Page 82 of Wild Card 13

He chased loose pucks he had absolutely no business chasing.Tried an unnecessary between-the-legs move during warmups. Almost collided with Mase before laughing hard enough that Coach immediately pointed toward the blue line and yelled something that made the entire team grin.

"You know..." Naomi mused beside me. "I think he only does half of that because you're here."

"He absolutely does not."

"He looked up here three times."

"He looks everywhere."

She slowly turned toward me. "I love that you're trying to convince the wrong person."

Before I could respond, somebody dropped into the empty seat on my other side hard enough to make the bleachers bounce.

Arlo.

Already eating nachos. "I found you," my baby brother announced proudly around a mouthful of tortilla chips.

"I can see that."

He held the tray between us. "You want one?"

"You got cheese on your hoodie."

He looked down. "...worth it."

Naomi snorted into her hot chocolate.

Arlo followed my line of sight toward the ice. "Oh." His grin spread immediately. "You're watching him."

"I am watching the pregame."

"You've watched Buzz for the entire warmup."

"I have watched multiple players."

"Bull." He pointed a nacho toward the ice. "The puck's over there."

"I know where the puck is."

"But your boyfriend's over there."

Heat crept into my cheeks before I could stop it. "I can multitask."

"Oh, she's gone," my brother snickered, looking at Naomi with exaggerated concern. "We've lost her."

Naomi didn't even bother looking away from the ice. "No," she said quietly. "I think she's just happy."

The funny thing was...she wasn't wrong.

Not because Northbend was playing. Not because hockeysuddenly mattered. Not even because Northbend was favored to beat their biggest rival.

I was happy because somewhere on that sheet of ice was a loud, ridiculous eighteen-year-old boy who still waved every single time he found me in the crowd.

And right on cue...Ty looked up. His helmet turned toward our section. Then, despite Coach standing less than ten feet away, he lifted one gloved hand and gave me the smallest, quickest wave before immediately pretending he'd done no such thing.

Coach blew his whistle. Ty pointed innocently at Mase. Mase shoved him with one shoulder. Coach looked profoundly unamused.

Warmups dissolved into organized chaos as players gathered around their benches, helmets knocked together, sticks tapping against the rubber mats before they spilled onto the ice for the opening faceoff.