Chapter 52

Chapter Fifty-Two

Haydn

The noise in the arena is deafening. Seattle fans are relentless, a sea of blue and green roaring with chants, jeers, and stomping feet. The energy buzzes around me, crawling up my spine like static, but my focus is off. It’s warmups, and I’m supposed to be running through the motions, settling into my zone. Instead, I’m stuck on the fact that Coach forced me out here.

“Wesford, go,” he barked in the locker room earlier. “Get your ass on the ice and loosen up.”

I argued, of course. Warmups in front of all these fans aren’t my thing. I hate them. They throw me off more than anything. But tonight, apparently, wasn’t up for debate. So here I am, skating laps and pretending I’m not silently cursing under my breath.

The crowd hisses louder as I circle the ice, their boos growing more intense every time I pass the glass near center ice. Summits fans. Man, they’re ruthless, ready to tear you apart if you let them.

I drop into the crease—my crease—and run through my usual routine. Tap the right post, then the left, then the crossbar. Stretch side to side. It’s muscle memory, something I’ve done a thousand times, but tonight it’s not working. My brain is loud, my nerves louder.

I skate out for a quick lap, my eyes scanning the stands—not really looking for anything, just trying to reset. That’s when I see it.

A banner with my number.

“Go out on a date with me #44. YP.”

The question is intriguing, but it’s the initials that hit me like a puck to the chest. YP. Your Pia. And if I had any doubts about who was behind it, right in the middle of the banner is a photo.

Me.

Not some action shot from a game, but a picture she took. It’s from the terrace at home, just before sunset. I’m leaning against the railing, laughing at something she said, my hair a mess and the lake shimmering behind me. She caught me completely off guard that day, and it shows. I’m not posed, not polished. Just . . . me, the way she loves me.

For a second, the noise of the arena fades, and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart.

Hanson skates up beside me, following my line of sight. He whistles low under his breath. “Fan, stalker, or is that Pretty Ophelia trying to get you to put out tonight?”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Hopefully the latter,” I manage, my voice rough.

“She’s a keeper,” Hanson adds, grinning as he skates away.

I want to laugh, but I can’t. My grip on my stick tightens as I stare at that banner. She didn’t just come to support me tonight—she’s putting herself out there in a way I never expected.

Pia.

Always surprising me, always knowing how to knock me off balance in the best way.

I glance up at the Jumbotron as it pans across the crowd, and there it is again. The banner fills the screen, her words bold and bright against the chaos of the arena. The crowd reacts immediately—boos from the Seattle fans, cheers from the Orcas’ section. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.

I lift my stick, tapping it twice against my helmet before pointing it toward the banner. It’s subtle, quick, but it’s for her. A silent thank you. A promise.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of warmups, and I skate off the ice, my heart still racing. As I reach the tunnel, I glance back one last time, catching a final glimpse of the banner through the glass.

It doesn’t matter what happens tonight. Win or lose, save or goal, she’s here. She’s back and maybe this time it is forever.

We win the game. The fans aren’t happy, but I was too pumped to let anything get through the net. My lucky charm was in the house. There was no way we wouldn’t win. After the press, the coach’s speech, and us changing, I’m ready to head out.

The locker room is quiet now, the hum of post-game adrenaline finally fading as the rest of the team filters out. I glance at my reflection in the mirror one last time, adKeaneg the knot of my tie. Black suit, crisp white shirt, shoes polished to a gleam. I look the part—composed, professional, exactly what I need to be tonight. But underneath the polished surface, my pulse is still thrumming, the game high lingering just beneath the surface.

I grab my duffel bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head toward the exit. The hallways are mostly empty, just the occasional staff member offering a nod or a quick, “Good game tonight.” I wave but don’t stop to chat. My mind is already outside.

She’s waiting.

The sliding doors part, and there she is.

Ophelia.

My Pia.

She’s standing under the glow of the streetlights, her arms wrapped around herself, even though she’s wearing that soft gray coat I love. The wind tugs gently at her hair, loose waves falling over her shoulders, and she’s got this little smile on her face, the kind that hits me somewhere deep, somewhere I thought I’d buried. It’s not a big, beaming smile; it’s quieter, softer, but it’s hers. And it’s for me.

I barely make it two steps before she sees me. Her smile widens, her eyes lighting up like she’s been waiting for this all night. My pace quickens without me even realizing it, my legs closing the space between us as fast as they can.

She’s already moving too, meeting me halfway.

“Haydn.” Her voice is soft, almost lost in the rush of the wind, but it’s enough. Enough to pull me the rest of the way.

I drop the duffel without a second thought, my arms going around her like it’s second nature. She fits perfectly against me, her face pressing into my shoulder, her arms sliding under my suit jacket like she needs to hold on tight.

“Hey,” I murmur into her hair, the scent of her shampoo familiar and grounding. “This is probably the best night I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands resting against my chest. “You did amazing tonight,” she says, her eyes searching mine like she’s looking for something more.

I shake my head, my hands resting on her waist. “It’s not about the game,” I tell her, my voice quieter now, just for her. “This. This is what I’ve been waiting for. You. You came to me.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away for a second, like she’s embarrassed by the intensity of my words. But I don’t let her hide. I tip her chin up gently, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“Thank you for being here,” I say, and it’s more than just gratitude. It’s everything I can’t quite put into words yet.

“Always,” she whispers, her fingers curling into my lapels.

I lean in, brushing my lips against her forehead, then her temple, taking my time, savoring the moment because I don’t want to rush this. And when I finally press a kiss to her lips, it’s slow, deliberate, filled with all the things I haven’t been able to say.

Her lips are soft, warm, and familiar in a way that feels like coming home. The kiss deepens, and I pour every ounce of love, every moment of missing her, into it. She sighs against me, her hands tightening their hold like she’s afraid I’ll slip away. But I’m not going anywhere.

The time apart solidified it for me—she’s my forever. I don’t just love her. I am hers in every way that matters. She’s the only person who’s ever seen all of me and chosen to stay, even when I wasn’t sure I deserved it.

When we finally pull apart, our foreheads rest against each other, her breath mingling with mine in the cold night air. My voice comes out low, teasing. “So, did you wait out here just to see me in a suit and get a kiss?”

Her laugh is soft but genuine, her hands sliding up to adjust my tie like it’s an excuse to stay close. “Maybe,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “But can you blame me? You do clean up well.”

I grin, leaning back just enough to give her a full view. “Well, I aim to please.”

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand into mine. “Let’s go home.”

“I heard from Coach that you rearranged my lift to Portland,” I say as we walk toward the car.

She shrugs, her lips twitching into a sly smile. “My agent seems to know a lot of people. Even the owner of the Seattle Summits helped,” she adds, giving me a wink.

And just like that, the night feels perfect.