"MOM!" Morgan whips her head toward me, vibrating with a joy so intense it makes me wonder why that scorching impulse to pull back is even there at all. "Can wepleasego? Please, please,please?"
I look at my daughter. At the Snow Leopards tee she chose this morning without being asked.
And then I look at Colt.
He's watching me with that expression again. The one where his blue eyes go darker, softer, and every joke he's ever told falls away until there's nothing left but the man underneath.
The man who arranged a spa night because he noticed I was tired.
The man who learned a secret handshake and sat with my daughter until bedtime because nobody asked him to.
The man who kissed me yesterday like I was the first real thing he'd ever touched.
"Yeah, baby," I say, my voice catching in a way I hope only I can hear. "We can go."
Morgan's shriek could shatter every window on Main Street.
She launches into a full victory lap around the bakery, arms pumping, chanting "HUNT! CLAIM! STRIKE!" at a volume that will definitely generate noise complaints.
And over her head, Colt catches my eye one more time.
That grin. That infuriating, dimple-popping, heart-destroying grin.
He knows exactly what he just did.
And the worst part?
So do I.
He took the next step.
Chapter 9
Colt
I've been in this arena a thousand times before.
Skated on that ice until my blades carved grooves into the surface. Heard my name boom from the speakers while twelve thousand people lost their minds.
Hell, I've been knocked unconscious and carted out through the tunnel on a stretcher, loaded into the back of an ambulance with lights painting the parking lot red and blue, sirens wailing into the night like the town itself was screaming.
But I've neversatin the stands like this.
I shift on the padded seat, my knee bouncing as I look around and take it all in.
It's Gameday in Chilmore, and the arena is still filling up around me, the pre-game hum building like a wave. The ice gleams under the lights, fresh and immaculate, the Snow Leopards logo at center ice glowing purple and gold before my eyes.
From up here, everything looks different.
Smaller, somehow. But bigger at the same time.
I can see the bench where I usually sit between line changes, the water bottles Willa has lined up like soldiers, the scuff marks on the boards from a thousand body checks.
I can see the tunnel where we emerge, where that leopard roar shakes the walls so hard we've now been voted 'Best Atmosphere in the League.'
And the seats.
God, the seats.
