“Mom,” Lucas whines, like I’m the one holding things up.
“Coming,” I answer, forcing a smile as I grab my keys.
The drive to the rink feels longer than usual. I turn the radio up, letting the noise fill the car, trying to drown out the steady drum of my pulse and the one thought I can’t seem to shake:
You’re going to see him.
We finally find a parking spot, and before I’ve even cut the engine, the boys are out of the car, racing ahead. I take my time. Each step feels heavier than the last, like if I walk slowly enough, maybe I can delay the inevitable.
“Come on, Mom!” Josh calls, turning back, waving me forward.
“I’m coming,” I say, even though every part of me wants to turn around and go home.
I follow them inside, through the familiar halls, up to the box. And the second I step in, I feel it. Eyes. Voices. Life moving forward like nothing has changed.
“Maria,” Gina calls and I force myself to walk toward her.
That’s when I see Kate.
My steps falter, just slightly, but enough that I feel it all the way down to my bones. My throat tightens, heat creeping up the back of my neck.
She was there. She knows. Every word. Every moment. Does she hate me for hurting him?
Does she know how much he hurt me?
“Kate,” I manage. “I thought you’d left.”
“I decided to stay an extra day,” she says easily, like nothing in the world is complicated. “Wanted to catch one more game.” She taps the seat beside her. “Come sit.”
I lower myself into the chair, hyperaware of everything—where to put my hands, how to breathe, how to exist in a space that suddenly feels too small.
“I’ll grab you a wine,” Brighton says, already moving.
And for a split second, my mind spirals?—
Kate told them. They all know. This is pity wine.
But no.
That’s not who they’ve ever been. They’ve always been kind. Welcoming. Easy. Even when I didn’t quite feel like I belonged. Brighton returns, placing the glass in my hand, and I murmur a thank you, wrapping my fingers around the stem like it’s something solid to hold onto.
Conversation flows around me—kids, schedules, small stories from the week—and I cling to it, grateful that none of it turns toward me. I nod when I’m supposed to. Smile when it’s expected. But from the corner of my eye, I catch my boys. They’re jittery. Practically vibrating with excitement. Yes, they love hockey. They love the guys. But tonight feels…different. Like they’re waiting for something.
The arena quiets as the players begin to take the ice, the energy shifting in an instant. And then, there he is.
Tuck.
The moment he skates out, something in my chest lurches so hard it steals my breath. And like he can feel it—like he knows—his gaze lifts.
Finds mine.
Locks.
My grip falters, the wine glass slipping just enough to make my heart jump into my throat before I tighten my hold. I drag in a shallow breath and take a quick sip, needing something—anything—to quiet the rush of emotions inside me. That’s when I feel it.
Kate.
Watching me.
