact behind the net.
Kept his feet.
The crowd loved it.
I filmed the whole sequence.
My pulse was ridiculous.
Professional concern.
Obviously.
Halfway through the first, Ridgeview scored.
Bad bounce.
Screened shot.
The arena groaned.
Lakeview tightened.
Carter circled near the bench, breathing hard.
Nolan slammed his stick once.
Coach Adler said something sharp enough that Nolan sat.
Carter leaned over the boards and spoke to Green.
I zoomed in.
Green nodded.
On the next shift, Green made a smart defensive play under pressure.
Small thing.
Big game.
Carter tapped the boards when he came back.
Not showy.
Real.
At intermission, I went down for hallway footage.
The tunnel was chaos.
Staff.
Players.
Water bottles.
Equipment.
Adler’s voice from inside the locker room, low and lethal.
I did not film the closed door.
Boundaries.
Basic ones.
The door opened with three minutes left before the second period.
Players came out.
Rhett first.
Mason.
Jace.
Nolan.
Green.
Carter last.
He looked focused.
Then Soren’s voice cut from the visiting tunnel.
“Hey, Vance.”
Everyone heard.
Carter stopped.
I stopped too, camera low.
Soren leaned against the opposite wall, helmet dangling from one hand.
“Nice feature,” he said. “Didn’t know Lakeview was giving Oscars for feelings now.”
The hallway went still.
There it was.
The bruise.
Found.
Carter smiled.
The old kind.
The crowd noise from the rink seemed far away.
Soren grinned wider.
“What’s next? Crying on camera because Mommy worked nights?”
My stomach dropped.
Rhett turned.
Mason’s expression went hard.
Jace took one quiet step.
Coach Adler appeared in the doorway.
Carter did not move.
For one second, his face went blank beneath the smile.
Then he laughed.
My chest tightened.
No.
No, no, no.
The laugh was not happy.
It was armor snapping shut.
“Careful, Soren,” Carter said lightly. “Your personality is one more quote away from needing subtitles.”
A few Ridgeview players laughed.
A few Lakeview guys did too.
Relief laughter.
The kind that made a room exhale without asking if it should.
Soren’s eyes flashed.
Carter’s smile held.
Too bright.
Too easy.
Then he skated toward the ice.
The moment passed.
Except it had not.
I knew it.
Coach Adler knew it.
Rhett definitely knew it.
Carter had not retaliated.
Good.
He had also disappeared into the easiest version of himself.
Less good.
The second period was worse.
Lakeview pushed but could not finish.
Ridgeview baited.
Lakeview mostly resisted.
Mostly.
With four minutes left, Carter took a hard hit near the boards.
Clean.
Brutal.
He got up smiling.
The student section went wild.
He bowed.
Small.