Page 122 of Saddle Storm

The arena is louder than I remember. The energy is buzzing tonight and I know it’s all for him. And that’s not me being poetic. His name is on nearly every poster board. And proudly across my jersey. He’d picked me up a smaller version, one that doesn’t drown me, but we’re keeping the other one for . . . a special memory.

Harvey insisted Max and I skip warm-ups and hid us in one of the private suites, saying it was better not to draw attention. We slipped into our seats just as the anthem ended.

It’s not only Silas’s first game back, but the first after news of his relationship status when viral. And somehow . . . the fact that we were childhood friends.

The players glide onto the ice and my stomach drops when I see him geared up, the fans cheering loud. The overhead screens zooming in on him.

He slides into position with ease—like he hasn’t been gone for two months.

When the puck drops, he explodes off the line, driving forward like he’s been waiting for his chance at it. Someone checks him along the boards and I barely have a chance to wince because he pushes back, shoulder steady. If he’s in any pain, you’d never know.

The crowd rises when he steals the puck back. Max and I do the same on instinct. I’m restless as he drives, cuts between defensemen, and tosses it clean into the net.

The goal horn blows but it’s barely heard over the crowd.

Max jumps, screaming, squeezing my hand. “Did you see that, Mom?”

Holy shit, I’m crying. And laughing. Or maybe laughing to cover these stupid tears that came out of nowhere?

There’s a sort of messy helmet and glove striking celebration down on the ice and I glance down at my kid, proud, elated . . . relieved.

Silas circles back toward the bench, chest heaving. Someone hands him a bottle and he turns his head, finding us. He doesn’t smile or point or even wink.

But I see it.

The way his shoulders ease, the way his grin breaks through. The sheer pride. This is him—whole again.

I hold his gaze for as long as he wants it, smiling wide because I can’t help it and swiping away the last of my tears.

Late in third period, the Denver Kings are up by one and I’m all nerves. After sitting out second, Silas finally hops over the boards and takes his place like he owns it.

He’s entered mid-game after a few words with the coach—not that I’ve been watching him—I’m totally here for the game. But it’s hard to tell what he’s after, since it’s not another goal.

He catches the puck and cuts hard toward the net, pulling two players with him before sliding it back to the open ice behind him. Chase grabs it from there, stick ready, like he’d been expecting it and the puck snaps into the net.

I huff out a breath. I knew this game was fast, but that was unreal. It’s not until the crowd goes wild and teammates crash into each other do I realize, we won.

“Mom, we won!” Max tugs on my jersey and I help him up on top of the seat before giving him a squeeze.

We both turn to watch the celebration, and I’m vaguely aware of cameras swinging in our direction from the ice.

And now I see why.

In the middle of the chaos, he’s looking up at us.

This time, he doesn’t try to rein it in. His smile breaks, wide and unguarded. His gaze dips to Max and he winks, sharing this moment with him, making my boy squeeze my hand harder.

When his eyes find mine, he gives me a small nod and there’s so much in it. It’s full of everything we’ve survived to get here. The distance, the doubt, the fear of losing it all. The pride . . . the promise.

Just when I feel like I’m about to burst if I don’t get to him soon, he reads my mind, breaks free and toward the tunnel. Toward us.

I grab Max’s hand with a firm shake. “Ready?”

He nods eagerly. “Let’s hurry.”

Epilogue

Six months later