27. Maddie
Maddie
Something shifted this week.
Not just between us.
Inside me.
I used to move through the arena like it was my space—focused on angles, lighting, timing, making sure I caught the moments that mattered without ever becoming part of them. I was always just outside of it, watching through a lens, editing in my head before I even touched my camera.
Now—I find myself watching something else entirely.
Him.
It’s not obvious. I’m careful about that. I know where I’m supposed to stand, how long I’m allowed to look, how to keep everything exactly where it needs to be so no one starts asking questions I’m not ready to answer.
But it happens anyway. My attention drifts. Pulls.
Finds him without me trying.
Dean on the ice isn’t the same as Dean in his kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching me like I’m something he still can’t believe is there. He’s not soft here. He’s not quiet. He doesn’t hold himself back.
He commands.
Even when he’s not saying anything.
The guys feel it. You can see it in the way they move, the way they adjust without being told, the way they push harder when his attention shifts toward them. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. Doesn’t need to throw his weight around.
It’s just there. Control. Expectation.
And something underneath it that says he won’t accept anything less.
I catch myself filming him more than I should.
Not intentionally.
At least…that’s what I tell myself.
I pan from Luka to Grady, catching their ridiculous attempt at a dance that’s definitely going to blow up on TikTok the second I post it, but instead of cutting when I should—I hold.
Just a second longer.
Because he’s in the frame.
Standing at the boards, arms crossed, jaw tight like he’s trying not to react to whatever chaos they’re creating on the ice.
It’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t notice. I do.
Because I’ve started noticing everything.
Luka spins, almost taking Grady out at the knees, and I have to step back quickly to avoid the collision, my camera never dropping as I adjust, catching the moment Grady shoves him back with a grin.
“You’re embarrassing us,” Jasper calls from the boards, shaking his head like he wants no part of whatever is happening.
Jake just laughs, leaning into the glass. “Nah, keep going. This is content.”
“That’s not content,” Jasper shoots back. “That’s evidence.”
Grady points at me. “She loves it.”
I don’t even look up from the camera. “Keep talking and I won’t blur your face.”
Luka barks out a laugh, pointing at Grady like he just lost something important. “Damn. She’s turning on you.” Jake taps the glass once, smirking. “You’ve been replaced.”
Grady flips him off without missing a beat, but he’s already playing it up more, bigger movements, louder reactions, making sure I catch all of it.
And I do.
Because this is my job.
Because this is what I’m good at.
I move along the boards, shifting angles, catching the right light as it hits the ice, framing shots in my head before I even check the playback.
I already know what clips I’ll use. The slow-motion fall when Luka inevitably eats it.
The cut to Jasper shaking his head. The close-up of Jake laughing like he’s not part of the problem.
It’s second nature.
It always has been.
But now—there’s something else layered into it.
Because even while I’m working—I’m aware of him.
I feel it when his attention shifts in my direction. I don’t have to look to know when he’s watching me the same way I’ve started watching him. It’s subtle, hidden in the way he turns his head just slightly, the way his focus lingers a second too long before he forces it back to the ice.
We don’t acknowledge it. We can’t. But it’s there. Constant.
Pulling at something in me I’m not ready to name out loud.
I lower the camera for a second, checking the footage, adjusting a setting that doesn’t actually need adjusting just to give myself a reason to breathe.
Because this—this is getting harder to separate.
Work. Him. Us.
And the lines we’re trying so hard not to cross while standing right on top of them.
“Hey, Mads!” I glance up as Luka skates toward the boards, leaning over slightly, his grin still wide from whatever disaster they just pulled off. “You getting all of that?”
“Every second,” I tell him, lifting the camera again.
“Good,” he says, nodding like he just did something impressive. “This is gold.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling.
Because he’s not wrong. Because this is the kind of stuff people love. Because I know exactly how I’m going to edit it.
And because even as I bring the camera back up—my focus shifts past him.
Back to Dean. Just for a second. Long enough to see the way he’s already looking at me.
The house is quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that feels empty, but the kind that settles in late at night when everything finally slows down, when Addy and Luka have gone to bed and the only sound left is the soft hum of the air and the occasional shift of the house settling.
I should be asleep.
We leave in the morning. Early.
The kind of early that usually has me double-checking gear, charging batteries, making sure I have everything I need so I don’t miss a single moment once we’re on the road.
Instead—I’m staring at the ceiling.
Wide awake.
Again.
My phone rests on my chest, screen dark, even though I’ve picked it up at least five times in the last ten minutes, debating whether or not to text him. I don’t. Not because I don’t want to… but because I know if I do, I won’t sleep at all.
And I need to.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Tomorrow.
Tyler leaves tomorrow.
The thought should bring relief.
Closure.
Something that feels like the end of all of this. Instead, it just sits there.
Heavy.
Because a part of me doesn’t trust it.
Doesn’t trust that he’ll just go quietly, that everything he started with those boxes and that note will disappear the second he’s gone.
I shift slightly, turning onto my side, pulling the blanket up higher even though I’m not cold.
I thought I saw him the other day. Outside the arena.
It was quick. A glance. A feeling more than anything solid. Someone standing just far enough away that I couldn’t make out details, but close enough that something in me tightened instantly.
I almost went after it. Almost convinced myself I wasn’t imagining it.
But then Jasper caught up with me, falling into step beside me like he always does when he knows I’m about to get stuck in my own head.
“Perk It Up?” he asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And I went.
Because saying yes felt easier than turning around and chasing something I wasn’t even sure was real.
I didn’t realize what I was agreeing to.
Because going to Perk It Up with Jasper apparently means sitting at a table while he pretends he’s not watching the new girl behind the counter like she’s the only thing in the room.
It took me all of thirty seconds to catch on.
The way his attention kept drifting. The way he suddenly cared way too much about how long it was taking to get his coffee. The way he tried—and failed—to play it off like he wasn’t interested.
I smiled into my cup, trying not to laugh.
“So,” I said, nudging his foot lightly under the table. “Who is she?”
He blinked at me like I just asked him something ridiculous.
“Who?”
I raised a brow, not even bothering to turn my head. “The girl you’ve been staring at since we walked in.”
His eyes flicked toward the counter for half a second before he caught himself.
“Sienna?” he said, like the name was an afterthought. “I think she’s new.”
I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to. Because the way he shifted in his seat said everything.
And for a few minutes—it felt normal.
Easy.
Like I wasn’t carrying everything else around with me.
But that feeling never lasts as long as I want it to.
Now I’m here.
Lying in a bed that isn’t mine.
In a house that feels safe, surrounded by people who would drop everything if I needed them to—and still wishing I was somewhere else.
With him.
It hits me harder at night.
When everything quiets down and there’s nothing to distract me from it.
Because during the day, it’s easy to pretend we’re just… existing in the same space. Working. Moving around each other like we always have, just with something unspoken layered underneath it.
But at night—there’s no pretending.
I spend most of my time with him now.
Mornings in his kitchen. Afternoons at the arena. Moments in between that feel like they belong to something we haven’t fully defined yet.
And then I leave. Every time. Back to this room. Back to space. Back to trying to convince myself this is what I need right now.
I turn onto my back again, staring at the ceiling like it’s going to give me an answer.
It doesn’t.
My hand drifts to my phone again before I can stop it, my thumb hovering over his name.
Just one text.
Just something small.
A goodnight.
A… I wish I was there.
I exhale slowly and let the phone fall back against my chest.
Because if I say it—I won’t take it back.
And I’m not sure I’m ready for what that means yet.
I don’t ease into waking up this time.
I’m ripped out of it.
A scream tears from my throat before I even know I’m awake, my body jerking upright, heart slamming so hard it feels like it’s trying to break through my chest. My hands are shaking, breath coming too fast, too shallow, like the air in the room isn’t enough.
It takes a second for the walls to come into focus.
A second for the dark to feel like this room and not—not that.
The door bursts open. Luka is there in an instant. Gun raised. Eyes sharp. Scanning.
Every inch of the room like he’s expecting someone to be standing in the corner, like he’s already prepared to pull the trigger if he finds them.
And for a second—I forget where I am.
The sight of him like that, all tension and instinct and violence wrapped tight under his skin, sends another spike of panic through me.
“Luka—”
My voice breaks.
He freezes immediately, his attention snapping to me instead of the room, the gun lowering just slightly as recognition replaces whatever he thought he was walking into.
“Maddie,” he says, his voice firm now, controlled, but there’s something under it—something worried. “What the hell—what happened?”
I can’t catch my breath.
I try.
But it keeps coming in broken pieces, my chest rising too fast, my hands still shaking like they haven’t realized I’m not there anymore.
He steps closer, quicker now, reaching for me without hesitation, his free hand coming to my shoulder, grounding me in place.
“You’re okay,” he says, lower this time. “You’re okay. Look at me.”
I do. Barely. Everything still feels too loud, too close, too real.
“What was it?” he asks, eyes searching mine, not letting me look away. “What did you see?”
Tyler. That’s what I should say. That’s the easy answer. The expected one.
“Tyler,” I manage, my voice still unsteady, my fingers gripping the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping me here.
Luka’s jaw tightens slightly at that, something dark flickering through his expression before he reins it back in.
“Yeah?” he presses. “Then why were you yelling for me?”
The question hits harder than it should.
Because I don’t have an answer ready.
My throat tightens.
My eyes drop for half a second before I force them back up to his.
“It wasn’t…” I swallow, trying to steady my voice. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t push. He just waits. And that somehow makes it harder to keep it in.
“I saw you,” I say finally, the words coming slower now, like I’m pulling them out piece by piece. “On the ice… and there was blood. Everywhere. And you were down and no one was getting to you fast enough and I—”
My breath catches again, the image flashing back too quickly, too vividly.
“I couldn’t get to you,” I finish, my voice breaking on the last word.
The room goes quiet. Heavy. Like everything I just said is still hanging there between us.
By the time I look up again—Addy is there.
I didn’t even hear her come in.
She’s already climbing onto the bed beside me, her arms wrapping around me from the other side, pulling me into her like she’s been doing it my entire life instead of just the last few years.
“Hey,” she murmurs softly, her hand smoothing over my hair, her voice the complete opposite of the panic that dragged me out of sleep. “Hey, you’re okay.”
Luka shifts closer too, sitting on the edge of the bed now, his hand still on my shoulder, steady, grounding, not letting me drift back into it.
“I’m fine,” he says, like he needs me to hear it, like he knows exactly what I saw without having to ask for more details. “I’m right here.”
I shake my head slightly, even as I lean into them, even as their warmth pulls me back into something real.
“There was so much blood,” I whisper, my voice small now, like I’m afraid saying it too loud will make it real again.
“You got to him,” Addy says immediately, her voice sure, unwavering. I blink, my chest tightening again, but this time it’s different.
Not panic.
Something else.
“You got there in time,” Luka adds, his tone softer now, like he’s meeting me where I am instead of pulling me out of it too fast.
I let myself lean into them fully then, my forehead pressing into Addy’s shoulder, Luka’s hand steady at my back, anchoring me there.
The images fade slowly.
The panic eases.
My breathing finally starts to settle into something normal.