Page 37 of Offside Angle

I catch Roman making an excellent save, one that leaves the entire arena holding its breath before the place explodes. The goalie stays calm, but I manage to snap the moment right as the puck hits his glove. Perfect. Then Cole scores again, that cocky little grin on his face as he celebrates with Elias. I get that too. I even catch Damian on the bench, a rare smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when his boys do something right. He always tries to hide it.

When the final buzzer sounds and the Reapers win, the arena erupts. I move quickly, capturing the handshakes, the helmet bumps, the pure joy on the boys’ faces as they celebrate. Cole is screaming something at the top of his lungs. Elias is laughing. Even the rookies are celebrating with enough disbelief to make you think they’ve won the Cup. I get it all.

As the team starts heading back toward the tunnel, Matteo’s parents find me.

Rafa spots me first, his whole face lighting up with immediate affection. He pulls me into a big, warm hug, and for a second I’m seventeen again, showing up at their house after school with my camera slung over my shoulder.

“Santi,” he says, clapping me on the back. “We will have dinner at Matteo’s place after this. Will you join us, mijo?”

Oh.

Interesting.

How could I possibly say no to that kind of invitation? Matteo’s place. I’ve never been to this one. The house in Miami — yes, plenty of times. I practically lived there during high school summers. But this new house? The one Matteo built for himself in Ravensburg?

That’s new territory.

“Sure, Raf,” I say, patting his shoulder. “I’d love to.”

Vivienne gives me a small, knowing smile, the kind that says she sees more than she lets on. I wink at her and she just shakes her head, amused.

As the celebration starts to wind down and Matteo’s parents get ready to head out, Vivienne leans in close to me. Her voice is low, just for my ears, warm with that familiar dry humor she’s always had. “I’ve always liked you better,” she whispers.

I bite my lower lip to keep from grinning too wide, but I can’t help the soft laugh that escapes. “I’m still here, Viv,” I tease back. “You never could resist a pretty face with a camera.”

She pulls back just enough to give me that signature raised eyebrow, the one that says she knows exactly what I’m doing and she’s not mad about it.

“Careful, Santiago,” she says, tapping my arm lightly with her perfectly manicured fingers. “Flattery will only get you so far with me.”

“Oh, I know,” I reply. “That’s why I brought my best charm. The one I save for the women who actually see through me.”

“You always were trouble,” she murmurs fondly. “Still are, from what I can tell.”

I tilt my head, giving her my most innocent look. “Me? Trouble? I’m just here to take pretty pictures, ma’am.”

She narrows her eyes at me playfully. “Be good tonight, Santi,” she says, knowing. “Or at least try to be.”

I wink at her. “No promises.”

She walks away smiling, and I stay where I am for a moment, watching the two of them head toward the exit. They’ve always been this warm with me—teasing, affectionate, folding me into the family long before I was anything more than the skinny kid with a camera constantly trailing after Matteo.

It feels good to be remembered that way.

I glance across the arena one last time, toward where the team is still celebrating near the benches.

Matteo is there.

And tonight, I’m going to his house for dinner.

This should be fun.

The locker room celebration eventually winds down and I say my goodbyes to the guys, clapping shoulders and trading a few last jokes as we head out to the parking lot. The win still feels good in my bones, but my body is exhausted and my head is heavier than I’d like it to be. I climb into my car and start the drive home, the city lights blurring past the windows.

It’s late.

Lena probably ordered takeout by now. My parents are almost definitely teasing her about something — my dad trying to feed her the entire menu and my mom making observations that somehow always hit exactly right. The thought makes me smile despite everything. I’m looking forward to walking through the door and seeing them all there.

I park in front of the house, grab my bag, and head inside. Before I even make it out of the entryway, I can hear voices carrying from the dining room, mixed with laughter and the clink of glasses.