I stood outside the stadium, near the back entrance — the one players used to leave after the game. The air was cold enough to bite through my coat, turning my breath white in the dim light of the parking lot. Most of the players had already come out, laughing and waving to their families or fans. But the one person I was waiting for still hadn't left the building.
I had used my dad's connection to get this close. Right now, I was passing as a spoiled rich kid who wanted to see the players up close. The pass around my neck was real. The reason was a lie. But no one asked questions when your last name carried weight in this city.
It had been years since I'd last watched a hockey game. Or any sport, really. After Rhett stopped talking to me — or maybe I stopped trying to talk to him — there was no one left to drag me to matches. I used to complain endlessly when he made me watch him practice, grumbling about the cold and the noise. But I never admitted, not once, how much I loved seeing him skate.
I wasn't really into sports. I'm still not. But watching Rhett was different.
He looked beautiful on the ice. Fast. Confident. Untouchable. I could describe it in a million ways and still not get it right. He had always looked like he belonged there — with those sharp eyes, that smile, the way his body moved with precision. The same boy who used to play with a cracked hockey stick and a dream too big for our small town had turned into a national star.
He'd made it.
And I was standing here, shivering in the cold, wondering if he'd even recognize me.
I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets and buried my face in my scarf. The wind was merciless, cutting through the gaps in my clothes like it had something personal against me. I bounced on my heels, trying to keep warm, but my toes had gone numb ten minutes ago.
There weren't many people left. Just a few family members, partners, and staff lingering near the exit. Security was tight, but the pass around my neck kept them from looking too closely. Every few seconds, I caught someone glancing my way — probably trying to figure out which player I belonged to.
None of them would have guessed I wasn't here for any player. I was here for one. Just one.
Adrian Ward came out first. He went straight into the arms of his husband — an ice skater holding their baby. The two of them looked so perfect it was almost painful. The baby grabbed at Adrian's nose, and he laughed, pressing a kiss to the tiny fingers. Everyone called them the golden couple of the Frostvale Titans, the team Rhett played for. Sweet. Wholesome. The kind of love story that made headlines for the right reasons.
The exact opposite of Rhett, who the media had named the ice prince with a playboy streak.
A small laugh escaped me. The Frostvale Titans really lived up to their name. All ice and drama.
I stared at the doors again, bouncing lightly on my feet. My toes were completely numb now. My fingers were stiff inside my gloves. I could barely feel them.
How long does it take to shower, Rhett? When is he going to get out of there? I'm freezing.
I checked my phone. 10:47 PM. The game had ended almost an hour ago.
I'd told myself this wasn't a big deal. Just a visit. Just a hello after years apart. But deep down, I knew I wanted more. Maybe closure. Maybe to see if he'd changed. Or maybe I just wanted to feel what it was like to stand near him again. To breathe the same air. To remind myself that he was real, and that the years we'd spent together hadn't been a dream I made up in my head.
We'd planned to go to the same university once. Sund University for both of us. I could still picture the brochure spread across his kitchen table, the two of us hunched over it like it was a treasure map. He'd circled the dorms in red pen. I'd marked the library in blue.
We'll room together, he'd said.
But Sund hadn't given him a scholarship, and Rhett couldn't afford it. So he'd gone to GreenCreek University instead — the one that offered him a full ride for hockey. I went off to Sund alone, and we promised to call, text, and visit.
We did. At first.
Then the calls got shorter. The texts took longer. The visits became once a semester, then once a year, then not at all.
At first, I thought it was distance. Then time. Then fame.
But none of those explained the silence that stretched longer and longer until it became years.
I still remembered the last summer we spent together. The long evenings on his porch, fireflies blinking in the dark. The laughter — so much of it I thought my ribs might crack. The way he looked at me one night when everything went quiet, and for a moment, the whole world felt like it was holding its breath.
His hand on my cheek. The space between us disappearing.
And then, just like that, he was gone the next day. No note. No explanation. Just an empty house and a phone that stopped ringing.
A dull ache settled into my chest. I pressed my palm against it, like that would do anything.
Then the door opened again.
And there he was.