He looked at her first

Tamara's POV

"I am not spending my Friday night watching sweaty men chase a rubber disc."

Elena had been saying some version of this for forty-five minutes. We were already in the arena. The cold had seeped through my jeans. The noise was building, that low, rising anticipation that happens right before a game, when everyone's holding their breath without realizing it.

"You said that," I replied, pulling my hoodie tighter. "Twelve times."

"Because you aren't listening."

"I'm listening. I just don't care."

She glared at me, all dark lips and sharp eyeliner. Her black hair was pulled into two pigtails that somehow made her look more threatening, not less. "You owe me. I covered for you with Professor Bondo when you missed that quiz."

"You forged a doctor's note."

"A convincing doctor's note." She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward our seats in the mid-section. "Now sit. Cheer. Pretend you understand what offside means."

I laughed.

It came out before I could stop it, genuine and unexpected, strange in my chest. Like stretching a muscle I'd forgotten I had. It hurt a little. But in a good way.

Elena heard it. Her expression softened for half a second. Then she looked away and started complaining about the temperature again.

*************

The first period was brutal.

Penny University came out swinging, literally. Two penalties in the first ten minutes. Bodies slammed against the boards with sounds that made me wince. The ref's arm went up so many times I lost count. Players shouted. Coaches shouted. Someone in the row behind us spilled popcorn everywhere.

"Hockey is just violence with ice skates," Elena announced.

"That's the point."

"The point is stupid."

I smiled. And despite myself, I started watching.

Not the game. Him.

Garrett was easy to find. Number seventeen. Dark jersey that complimented his smooth dark skin.

That broad-shouldered, no-nonsense way of moving that made everyone else look like they were guessing. He didn't chase the puck. He anticipated it. Like he'd decided the outcome before the first drop.

I watched him check a Penny player into the boards, clean and legal, but vicious enough that the crowd gasped. He skated away like nothing had happened.

I remembered his hands on my waist. His voice in my ear.

Say my name.

I looked away. My face was hot and sure as red as a tomato.

Elena was too busy booing a penalty call to notice.

*************

The game tightened in the final minutes.

Crestwood was down by one. The arena had gone feral. There were stomping feet, pounding on the boards, that collective roar that vibrates in your ribs and makes your heart beat out of sync.

Elena was on her feet without realizing it, grumbling yet still watching with narrowed eyes.

Then Garrett had the puck.

He moved fast, like faster than I'd seen anyone move all night. His legs pumped. His head was up, scanning, calculating. He cut left, faked a pass that made the defender bite hard, and the goalie shifted just half a step.

Wrong move.

Garrett shot. Wrist shot, quick and low, through the five-hole.

The puck went in.

The red light flashed. The buzzer screamed. The arena exploded.

I was on my feet. I didn't remember standing. My hands were pressed over my mouth. My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard I thought Elena could probably hear it.

His team swarmed him, their helmets off, sticks raised, bodies colliding in celebration. The announcer's voice was swallowed by the noise. On the jumbotron, his face appeared: sweat dripping, grey eyes sharp, that small, satisfied curve to his mouth.

And then….he looked up.

Into the crowd. Past the glass. Past the hundreds of people on their feet, screaming, waving, holding up signs.

He found my face.

Like he knew exactly where I was. Like he'd known the whole time.

He smiled, the first real smile I'd ever seen on him. Like hell the very first anyone had seen on Garrett Wave.

Like we were the only two people in the building.

And he waved at me.

Elena grabbed my arm so hard I felt it in my bones.

"What?!," she said.

I couldn't speak.

"What the fuck, Tamara."

Across the rink, Lucas had gone very still.

I saw him because I'd spent months learning where to find him. He was standing beside Mara, who was cheering, jumping, her ponytail swinging, saying something he wasn't hearing. His jersey was on her back.

His jaw was tight and his eyes were locked on me.

On Garrett.

On the wave.

Something cold moved down my spine. Like being watched by something you can't outrun and yet I loved it.

"He looked for you," Elena said slowly. Her voice had gone quiet. That was how I knew she was serious. "First. In a crowd of thousands. He looked for you."

"Elena…"

She grabbed both of my arms and turned me to face her. Her dark eyes were wide, sharp, absolutely unwilling to be managed or redirected.

"Start talking. Right now. Who is that? Why is the Fornon alpha waving at you like you're his girlfriend? And why," she lowered her voice, "did Paul text me three days ago asking if I'd seen you because you didn't come home that night?"

My stomach dropped.

"Elena"

"No. Don't Elena me." Her grip tightened. "You've been saying I'm fine for a week. You look like you haven't slept. And now a man who could kill someone with his bare hands just smiled at you like you're his favorite thing in this building."

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn't even know where to start.

Her phone buzzed.

Then buzzed again.

She ignored it at first, too focused on my face. Then a third buzz. A fourth. A fifth. She cursed and glanced down, just a flick of her eyes and her whole expression shifted.

Her brows furrowed and she peered at her phone.

She turned the screen around.

The department group chat. Screenshots. A blurry photo of someone who looked like me, leaving the Fornon dormitory building. Three days ago at dawn. The timestamp was clear.

Ouch.

The caption underneath: "Tamara Angel. Garrett Wave's room. Someone tell Lucas."

Below it, a thread had already formed, twenty messages deep.

Speculation. Laughter. Cruel texts. Some laughing emojis. A few wide-eyed ones. Someone had commented "Lucas's leftovers?" and someone else had replied "Garrett can have her."

Elena looked at me. Her face was as hard as stone.

"Start talking," she said. "Right now. Or I'm finding him myself and asking him.”