Chapter Fifteen #2
Mason tapped his shin pad.
Jace bumped his helmet.
Green looked like he might cry again.
Nolan was definitely crying and yelling at the same time.
Carter finally lifted one glove.
A wave.
Small.
Then bigger.
The smile came back.
Real again.
Known.
I turned away from the screen because I needed to breathe.
Patty sniffed beside me.
“Professional tears?” I asked.
“Extremely.”
The game started late because ceremony emotion had no respect for puck drop.
Lakeview played like a team with too much to prove and just enough discipline to make it count.
The opponent was not Ridgeview.
Not as vicious.
But they were fighting for tournament position too, and they did not care about Lakeview’s beautiful emotional arc.
Rude.
First period: scoreless.
Second period: Lakeview down one on a bad turnover.
Carter assisted the tying goal with five minutes left in the second.
Not flashy.
Smart.
The crowd chanted his name anyway.
He did not perform for it.
Mostly.
A little bow.
Tiny.
Acceptable.
At second intermission, I went down for hallway footage.
Carter saw me near the tunnel.
He did not come over.
Good.
Game mode.
But as he passed, his glove brushed the wall near my hand.
Not touching.
Close.
A private almost.
My pulse betrayed me.
He did not look back.
That was better.
Third period began tied.
Tournament seeding hovered over every shift.
The crowd stayed on its feet.
With three minutes left, Green took a hit behind the play.
Not dirty.
Hard enough.
He got up slowly.
Carter saw.
The old Carter might have gone after the guy.
The Ridgeview-week Carter might have smiled too sharp.
This Carter skated to Green first.
Checked his face.
Said something.
Green nodded.
Carter stayed until the referee waved play on.
Then he turned and scored on the next shift.
Not because of revenge.
Because the play was there.
Because Rhett made the pass.
Because Carter was ready.
The arena detonated.
Lakeview won 2–1.
Senior Night victory.
Tournament path intact.
Everything beautiful and exhausting and slightly too loud.
After the handshake line, after the team huddle, after the photos, I escaped to the side corridor by the old equipment room.
The new hallway.
I did not mean to.
Probably.
I stood there with my camera against my chest and tried to let the night settle.
Footsteps approached.
I knew them now.
Carter stopped at the corner.
Still in gear from the waist down, undershirt damp, hair a wreck, face open.
“Hi,” he said.
That word again.
Ridiculous.
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
Good question.
Annoying question.
“Yes.”
“Good yes?”
I smiled despite myself.
“Good yes.”
His shoulders lowered.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He looked down the hall toward the noise.
Then back at me.
“I think so.”
“That is not a yes.”
“No.”
“Better.”
He smiled.
“My mother cried.”
“I saw.”
“I did not die.”
“Proud of you.”
His grin flickered.
Then softened.
“The feature was beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“It hurt.”
“I know.”
“I understand,” he corrected.
I gave him a look.
He shrugged.
“Pre-corrected.”
“That does not count.”
“Harsh.”
“Accurate.”
He laughed quietly.
Then the laugh faded.
“My mom wants to hug you later.”
“Oh.”
“You can say no.”
“I know.”
“I understand that you know.”
That got me.
A laugh.
Real.
Tired.
His face changed in the way it always did when he got my laugh without stealing it.
The air shifted.
Again.
Same hallway.
Different night.
He did not move closer.
I did.
One step.
His breath caught.
Good.
Mine too.
“I am proud of you,” I said.
The words came out before I could make them smaller.
Carter went still.
Completely.
Not smiling.
Not joking.
Just receiving.
It looked painful.
It looked necessary.
“Maren.”
“You stayed,” I said. “Through the video. Through the game. Through the attention. You stayed.”
His eyes shone.
The arena roared somewhere beyond us.
A whole building celebrating him.
But here, in the ugly little hallway, he looked like this sentence mattered more.
“I wanted to run,” he said.
“I know.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I understand.”
I stepped closer.
“Good.”
The word was ours now too.
Maybe.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Lifted.
“Not here?” he asked quietly.
I looked around.
The old equipment room.
The vending machine.
Rubber floor.
No cameras.
No ghosts this time.
“Here,” I said.
His eyes changed.
He touched my face slowly.
Always slow now.
Always asking before words.
I leaned into his hand.
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
Not like the first time.
Not careful-soft only.
Still careful.
But warmer.
Fuller.
Like the night had built pressure and this was the safest place to set it down.
My hands went to his shoulders.
Gear made him bulky and ridiculous.
I smiled against his mouth.
He pulled back immediately.
“What?”
“You are hard to kiss in shoulder pads.”
His grin broke open.
“Best complaint I have ever received.”
“Do not make it huge.”
“Medium-large.”
“Carter.”
“Medium.”
I kissed him again because arguing seemed less efficient.
He made a sound in his throat.
Not big.
Not performative.
Just surprised happiness.
It moved through me like heat.
When we separated, I stayed close.
His thumb rested near my jaw.
“You said you were proud of me,” he said.
“I did.”
“Can I make that huge?”
“No.”
His face fell theatrically.
I raised an eyebrow.
He corrected.
“Small-medium?”
“Medium.”
His smile softened.
“Thank you.”
“You earned it.”
He closed his eyes.
Only for a second.
When he opened them, he looked steadier.
Known.
Not fixed.
Not finished.
But steadier.
Footsteps sounded near the end of the hall.
We stepped apart.
Not guilty.
Just private.
Nolan appeared, saw us, stopped, and turned around so fast he nearly hit the wall.
“I saw nothing,” he yelled while leaving. “But emotionally, congratulations.”
Carter sighed.
I covered my mouth.
Then laughed.
Harder than I meant to.
Carter watched me, eyes bright.
“What?”
“You have terrible friends.”
“The worst.”
“They love you.”
“I know.”
I gave him a look.
He smiled.
“I understand.”
Good.
Later, Angela hugged me.
I said yes.
She held me gently, then firmly, like she knew the difference.
“Thank you for the feature,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
“And for not letting him hide from himself.”
I closed my eyes.
“He did that part.”
“Yes,” she said. “But you held the light steady.”
That nearly broke me.
A little.
Good yes.
After the reception ended, after families left and players drifted toward whatever celebration Coach had technically warned them to keep reasonable, I returned to the control booth to shut down the system.
The final export folder sat open.
Carter’s feature.
Senior Night package.
Capstone wall images.
Lakeview Ice Programs Archive.
I clicked the archive folder.
Opened MAREN_GETS_UP.
Watched the last fifteen seconds.
Fall.
Hands to ice.
Push up.
Finish.
This time, it did not hurt the same.
The girl on the screen looked young.
Scared.
Strong.
Mine.
I closed the file.
Then opened Carter’s final frame.
His face on the big screen.
Not smiling.
Honest.
Known.
The loudest guy in the room.
Allowed.
I saved the final package.
Then typed one note into my personal file.
Senior Night: Carter stayed. I did too.
For now, that was the whole truth.
And for once, the whole truth felt like enough.