"Nervous?" Lena asks, reading my expression.
"No," I lie. "Just looking for familiar faces."
She doesn't call me on it; she just settles into her seat and studies the program. "So, the goal is to kick the ball into the net, right?"
I stare at her for a moment before catching the twinkle in her eye. "Very funny."
"I actually played soccer in high school," she admits. "I wasn't half bad as a defender."
"Why am I not surprised? You strike me as someone who'd be good at blocking people's shots."
She bumps my shoulder with hers. "Was that a compliment or an insult?"
"Definitely a compliment. Defense wins championships."
"Is that why you play defense in hockey?"
"Partly." I consider how to explain it. "I like the strategy of it. Reading the play, anticipating where the puck's going, getting between the opponent and their goal."
"The protector," she says thoughtfully.
“I don’t know about that...”
“Well, I do,” Lena starts to explain. A roar from the crowd interrupts us as the teams take the field for warm-ups. I point out Cara—Latina, a midfielder with a dark ponytail.
"She's amazing," I tell Lena. "Got recruited right out of college. On the national team, too."
"Your family must be proud."
"We are. Even if she's not technically family yet." I scan the sidelines again and freeze. "Three o'clock. By the media tent."
Lena follows my gaze subtly. "Is that Adam?"
He stands near the press area, clipboard in hand, talking to what appears to be a group of sponsors. He's wearing his professional uniform—slim-cut suit, no tie, trendy glasses—and looks completely in his element.
"That's him," I confirm, my voice tighter than I'd like.
Lena's hand finds mine on the armrest between us. "You, okay?"
"Fine." I force myself to look away from Adam. "Just... it's the first time I've seen him since."
"We can leave," she offers immediately. "This was a stupid idea."
"No." I squeeze her hand, surprised by how much I appreciate the contact. "I'm okay. Really."
"Okay." She doesn't let go of my hand, and I don't pull away. It feels... nice. Grounding.
The match begins, and we settle into watching the action. In the fourteenth minute, Cara makes a brilliant pass that leads to the first goal, and I jump to my feet, cheering. Lena stands, too, laughing at my enthusiasm.
"Your family loyalty extends to girlfriends of cousins?" she teases.
"Women's sports don't get enough credit," I reply. "Plus, Cara's practically a Stag already. Wes is just taking his time proposing."
We're still standing, discussing the goal, when I notice a commotion near the media tent. Adam has spotted us. He's staring, mouth slightly open, distracted enough that one of his clients seems to be repeating a question.
"Mission accomplished," Lena murmurs, following my gaze.
"That was easier than expected."
