Shit.
What if it's not enough? What if the fundraiser flops? What if she's disappointed? What if I've built this whole thing up in my head and it doesn't mean as much to her as it does to me?
What if she's sitting up there right now, feeling overwhelmed by all the attention instead of excited? What if this just reminds her of all the reasons she can't trust me with her heart again?
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.
She's here. That's what matters. She showed up, which means she's giving us a chance.
"Scott." Coach Brody appears beside my locker, and I can tell by his tone this isn't a casual pre-game check-in. "Hallway. Now."
I follow him out to where the sounds of the crowd are even louder. The arena is alive tonight, buzzing with an energy I've only felt in playoff games before.
"How's the head?" Coach asks with steady eyes.
"Ready to play, sir."
"Good. Because this arena looks incredible tonight. I've just been told that some business hotshot already donated fifty grand to your cause before puck drop."
I try to play it cool but my heart is doing fucking backflips in my chest, practically giving my brain a high five.
Fifty grand. Fifty fucking grand!
"Saw your girl out there too, kid."
His eyes bore into mine and my chest tightens. Mia's here. Actually here, watching me play.
"Tonight, you play for this team. For this town." Coach steps closer, his voice dropping to that quiet tone that somehow sounds more dangerous than yelling. "And you also play for that girl up there who's probably nervous as hell right now."
I frown at him. "What are you saying, Coach?"
After his whole lecture the other day about distractions, this is... unexpected. Old guy is giving me mixed messages. One minute I need to focus, the next he wants me to play for her?
"I'm saying hockey's a game, kid. But life? Life's what happens when the game's over." His expression softens just a fraction. "Your call. But whatever you do, make tonight count. Onandoff the ice."
He claps me on the shoulder and heads back toward the locker room, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart hammering against my ribs.
An hour later, we're lined up in the tunnel, ready for our entrance. The arena lights have dimmed except for the ice, which gleams like a perfect sheet of possibility under the spotlights.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice booms through the arena, "please welcome your Iron Ridge Icehawks!"
The roar that greets us is deafening.
I skate out as part of the team, but my eyes are already scanning the crowd. Searching for one face among thousands.
The arena is packed. Every seat filled, people standing in the aisles, signs waving from every section.
"SAVE THE PUPPIES!"
"TAILS & PAWS TONIGHT!"
"RYDER + MIA = GOALS!"
That last one makes me grin as I skate around and shake my stick to the crowd.
The ice surface is perfect, freshly zambonied and marked. Our goal nets gleam under the lights. The crowd is a wall of sound that makes my bones vibrate.
But I still haven't found her.
