Chapter 7 -Evan

Game day.

My first one back since the suspension, and my stomach feels like it’s been tied in a dozen knots. I’ve played hundreds of games in my life, but this one feels different. Heavier. Like the whole damn arena is waiting to see if I screw up again.

At home, I’m the good guy. The dependable son. The big brother who fixes bikes and helps with homework. With my team, I’m the one who shows up early, stays late, and buys rookies dinner when they’re homesick. But on the ice? I’m the villain now. The guy who lost his temper. The guy who threw the punch. The guy the league suspended. Nobody cares why. Nobody cares what pushed me over the edge. They just care that it happened. I try to shake it off as I lace my skates, but my hands won’t stop shaking.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent the last week watching Lena Merritt skate alone on the pond every morning. Maybe it’s because seeing her fight her way back onto the ice makes me feel like I should be fighting too. Or maybe it’s because I still haven’t talked to her, even though I want to more than I want my next breath. I get to the rink early, like always. The locker room is quiet, the air cold enough to sting. I sit on the bench, elbows on my knees, trying to breathe through the nerves.

“Big day,” Mason says, dropping his bag beside mine.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “Just… don’t murder anyone.”

I snort. “Hilarious.”

He grins, but his eyes soften. “Seriously. You’ve been different this week. Calmer.”

I don’t tell him why. I don’t tell him I’ve been watching Lena glide across the pond every morning like she’s trying to remember how to breathe. I don’t tell him that seeing her fight through panic attacks makes my own crap feel small. I don’t tell him that every time she pushes off the ice, something in me steadies.

Instead, I shrug. “Just trying to keep my head on straight.”

He claps my shoulder. “Good. We need you.”

The arena starts filling fast. I can hear the crowd through the tunnel, the buzz, the chatter, the low hum of anticipation. Normally it pumps me up. Today it makes my chest tighten. I step onto the ice for warmups, and the noise hits me like a wave. Cameras. Phones. Whispers. People waiting to see if I’ll snap again. I skate a few laps, trying to drown it out. Then something catches my eye.

A flash of familiar brown hair in the stands. A posture I know better than my own reflection. A hand gripping the railing like she’s grounding herself. Lena. My heart stops. She’s here. She’s actually here.

She hasn’t stepped foot in an arena since her fall, I know that much. She’s only been on the pond. But there she is, sitting with her parents, her coach, and a woman I assume is his wife. A little boy sits on her lap, pointing excitedly at the ice. She looks pale. Nervous. But she’s here. For a second, I forget how to skate. I circle back around, pretending I’m just doing another warmup lap, but really I’m trying to make sure I’m not imagining her. She’s real. She’s watching. And she has no idea I’ve been watching her for a week.

Mason skates up beside me. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

He follows my gaze. “Is that?”

“Yeah.”

He whistles low. “Damn. She came to watch you?”

“No,” I say quickly. “She came with her family. Her coach. Probably trying to get used to being in a rink again.”

But the thought still hits me like a punch: She’s here. On my first game back. In the crowd.

My chest tightens, but not in the bad way. More like something warm is trying to break through the ice I’ve built around myself.

The announcer calls us to the bench. The lights dim. The crowd roars. I take one last look at her. She’s watching the ice, not me. Her fingers are clenched in her jacket. Her dad leans in, saying something that makes her nod. She’s scared. But she showed up anyway.

If she can do that…Then I can do this. I grip my stick, breathe deep, and step onto the ice as the spotlight hits. For the first time since the suspension, I don’t feel like the villain. I feel like a guy who has something, someone, worth fighting for.