Bring it on

Chapter 25

The rink feels different when I'm here, standing at the edge of the boards, bundled up in a hoodie and scarf instead of my skates. The cold is familiar, but this time it's not my performance that has me on edge. It's Ethan's.

I'm used to being in the centre of attention, where the lights shine down on me as I glide across the ice. But today, this is all about him-Ethan, my hockey player, the guy who makes crashing into people look like an art form. I've watched him play so many times, but there's something about today that makes my stomach flutter.

This is his biggest game of the season, his team fighting for the championship, and much pressure mounted high on his shoulders. He had been talking about this game for weeks now, and while I knew he was a bit nervous inside, there was something in his eyes-a calm determination that assured me he was ready.

And me? A mess, but pretending not to be.

The sound of the crowd buzzing around me, the announcer calling out names over the speakers-everything seems a little bit louder than it normally does. Perhaps it's because I know how big this game is to him. He has been working so hard, and I want to be there for him in the same way he has always been there for me. Whether it was sitting through my long practice sessions or coming to every competition, he's always been my biggest fan.

I want to return the favor.

"Ethan's got this," I whisper, repeating the words like a mantra. He does. He's a fighter. He's always been one.

First, I see him out on the ice, warming up with his other teammates, skating back and forth, that focused look on his face-the one I know so well. It's the same look he gets when he's about to take a penalty shot or make a game-changing pass. That laser-like focus. He's in his element, and I can't help but feel my chest tighten with pride.

I take a deep breath and glance over to the stands. They're filling up with fans, but I don't need to look too far to find Ethan's parents and some of his closest friends. I see them waving at me, and I wave back with a smile. They're all excited too. I think we're all just hoping for the same thing: a victory.

The buzzer blares to life, and the game is underway. Ethan's team lines up at the edge of the rink, and my heart skips a beat. The players shuffle into position, donning helmets, their bodies bracing for the chaos that's about to unfold.

I lean against the railing, trying to stay calm, but my eyes are stuck on Ethan. I just can't help it. Always so easy, this player, even when a game gets tough, even when the tension in the arena seems about to blow. So steady, so strong. But I know how much he's worked for this moment, how hard he's fought to get here.

The whistle blows. The game begins.

I try to follow the puck, but my focus is mostly on Ethan, watching him as he moves with a speed and precision that I just can't help but admire. He's a powerhouse on the ice, never backing down, never giving up. Every time he skates past the boards, my heart goes a little bit faster. His team fights for possession, and I am practically holding my breath through every pass, every shot, every block.

Then, with just less than a minute left in the third period, the score is tied. The arena goes to its feet, the atmosphere electric. Ethan's line is up, and I can see the fire in his eyes. This is it. This is the moment he's been waiting for.

I can barely breathe. My hands are clenched into fists, my eyes never leaving him. He's so close. He's only a few feet away from the net now, the puck inches from the goal line. I can feel the tension in my chest, the anticipation that makes the whole world feel like it's holding its breath.

Just as I feel like I couldn't take it anymore, Ethan finally did it. He took the shot. I hear the actual sound of the puck hitting the back of the net before I even see it go in, and then the crowd goes wild.

It's deafening. I'm screaming, my voice lost in the roar of excitement, but I don't care. Ethan did it. He scored the game-winning goal.

I feel a high surge of pure adrenaline jumping up and down, hands clapping, as my heart is set soaring. Ethan's teammates swarm him, and I watch as he's lifted off the ground by his teammates, their cheers echoing through the rink.

But all I can see is him.

He's grinning, that wide, infectious grin that makes everything feel like it's going to be okay. His eyes meet mine across the rink, and even though there are thousands of people here, it feels like it's just the two of us. His gaze is full of joy, full of love. He's won-but it isn't the win that makes him glow; it's the way he looks at me.

I race down to the edge of the rink, as close as I can get without getting in the way. I barely have time to process before he's skating toward me, shedding gear as he goes. He's almost there, and when he reaches me, he doesn't stop. He grabs me and spins me around, lifting me off the ground.

Did you see that?" he asks, incredulous, though I know he's been preparing for this moment for years. "We did it. We won."

I laugh, tucking my arms around his neck, heedless of who is watching. "You were incredible. That shot. It was perfect, Ethan. You were perfect.

He sets me down gently, his hands still resting on my hips as he looks at me, eyes filled with admiration and affection.

"You were there, cheering me on," he says softly, his smile turning tender. "That's what makes this perfect."

I lean my head up and press a kiss to his lips. It's brief, but it's everything. Pulling back, I'm grinning up at him. "I told you I'd be here for you."

He pulls me in closer, his arms circling around me, and for one fleeting moment, everything else ceases to exist. It's just us, in the glow of his victory, the sound of the crowd still cheering across the grounds.

"We won, Nat. We really won," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine.

And in that moment as we stand there together, I know it isn't the game that matters. It's us-through every win, every loss, through everything-we've got each other, and that's all that I need.