But I’m here anyway, camera raised, catching the players mid-motion.
The ice doesn’t scare me anymore. Took months of exposure therapy, standing in the rink, then sitting in the stands, then actually stepping on the ice with Ryder holding my hand. But I got here. I’m here.
“Maya! Get this shot!” Lennox calls, pointing to a particularly dramatic play.
I adjust my settings, capture the moment, feel that familiar thrill of getting exactly the right composition.
After the game, I pack up my equipment and find Ryder waiting by the boards. He’s in full gear, fresh off his own practice with the men’s team. His shoulder’s healed completely, stronger than before, actually, because he learned how to take care of it properly.
He got drafted in the second round last spring, signed with the organization, and is heading to their development camp in July. But for now, he’s finishing his degree at Thornhill, playing his senior season.
“How’d it go?” he asks, pulling off his helmet.
“Got some great shots. Lennox is going to be thrilled.”
“You happy?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
And I mean it. Not the performance of being fine, not the careful lie I used to tell. Actually happy. Actually content. Actually grateful to be alive.
“Come on,” Ryder says, slinging his bag over his good shoulder. “Carter’s having people over. Something about celebrating Isla’s grad school acceptance.”
“Isla got in? That’s amazing!”
“Yeah. Full ride to Columbia for her master’s in library science. Sebastian’s pretending to be cool about it but is actually freaking out about long distance.”
We walk across campus together, his hand in mine, talking about nothing and everything. About his upcoming season, about my photography portfolio, about the future that used to terrify me but now feels like possibility.
At Carter’s apartment, the usual crowd is gathered, Carter and Lennox, Isla and Sebastian, Marcus and Lilah, Ivy and Ethan.
“To Isla!” Carter raises his beer. “The smartest person any of us know.”
“To Isla,” we echo, and she blushes, and Sebastian pulls her close with the kind of fierce protectiveness I recognize from Carter.
Later, when things quiet down and people start leaving, Carter pulls me aside.
“You okay?” he asks. The question he’s asked a thousand times, the one that used to annoy me but now feels like love.
“I’m good. Really good actually.”
“Yeah?” He studies my face, looking for the truth beneath the words.
“Yeah. I’m happy, Carter. I’m actually happy.”
His eyes get shiny. “Good. That’s… that’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“I know. And I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“Don’t apologize for surviving. Don’t apologize for needing time. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
We hug, and I feel the weight of the last two years, the bathtub, the hospital, the nightmares, the slow climb back to something resembling life. But I also feel the hope. The progress. The possibility.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For finding me. For not giving up. For letting me figure this out at my own pace.”
“Always,” Carter says. “I’ll always show up for you.”
Ryder’s waiting by the door when I’m ready to leave. We walk back to his apartment, I’ve basically moved in at this point, though we’re keeping my dorm room for appearances and also because I need a space that’s just mine when things get overwhelming.
