Chapter 9 -Lena

I can’t focus. Not on the puck. Not on the players. Not on the roar of the crowd or the announcer shouting names I should recognize. All I can hear is the echo of Evan’s stick slamming against the glass. All I can see is the look in his eyes, sharp, furious, protective in a way that makes my stomach twist. The drunk guy is gone now. His friends finally dragged him up the stairs, muttering apologies to my dad and Coach Daniels. The moment he disappeared into the crowd, I should’ve felt relief.

I don’t. I feel… unsettled. Theo is still bouncing beside me, completely oblivious to the tension that just happened. “Did you see that hit?” he asks, pointing at the ice. “That was awesome!”

I nod, pretending I’m watching. Pretending I’m not replaying the last ten minutes in my head.

Mara squeezes my arm gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just… overwhelmed.”

She doesn’t push. She just nods and turns back to the game, giving me space. I stare at the ice, but my eyes keep drifting to one person.

Evan.

He’s skating like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just threaten to break his stick over someone’s backside in front of thousands of people. Like he didn’t risk another suspension. Like he didn’t look at me like...no. No, I’m not going there. He doesn’t like me. He made that perfectly clear years ago. The last time we saw each other before he left for college, he barely said goodbye. A quick hug, a “take care,” and then he was gone. No promises to stay in touch. No “I’ll miss you.” Nothing.

And when I left for training? Silence. He chose hockey. I chose skating. We went our separate ways.

So why would he do that tonight? Why slam his stick against the glass for me? Why look at me like he’d tear the whole arena apart if I asked him to?

I grip the edge of my seat, trying to steady my breathing. The lights feel too bright again. The noise too loud. The cold air too sharp.

I force myself to watch the game. Evan takes a pass, cuts across the ice, and fires a shot that hits the goalie’s pads. The crowd groans. He circles back, jaw tight, focused. He looks like the same Evan I grew up with, intense, determined, always pushing himself harder than anyone else.

But he also looks different. Older. Rougher around the edges. Carrying something heavy behind his eyes.

My chest tightens. I don’t want to care. I don’t want to wonder. I don’t want to feel anything about him at all. But I do. And that scares me more than the fall, more than the rink, more than the panic attacks. Because if Evan Hart can still get under my skin after all these years…then maybe I never stopped caring in the first place.

The buzzer sounds, snapping me out of my thoughts. The period ends. The players skate off the ice. The crowd stands to stretch.

Theo tugs my sleeve again. “Lena, did you see Evan almost score?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. I saw.”

What I don’t say is that I saw everything else too. And I have no idea what any of it means.

The final buzzer echoes through the arena, and the crowd erupts around me. People are cheering, stomping, clapping, celebrating the win. Theo is bouncing so hard his little sneakers thump against the metal bleachers. Mara laughs and scoops him up, and for a moment, the noise feels almost warm.

I stand with the crowd and follow the flow of people toward the lobby. My parents told me to meet them by the main entrance, they stopped to talk to a few other parents. Coach Daniels, Mara and Theo peel off toward the restroom, leaving me alone for just a minute. Just a minute. I can handle a minute. I wrap my arms around myself and try to breathe through the leftover adrenaline. The lobby is loud, packed with fans, reporters, and families. The smell of popcorn and cold air mixes with the buzz of conversation. I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m...

“Lena Merritt?” My heart drops. A woman with a press badge and a too-bright smile steps directly into my path, a recorder already in her hand. “Hi! I’m with Channel 7 Sports. Do you have a moment?”

I freeze. “I...I’m waiting for my parents.”

“It’ll be quick,” she says, already lifting the recorder. “Our viewers would love to hear from you. First...how’s the recovery going after your injury?”

My throat closes. “I… I’m not doing interviews.”

She doesn’t stop. “There are rumors you’re not returning to competition. Is that true? Are you retiring?”

Retiring. The word hits like a punch. “I...I don’t...”

“And one more question,” she says, leaning in. “Is there something going on between you and Evan Hart? His reaction to that fan was… intense. Very protective. Are you two involved?” My vision blurs at the edges. People are staring. Phones are out. Someone whispers my name. My pulse spikes, fast and sharp. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the noise swelling until it’s all I can hear. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t...

“Enough.” A firm voice cuts through the chaos. Coach Daniels steps between us, one hand raised, the other gently guiding me behind him like a shield. “She’s not answering any questions,” he says, calm but deadly serious. “Back off.”

The reporter tries to protest. “But...”

“Back. Off.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The reporter lowers her recorder, annoyed but retreating. The crowd disperses, disappointed they didn’t get a show.

Coach turns to me, his expression softening instantly.

“Lena,” he says quietly, “breathe.”

I try. My chest shakes. My eyes sting. But I manage one shaky inhale, then another.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “Let’s get you to your parents.”

He keeps a steady hand on my shoulder as we walk toward the exit, away from the lights, the noise, the questions, and the eyes.