He had. Nearly a decade of playing together, even sometimes on opposite sides, of watching each other's backs both on and off the ice. Max had been there through trades and injuries and the slow, grinding realization that my career had an expiration date coming up fast. Even if my life didn't, and that was the scariest thing.
And he was right. I sighed. "Fine."
"Excellent." Max stood, already texting. "Wear something that doesn't make you look like you're attending a funeral."
I looked down at my black sweater and black jeans.
"Taz."
"This is what I have."
Max threw a couch pillow at my head. "Then we're going shopping in the morning after the team meeting."
The club was exactly the kind of place I normally avoided—too loud, too crowded, too full of people who wanted to talk about the game or ask for autographs or speculate about next season.
But the VIP section was quieter, separated from the main floor by frosted glass and a velvet rope that kept most of the chaos at bay. Our group had claimed a huge corner booth, and I'd managed to wedge myself into the back where the music was muted enough that I could hear myself think.
Cole and Phoenix had shown up together, Phoenix tucked under Cole's arm like he belonged there. Keegan was arguing with Ember about something I couldn't quite hear over the bass, and his boyfriend Drake was sitting with Julian’s wife Lizzie and Kael’s girlfriend Molly, and it looked like they were having a great time. Ash sat beside me, nursing a drink and looking just as uncomfortable as I felt.
"You good?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Loud."
"Yeah."
We sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the others laugh and drink and exist in a way that looked effortless. Max appeared at the edge of the booth, two drinks in hand, even though we had a dedicated server. He slid one toward me. "Stop looking like you're planning an escape route."
"I'm not."
"You are. I can see you calculating the distance to the exit." He grinned. "Relax, Taz. No one's going to bother us up here."
I took the drink and tried to believe him.
The night wore on. The music shifted from aggressive electronic to something smoother, almost hypnotic. People drifted in and out of the VIP section—friends of friends, sponsors, the occasional reporter who got waved away before they could ask questions.
And then the door opened again, and I saw him.
Cinder.
He looked different out of scrubs—jeans that fit him well, a dark blue shirt that brought out his eyes, hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it. He was with a group, laughing at something a woman beside him said, and for a moment, he didn't notice me at all.
My chest tightened.
Max followed my gaze, and his grin turned absolutely wicked. "Well, well."
"Don't," I warned.
"I'm not doing anything," Max said innocently. "But you should go talk to him."
"He's with friends." Probably a girlfriend.
"So are you. That's what makes it normal." Max nudged my shoulder. "Go. Before you lose your nerve."
I didn't move. It was weird.
Cinder's group settled at a table near the bar, still visible through the glass partition. Cinder's smile was genuine, unguarded in a way I hadn't seen at the arena. The woman beside him—the one who'd made him laugh—leaned in close, saying something that made him shake his head.
I watched him without meaning to, cataloging details I had no business noticing. The way he rubbed the back of his neck whenhe was listening. The slight furrow between his brows when he concentrated. The fact that he hadn't touched the drink in front of him, just sat there with his hands folded on the table like he was still deciding whether to stay.