Chapter 17
SAWYER
That sharp, clean bite hits my lungs the second my skates touch down for the second period, the Birdcage roaring back to life around us as we pour out of the tunnel.
The lights blaze overhead, reflecting off the freshly cut ice, the cardinal logo at center rink glowing like it knows something I don’t.
I skate a lazy arc near the blue line, stretching out my legs, stick tapping the ice in a familiar rhythm. Warmups are muscle memory. My body knows what to do even when my brain is…elsewhere.
Which it is.
I’m scanning the crowd and I don’t mean to. It just happens. My eyes keep lifting, sweeping over navy and gold jerseys, couples leaning together, kids with foam fingers and popcorn. I’m not looking for a puck or a play.
I’m looking for her. For honey blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, big brown eyes that sparkle with gold flecks, and that little half-smile she does when she’s pretending not to be amused.
For Juliette, sitting somewhere up there, maybe with Theo beside her, maybe rolling her eyes at how ridiculous hockey arenas are.
But I know better. She’s not there.
And yeah, that shouldn’t matter. I have a game to play. A division rival from Florida breathing down our necks. A scoreboard that’s still too close for comfort after a brutal first period.
But still. Here I am. Looking. I’m chiding myself internally when a solid shoulder slams into mine.
“Are you planning to skate tonight or just here sightseeing?” Owen jokes as he bounces off me.
I steady myself. “Do you always run into me during warmups, or is this a special occasion?”
Campbell slides in on my other side, smirking. “We’re just making sure you stay on your toes, mister. You know. Focus. Task. Hockey.”
Owen cranes his neck, following my line of sight toward the stands. “Dude, we see you. Eyes up there. Head somewhere else. Get it together.”
“I am together,” I protest.
Campbell snorts. “You’re emotionally elsewhere.”
Owen gives me a playful punch in the shoulder. “Come on, Stockton. You’ve had a great game so far. Don’t go all soft now.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. You’re right.”
The horn blares, slicing through the noise. Second period. Game on.
Florida comes out hard. They always do. They’re fast and relentless, all teeth and forecheck, and they spend the first few minutes grinding us along the boards like they’re trying to wear the Dominion down one bruise at a time. The pace is brutal. Every shift feels like a sprint through wet cement.
The crowd roars. The puck snaps. Sticks clash. Sweat drips into my eyes.
I forget about everything except the game. About Juliette. About the stands. About the fact I already know she wouldn't come even if she could. I heard her say she had plans with Vivian tonight anyway.
Instead, I’m here. Present and focused, and in my zone. All that exists is ice and motion and the thud of my skates pushing harder, faster.
And then—I see it. Opportunity.
The puck pops loose in the neutral zone, squirting right onto my stick like it was meant for me. I explode forward, legs burning, wind roaring in my ears as I cut past one defenseman, then another.
Their goalie drops low…I don’t.
I fake left, snap my wrist, and send the puck screaming top shelf.
The net ripples.
The Birdcage detonates.
I don’t even hear my own shout, just feel it in my chest as my teammates crash into me, gloves smacking my helmet, the scoreboard flipping in our favor.
And before Florida can catch their breath—
We do it again.
A turnover near their blue line. Campbell feeds me a perfect pass. I take one stride, two, and rip it through traffic so fast the goalie barely tracks it before it’s behind him.
Another goal. Another roar.
Two goals in minutes, and suddenly the game is ours.
As I skate back to the bench, lungs on fire, heart pounding, I glance up at the crowd again—half expecting, stupidly hoping—
That somewhere up there, Juliette is watching.
And maybe, just maybe…one day she will.
The locker room is pure victory-chaos. Music thumps from a speaker someone definitely isn’t supposed to have in here.
Guys are shouting, laughing, tossing towels, reliving goals at full volume while steam rises out of the showers.
Someone moans about having to get up early tomorrow, while someone else is arguing about a missed call that doesn’t matter anymore because we won.
My body aches as I tug my jersey over my head, grab a towel, and wrap it around my waist. My skin is still buzzing from the game, from the ice, from the way the Birdcage shook when those goals went in. I cross to my locker, pop it open, and reach for my phone.
One new voicemail. From Juliette. My heart does a full, ridiculous somersault as I hit play.
“Hi, Sawyer. Um—sorry to bother you. I wanted to say yes to your offer for Theo. For the box. That was really kind of you. Thank you.”
A pause. I can hear her breathing, like she’s bracing herself.
“I was just wondering if I could talk to you about it? I’d really love to do it for Theo’s birthday, and maybe bring Vivian and Charlie, if that’s okay. I completely understand if it isn’t. I just…it’s his birthday, so…”
Another pause. Softer now. “Anyway. Let me know. Thank you.”
The message ends. The noise of the locker room rushes back in, but I don’t move. I just close my eyes and smile.
A locker slams next to me. Ty’s voice cuts through the ruckus. “Dude, what are you doing? Meditating?”
Owen wanders over, squinting. “I think he passed out standing up.”
I open my eyes. “No,” I sing out, which is not like me. “I just got the best voicemail of my life.”
Ty smirks. “You sound unhinged.”
“I’m absolutely hinged,” I correct. “And determined to win over this woman.”
Campbell slides in, towel slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Romeo. I need you to focus on winning games.”
I grin. “Oh, I will. Don’t you worry.”
The locker room hums around us—steam, laughter, the afterglow of a hard-fought victory—but everything in my chest is already racing toward something else.
“I’m going to win them both.”