“If they win this,” Charlie says, leaning back in his seat, “they clinch the playoffs.”
Theo spins around. “Actually,” he says, pushing up his glasses, “they clinch aspotin the playoffs. They still have to win more games.”
Charlie fights a laugh. “I stand corrected.”
I smile, settling into my chair, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. This isn’t just a game. You can feel that. Everyone here knows it: the players warming up below, the VIPs filtering in, the layer of tension tucked underneath the chatter.
“Sawyer’s going to score tonight.” Theo turns back to the ice,nodding his head like an eighty-year-old soothsayer who knows how the game is going to turn out. “I can tell.”
Of course he can.
I lean back in my chair taking a second to really look around. The box is filling in now—people dressed just a little nicer than the average crowd, laughter carrying easily, drinks being passed, everyone wearing that identical expression oftonight matters. It’s polished and everything feels bright, like the building itself expects a win.
Perfection, curated.
My gaze drifts upward, instinctively, to the jumbotron.
The same screen that once made my chest seize, my stomach flip, my breath disappear.
And now?
Now, I smile.
It’s still huge. Still looming. Still very much there. But it doesn’t own me anymore. Sawyer took something sharp and rewired it into something else—something softer, steadier. A place for new memories instead of old landmines.
There’s a warm sensation flooding through me when I check my watch. My smile falters just a touch, and I can feel a definitive chill in the air suddenly.
David should be here by now. He said he’d call this morning. Said he’d confirm plans, timing, where he’d meet us. But he didn’t. I told myself not to read into it. I always tell myself that. But this is about Theo. Not me. Not us. About our son.
I pull out my phone and type a quick text to David.
Hey—are you on your way? We’re in the box.
The message sends. No reply.
Theo glances up at me, perceptive in the way kids always are when you least want them to be. “Did you hear from Dad?”
I tuck my phone back into my bag a little too quickly. “Notyet,” I say lightly. “But look—” I point toward the ice, where players are circling through warm-ups. “There’s Sawyer.”
Theo lights up instantly. “I see him! He’s fast today.”
“He is,” I agree, watching Sawyer glide past, effortless and focused, like he belongs exactly where he is. He looks up for just a second, scanning the boxes. Like he’s looking for us.
And when his gaze finds this one, his grin flashes quick and unmistakable.
Theo waves wildly. I lift my hand, too, heart doing that inconvenient little skip I’m still pretending I don’t notice.
“Okay,” I say, pushing to my feet. “I’m going to make a quick bathroom run before they toss out the disc.”
“Puck drop,” Charlie corrects.
And I roll my eyes. “Puck drop.”
“You’ll get there.” Charlie salutes me, biting back a grin. “But I do recommend ‘NHL Talk for Dummies’. Good read for you.”
I stick my tongue out at him and start on my mission. I take exactly three steps toward the door before it bursts open. Vivian barrels in, holding a bakery box roughly the size of a small ottoman, grinning like she’s about to unveil the crown jewels.
“I have arrived with?—”
