Page 186 of Lose You Twice

Across to Weston.

Weston shoots.

Rebound, and Kai’s there.

The puck is in the net before I can breathe.

The rink erupts.

Weston throws both arms up like he planned all of it. Grayson grabs Kai around the shoulders. Kai looks briefly toward the stands before his eyes meet mine for just a second.

The last ten minutes are chaos. Beautiful, horrible chaos. Asher stands on his head. Weston takes a hit, pops up grinning, and immediately starts running his mouth. Grayson blocks a shot that probably makes Harlow, somewhere in the stands, age five years.

With under a minute left, Kai wins an offensive-zone faceoff straight back to Grayson, who sends it low. Weston gets a stick on it, not a clean shot, more of an ugly redirection that slips under the goalie’s pad.

The horn goes off.

2–0, PCU.

Weston slides on one knee and points toward the ceiling like he is accepting an award from God.

Asher skates out of his crease just far enough to yell something that makes Weston laugh.

The clock runs out thirty-eight seconds later.

PCU wins, and the building shakes with it.

Afterward, the locker room is alive in that way only a comeback win can make it. Loud. Sweaty. Full of guys shouting over each other and replaying moments none of them saw accurately. Weston keeps insisting the game-winner was “a puck of destiny.” Asher says destiny should work on his shot placement. Grayson is smiling, but his eyes keep moving toward the hallway, probably wanting to get to Harlow.

Kai is pulled aside before he can get anywhere near me.

Dane Whitaker stands near Coach, wearing a dark coat and the polished expression of a man who says words like development plan without irony. Kai shakes his hand. Coach says something. Dane nods. They talk for a few minutes while I pretend to be very invested in moving towels from one bin to another.

I do not stare.

I glance. Several times. There is a difference.

Kai stands there, talking, presumably, about his future. I can’t help the swell of pride I feel getting to watch the boy I love getting closer and closer to the dreams he’s been chasing.

Love.

My hands freeze, even though it’s not that shocking.

Did I ever stop loving Kai Mercer?

No, I don’t think I did. I might’ve tried to hide it, to lock it away so it didn’t feel like my heart was breaking into smaller pieces with each month that passed when we didn’t talk, but I never stopped loving him.

After Dane leaves, Kai finally looks for me.

I am near the laundry carts, pretending my hands are busy. He stops a few feet away, close enough to speak low but not close enough to cause trouble.

“You watched,” he says.

“The game? Yes, Kai. That’s usually part of hockey.”

His mouth curves, but his eyes are searching. “The conversation.”

“I’m assuming that went well?” I say, still avoiding his gaze.