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I lift my stick.

She smiles.

And just like that, everything else gets a little quieter.

I've had women wear my jersey before. Fans. Girlfriends of teammates borrowing one for a picture. People who wanted a souvenir more than they wanted to know the guy whose name was on the back.

But Delaney? She's been wearing my number in one way or another since we were kids. And now she's sitting in my arena with my name across her shoulders.

Her eyes are on me.

Twenty-two. Two wishes. And there she is, wearing both of them across her back without even knowing what it does to me.

Hell if I don't love it.

Avery leans toward her and says something.

Delaney laughs.

I can't hear a word.

Doesn't matter.

I know that laugh. I know the way she tilts her head when she's trying not to smile too much. I know she probably has a Diet Dr Pepper tucked somewhere near her seat, even though she'll complain about paying arena prices for it.

And I know that when this game is over, I want to go home with her.

Declan skates past me.

Hard.

Close enough that his shoulder clips mine.

I turn.

He doesn't look back.

Yeah.

This is going to be a long night.

The first period is ugly. Not because we're playing badly. Because the Archers are playing like they've got something to prove.

And Declan is playing like he's got something personal to settle.

Which, I suppose, he does. He finishes every check. Crowds me along the boards. Gets his stick into every passing lane he can reach.

Twice, he chirps at me during faceoffs. The first time, it's about my age. The second time, it's about my judgment.

I ignore both.

Mostly.

“Your head in the game, Bish?” Jax asks when we come off after a shift.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because Beckett looks like he's trying to take yours off.”