Page 144 of The Heart Breaker

Everything can change in seconds. That’s what I’ve always loved about it. It’s fast and brutal and loud, and somewhere between the first hit into the boards and the crowd roaring at a near miss, something in me starts to wake back up.

By the third period, I’m leaning forward in my seat without even realizing it, and when Nathan drops into a butterfly save and the puck ricochets hard off his pad, I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, a sharp breath catching in my throat while the whole arena erupts around us The other team hasn’t scored yet and if this keeps going, there’s a very good chance Colton will get a shutout.

Beside me, Maisie squints down at the ice, then looks over at me. “Was that good?”

I glance at her, a laugh slipping out at how completely lost she is. “Yeah,” I say. “Very.”

I settle back into my seat while the guys reset for the faceoff, and my gaze drifts before I can stop it, landing on the back of Cole’s jersey where he’s standing off to the side.

Number 42.

My throat tightens when he glances up and scans the crowd.

There’s no way he can see me from all the way up here. I made sure of that when I picked seats as far back as possible. Still, for a brief second, it feels like he’s looking right at me.

I drag my attention back to center ice just as Austin lines up for the draw. The puck hits the ice and he wins it, taking off down the left side before sending it to Logan. Logan moves it right back to him, and Austin twists out of the other team’s reach with a spin Maisie definitely taught him from figure skating, then snaps it to Ryan. Ryan sends it off to Holden, Holden passes it back, and Austin chases it down before firing it straight into the back of the net, and when the final buzzer sounds, Colton U wins with a shutout, and the whole place goes crazy.

Maisie is on her feet so fast she nearly takes me out with her, both hands flying to her mouth before she starts clapping and yelling with everyone else.

I stand too, cheering because that was a hell of a goal.

Beside me, Maisie is practically vibrating with excitement, laughing as she grabs my arm before hurrying down the stairs. Austin rips his helmet off the second he gets to the glass, and as soon as he sees her, his hand slides to her face and he kisses her.

A little farther down, Ryan catches Isabella around the waist and kisses her like he forgot there are cameras—and her father—right there. She kisses him back anyway, one hand fisted in the front of his jersey while he smiles into her mouth.

Then my gaze catches on Logan and Nathan still on the ice.

Their foreheads are pressed together and both of them are still grinning, and when Logan curls a hand around the back of Nathan’s neck and kisses him right there on center ice, I can’t help but smile. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like, after having to hide for so long to finally do that out in the open.

They look so happy and so completely, unapologetically in love. Austin and Maisie. Ryan and Isabella. Logan and Nathan. Everywhere I look, somebody is holding their person.

My chest tugs because I don’t have that. I don’t have anyone looking for me in the crowd after the best game of their life. I don’t have anyone crossing the ice just to get to me first. I don’t have anyone who loves me like that.

For a minute there, I thought I did. I swallow hard and look away from the ice before I can finish that thought.

I bend, grab my bag from under my seat, and swing it over my shoulder, only to falter when I see Cole standing at the end of the row, staring back at me.

He’s still in gear, his hair damp from the game, and his chest is rising too fast, like he came straight off the ice and didn’t stop until he got here. When he starts making his way toward me through the row, my pulse jumps.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and I hate that my voice comes out breathless instead of angry.

His eyes flick over my face, his hand dragging over the back of his neck. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, taking a step closer. “I have no fucking clue.”

I realize—when the place goes quiet—people have noticed, and all eyes are on us. But I can’t make myself look away from him to confirm that. Especially not when he drops to his knees in front of me.

My mouth parts. “Cole—what the hell are you doing?”

He looks up at me, his jaw tight like this physically pains him, which, knowing him, it probably does.

“Embarrassing myself at your feet,” he says. “Seemed fair after the way I embarrassed you.”

Cole hates attention. Hates being looked at. Hates vulnerability even more. Standing in front of me after a game, on his knees, with half the rink watching every second of this, is about as far from his comfort zone as he can get.

That doesn’t mean I’m about to make it easy on him.

He swallows. “I’m an asshole.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Yeah. You are.”