Chapter 13
Harper
The atmosphere in the lower bowl of the arena is explosive, a sharp contrast to the composed luxury of the VIP seats up above.
Down here, it’s raw, loud, and alive—fans packed shoulder to shoulder, jerseys meshing together in a collage of red and blue, foam fingers slicing the air, the smell of popcorn and beer mixing with cold ice and adrenaline.
The noise hits you in the chest, vibrating through the concrete.
The music thumping between chants and cheers that rise and crash like waves.
It’s almost the end of the second intermission, and the girls and I are back to our seats after a trip to the restrooms. It’s weird saying that—the girls and I.
I’ve had friends before, sure, but I was always more of a one-on-one kind of girl.
I never really built a friend group like this. My grandma was always my closest buddy.
A guy passes in front of us, playing with a ring on his finger, and it instantly brings me back to Victor.
I meant what I told Baptiste before the game.
I don’t think he’ll come after me, even if he did warn me to stay away.
Victor’s hungry for money right now. And he won’t do anything to jeopardize whatever scheme he’s cooking up. Not even for revenge.
“So,” Marissa says, bringing me back to reality. She adjusts her Stripes cap. “What do you think this time? Still boring?”
Marissa’s dad is the head coach of the guys’ team in New York, and ever since I mentioned I found the sport boring, she’s made it her personal mission to prove me wrong.
During the first two periods, she kept leaning toward me with commentary, saying things like, “See how fast that was? Pretty fun, right?” or “That bodycheck was definitely not boring. Way to go, Baptiste!”
When Marissa poses the question, Beth, Grace, Aria, and Hayley all turn to me, watching my face as though this is a verdict that could change the course of history.
“Fine,” I say, finally caving. “It’s pretty fun. I like the music, the ambiance, and the game play is actually fairly interesting.”
What I don’t admit is that what I find most interesting is watching Baptiste on the ice. He seemed distracted in the first period, but the second? He’s been incredible. Laser-focused. Moving like the ice belongs to him, gliding and pivoting with an ease that’s almost unreal. Mesmerizing.
“Good.” Marissa nods, satisfied. “Glad we got that settled.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Marissa takes hockey very seriously,” Beth says with a wink. “But we’re glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“And that our boys are winning so far,” Grace adds, settling back into her seat.
We keep chatting for a few more minutes, and then the atmosphere in the arena shifts as the last period begins.
Unfortunately, the Stars team brings the score to a tie in the first two minutes.
A collective groan rolls through our section, but our Stripes boys don’t fold. They push harder, faster, swarming the goal again and again. There are missed shots, close calls, moments when the puck skids wide by mere inches, but no one gives up. The energy stays sharp, electric.
Baptiste is now hurtling toward the goal, weaving through traffic, cutting across the ice while another teammate sends the puck his way. Everything slows down for a split second—him lifting his stick, the puck flying, the goalie dropping—
The red light flashes, and the horn booms, piercing through the tension.
Goal.
Baptiste scores, breaking the tie, and the arena explodes into cheers and shouts.
“Eye of the Tiger” blasts through the speakers, and I burst out laughing when I realize it’s Baptiste’s goal song. I remember hearing it at the first game, but to be honest, I wasn’t really watching the ice. But now I am—Baptiste on a high after a win is hard to ignore.
He skates across the ice, slapping hands with his teammates, shimmying with a touch of extra swagger, before turning to hype the crowd, pumping his arms as the volume crescendoes.
He reminds me so much of Dean Winchester from Supernatural right now—confident, cocky, and completely in his element.
It sends tingles all across my body. I always had the biggest crush on Dean.
That blooper video where Jensen Ackles sings this song on top of the Impala will forever live rent-free in my head.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m on my feet—yelling, clapping, my heart pounding right along with everyone else’s.
Baptiste’s gaze sweeps the stands and locks on mine. The noise of the arena dulls, the lights blurring at the edges, until it’s just him out there on the ice, and me frozen in place.
His smile widens further, kickstarting that annoying flutter again
Yeah, maybe hockey isn’t that boring, after all.
The girls and I are meeting the guys back at the hotel after the game, and I drive back alone since I took my car to the arena—well, “drive” is a big word since I spend most of my time stuck in traffic.
After inching at a slug’s pace for the better part of an hour, I finally make it to the hotel.
The first thing I notice when I give my keys to the valet is the black sedan parked in front of the hotel.
I squint, peering closer, but all the windows are tinted, and I can’t see anything inside.
Suddenly, the car starts and drives off in a hurry.
Victor.
I recognize it as one of his intimidation techniques. I’ve seen him do it in the past—have even been on the receiving end once or twice. But I’m not scared. He’s just trying to shake me up, make sure I’m not tempted to go after him.
The problem is, it only piques my interest even more.
Probation, Harper. Big picture, I tell myself, shaking it off as I hustle toward the entrance.
“Hey!” Hayley says, climbing out of a car at the same time. “Look at us. We’re synced!” Beth, Aria, Grace, and Marissa follow suit, still chatting about the game.
“Let’s go,” Marissa adds. “The guys are already here.”
We pile inside and find them in a back room behind the lobby, sprawled on couches with snacks scattered across the low coffee table. The girls immediately gravitate toward their husbands and fiancés, hugging or kissing them, and Baptiste saunters toward me.
“Hey,” I say. “Good game. Congrats on your win.”
“Thanks.” He grins, eyes flicking over my face like he’s checking for something. “Glad you came. Did you have fun?” he asks, dragging the word out.
I roll my eyes. “You sound like Marissa. But yeah, I did. It’s less boring from the glass seats.”
“I’m not going to say I told you so, but…”
“Fine,” I concede. “You were right. I’m actually kind of excited to write my article now. And nice goal song, by the way.”
His eyes gleam as a smile stretches across his face. “Thanks. Oh—I have something for you,” he says, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a puck. “My scoring puck from tonight. Tie-breaking too. It’s a priceless piece of historic memorabilia.”
I chuckle, turning it over in my hands. “I’m sure it is. But don’t you want to hold on to it? Might be the only goal you score in this tournament.”
His mouth opens into a perfect O shape. “Ouch! Always going for the burn. And if you’d paid more attention, you’d remember I scored in the first game too—and I kept that puck. You know, in case that was the only one.”
Laughter bursts out of me. “Good thinking. Maybe you should sign it or something?”
He smirks with exaggerated arrogance. “Oh, you’re saying you want my autograph?”
“Well, you are a celebrity,” I say, giving him a pointed look. “Plus, that way I’ll get more money out of it when I sell it.”
Baptiste breaks into laughter, the sound rich and unguarded as his head tips back.
“What are you two giggling about over there?” Adler asks, perching on the arm of the couch.
“Your terrible, terrible performance tonight,” Baptiste fires back without missing a beat, winking at me.
“Oh yeah,” I add, feeling playful now. “Your… uh… defensive offside penalty was awful.”
There’s a stretch of silence in the room.
Then everyone explodes into laughter.
My cheeks are instantly on fire. There was about a one-percent chance what I said made any sense, but hey—points for confidence.
“We still have some work to do on the hazing,” Baptiste says casually, looping an arm around my shoulders. “But it’s a solid start.”
My brain short-circuits for half a second at the contact, but I force myself to stay in the moment.
“Oh yes,” Beaumont says. “We’ll teach you a few things. And soon enough, you’ll fit right in.”
“Welcome to the family,” Miles adds, and Marissa gives me a high five.
For a moment, it really does feel like I’ve just gained a family.
They start teaching me technical terms—mostly by highlighting all the ways Adler could have done better tonight.
Then it’s Beaumont’s turn to get roasted, followed by the other guys, and all the players get just as mercilessly teased by both the guys and the girls.
By the end of it, I even manage to get one term right, which earns me a round of dramatic applause.
The evening is simple. Just friends chatting and laughing. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But for me, it is most definitely extraordinary.
Because I’m having the time of my life.