Iskatetowardtheboards.The scrum shifts around me, noise, bodies and cameras blurring at the edges.
And there she is.
Notebooks in hand. Eyes too bright. Trying hard to look professional and failing at it in a way that makes something go stupid in me.
For one second there’s still glass between us.
It shouldn’t feel like anything. It’s just glass. Just rink boards. Just the line between the ice and everyone else.
It feels like a mile.
Then she puts her hand on it.
“You saved it,” she says. “You did it.”
I laugh, low in my chest, and put my hand over hers on the glass.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I did.”
“The glove save. In overtime. You just—” She stops. Swallows. “That was the ghost.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t even flinch.”
“I know where it lives.” I look at her. “You told me.”
Her face changes.
Just for a second.
That’s enough.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks at me. “What.”
“You still owe me a can of Fancy Cat.”
She laughs.
Right there at the glass with the whole arena still going and the Cup on the ice just feet away.
I watch her laugh and think — my person — and for once the words don’t feel too big.
They feel late.
The celebration runs until about two AM.
She’s there for all of it. Camera up, recorder on, doing her job — like someone who gives a damn about what happens to this team.
Not watching it.
In it.
Brody finds her first. Of course he does.
He talks at her with both hands moving, face still red from crying he will deny until his last breath, and Nova somehow manages to photograph him, nod at the right moments, and not smile hard enough to expose him.
