I wince as bodies slam against the plexiglass, and everyone around us rises to their feet.
It’s fucking loud. Louder than when I’m in the football stadium—maybe because we’re crammed into a tiny fishbowl of a rink and the chants ricochet off the glass, leaving a lingering scent of ice and spilled nachos.
“Go, Chris!” Honey shouts next to me, practically jumping out of her seat when number 27 slides across the ice, chasing the puck. He intercepts a pass, spins on his blades, then passes thepuck to his teammate.
“Come on, St. Michael’s!” More cheers from my girlfriend. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are bright with excitement.
I should be happy seeing her like this. She’s alive, engaged in the game and free from the weight she's been carrying lately. So why do I feel a knot forming in my stomach?
It’s because she’s different. This isn’t the girl who avoided my games for an entire year, who only came once and cowered into her seat so no one would recognize her. This girl watches everything. She knows the players’ names, tracks the penalties and follows the puck as though she’s been watching this her entire life.
“That was amazing!” she says, turning to me with a wide smile. “Did you see how he just—”
“I saw,” I cut in, smiling like it doesn’t taste like battery acid. “Yeah. It was great.”
Ididsee.
I’ve been seeing a lot lately.
Her laugh… her texts… her smiles.
They’re there, but I’m not at the center of them anymore. Yet, I’m sitting here, watching some other guy play hockey between my girlfriend and a girl I’m convinced is playing a game of her own.
One I don’t know the rules to yet, but I’m starting to think I’ve already lost.
“Ooh, that was close,” Jenni coos from my other side, leaning across me like I’m a piece of furniture in her way.
With pursed lips, I watch as Jenni’s arm presses into mine, but I don’t say anything. I promised Honey I’d keep the peace and that’s what I’m going to do. “Chris almost had that one.”
“Almost,” Honey agrees, and I turn my attention to her, hoping she’ll notice that Jenni’s hand is now resting on myforearm, her thumb tracing idle patterns as thoughwe’rethe couple tonight.
I shift, inching away under the guise of adjusting my jeans and shaking her off. It’s not the first time she’s tried this tonight. Not even the fifth. She’s been playing this game all evening—casual brushes here, shoulder bumps there, leaning in so close she might as well just sit on my lap and call it a day.
But Honey? Nothing. Not even a flicker of suspicion, and that’s when it hits me. It must’ve been so damn easy for Jamie to cheat on her. She trusts with her whole heart… and people like him count on it.
Jenni’s hand brushes my thigh again.
“She's my friend, Zach. She's not like that. You're being paranoid.”
Right, because Jenni just accidentally forgets what personal space is every time I’m within breathing distance.
As if on cue, she shifts her hand back to her own knee.
Thank God.
Maybe Honey’s right.
Maybe I am paranoid.
Maybe it’s the pressure—the season, the scouts, the travel, the internship Honey refuses to give up even though she hates it. Maybe it’s all getting under my skin and making me see threats where there aren’t any.
But then Jenni leans in again, her breath warm against my ear.
“You look tense, Zach. Not enjoying the game?”
I lean away, my jaw tight and my eyes glued to the ice. “Just tired. Long practice today.”
“Must be so hard,” she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear over the crowd. “Must be exhausting carrying the whole team on those broad shoulders of yours.”