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Wrong or right, I was already in. I had been since he’d shown up fourteen minutes early with that instruction sheet soft from folding.

Yeah. I was ready.

Both, I said.

Awesome. Good night, Dr. Lundrig.

Good night, Kedish.

I started to set the phone down.

It buzzed again. One more thing. That hoodie is yours now. I like knowing you’re wearing it. Let me have this.

Okay, I texted.

Yeah?

Yeah. It’s mine now.

Good. That’s good.

I set the phone on the coffee table and burrowed deeper into the hoodie. Marzipan shifted and resettled, purring louder.

We had three days until game four. Three days until he could kiss me properly.

I could wait three more days.

I hoped.

My phone lit up with one last text. I grabbed it.

Sweet dreams, Ellie.

I hugged the phone to my chest before I typed back. You too, Brashe.

I sat on the couch wearing his hoodie, petting my cat, and smiling at nothing.

Everything was different now.

Everything was possible.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BRASHE

The coffee cup sat on my stall like an accusation.

One day before game four, I arrived at 6:46 AM, earlier than my usual time, because sleep was a joke my body had forgotten how to tell. The locker room had been empty except for the hum of the fluorescent lights and the ghost of our recent loss hanging in the air.

Then I’d seen the cup from the place down the street. The coffee was still warm, and she’d placed a purple sticky note on the lid.

You’ve got this. —E

My throat closed up. I’d learned to ignore feelings like this. They didn’t help you stop pucks.

I picked up the cup, turning it in my hands. She’d been here early enough to beat me, which meant she’d barely slept either. She’d thought about me enough to stop to get me coffee on her way in.

The note stayed stuck to my palm.