Cas doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even break stride.
He shoots.
The puck flies toward the net.
Ten seconds.
The goalie stretches, reaching?—
It goes in.
4-3.
The horn sounds.
The clock hits zero.
Game over.
Our side of the rink explodes into absolute pandemonium. The team pours off the bench onto the ice, players piling onto Cas and Xaden, helmets flying everywhere, pure joy and relief and triumph.
We won.
Xaden won.
Through all the celebration, through all the chaos and noise and bodies, Xaden breaks away from his teammates. He skates directly toward the glass.
Toward me.
He pulls off his helmet and I can see his face clearly now, the split lip from earlier, the eye that's starting to swell, the blood and sweat and pure savage victory written across his features.
He's never looked more beautiful.
He presses his hand against the glass, palm flat, fingers spread.
Harper tugs on my arm. “Tor, maybe we should?—”
But I'm already moving. Already stepping forward.
I press my palm against the glass, meeting his hand with only the barrier between us.
The crowd around us is going insane. Cameras are definitely catching this moment. Tomorrow everyone will be talking about it, analyzing it, tearing it apart.
I don't care.
All I care about is him. This impossible, infuriating, devastating man who makes me feel things I have no right to feel.
His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
"One Kellar down," he mouths through the glass.
I go still, through all the chaos I forgot about who I was really dealing with. I forgot he’s the devil and hellbent on my destruction.
His smile is slow and dangerous, absolutely devastating.
Then Cas is pulling him away, back into the celebration, and the connection breaks.
Harper grabs my shoulders and turns me to face her. “Tor. You have to meet Meekan?—”
