Page 76 of Take Two

“Cyaire, over here!”

Cameron never breaks stride, guiding us toward my SUV while security holds the photographers firmly behind the barriers.

Blue’s fingers tighten around mine as we walk, and I give his hand a quiet squeeze back. We’re maybe ten feet from the car when it comes, cutting clean through the rest of the noise.

“Jamie! Are you and Cyaire together?”

Everything around me seems to slow down slightly, as everyone waits for us to either ignore them or give them something to talk about.

I turn toward Blue, finding him already looking at me. We don’t exchange a single word, because we don’t need to. There’s nothing to decide. He simply lifts our joined hands between us and presses a slow, deliberate kiss against the back of mine, his eyes still on my face while he does it.

The reaction is immediate and absolute.

Camera shutters erupt into another frenzy, reporters shout over one another, everyone desperate to be heard. Their words dissolve into meaningless noise somewhere beneath the sound of my own heartbeat, steady and loud in my ears. All I can feel are Blue’s lips against my skin, the warmth of his fingers laced through mine, and the particular, uncomplicated certainty that neither of us is hiding anymore. That whatever comes next, we’re not going to pretend otherwise.

Cameron opens the passenger door with timing that suggests he’s been anticipating this moment and has decided the best response is logistical.

“Well,” he says dryly, his voice carrying the exact flatness of a man who has accepted the inevitable, “I think tomorrow’s headlines just wrote themselves.”

Blue laughs as he slides into the seat, “I’d say so.”

I climb in after him and the door swings shut, cutting off the flashes and the shouting almost instantly. The noise outside is still there, muffled through the glass, but it feels distant now, belonging to some other world that we’ve temporarily stepped out of.

Cyaire reaches across the center console, his fingers finding mine again, and brings my hand to his lips for another soft kiss, unhurried this time, with nobody watching and nothing to prove.

“Home?” he asks quietly, his voice lower without the crowd around it.

I smile, squeezing his hand. “Home.”

Chapter 19

Cyaire

Ismooth both hands down the front of Daniel Mercer’s final costume, a three-piece black and white pinstripe suit, as I make my way through the empty arena corridor, letting the quiet follow me toward the final mark of the day. After weeks of whistles, skate blades, shouted instructions, and crowds roaring through Climate Pledge Arena, the silence feels almost unnatural. Even the soft strike of my dress shoes against the concrete seems too loud as the cameras track my progress from somewhere behind me.

The Seattle Central University crest waits at the end of the hallway, painted across the wall in red, black, and white. The Redhawk stretches its wings over the bold SCU lettering as though it is already taking flight, every feather sharpened by the same meticulous detail the production team has brought to the rest of the film.

I slow when I reach it.

Daniel Mercer has spent the entire movie fighting to rebuild this hockey program, convincing everyone around him that his players deserve more than the failures people have already assigned to them. The meeting he has just left with the university chancellor confirms what he has spent the season earning. Seattle Central wants him to stay. The job is his, the program is finally his to lead, and the team he refused to abandon is heading into a future none of them could see when he first stepped behind the bench.

I place my palm against the painted red hawk, holding it there for one measured beat before lowering my hand.

Then I nod in satisfaction.

The gesture is small, meant only for Mercer and the history he has made inside these walls. I turn away from the crest and continue toward the exit as the camera follows, keeping my pace even while the daylight beyond the glass doors grows brighter with every step.

I push through them and walk into the afternoon sunshine.

Warmth spreads across my face as the doors swing shut behind me, sealing Daniel Mercer’s former life inside the arena. I move onto the mark taped discreetly against the pavement, square my shoulders, and look directly into the waiting camera. The smile comes slowly, carrying quiet pride rather than celebration, the expression of a man who knows the hardest part of his journey is behind him and everything ahead belongs to him now.

I hold it for one second, then two. . .

“Cut!” Kirk’s voice breaks through the stillness, and I release the breath I have been holding.

He studies the monitor for another moment before looking up, his face opening into a wide smile. “That’s a wrap on Cyaire Reed!”

The entire area erupts.