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“Wow.”
“Yeah. And I watched him struggle to tell me all of that, but he did it anyway because he wanted me to know him. I think that got to me almost as much as him saying he loves me.”
“Because he trusts you.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “And I trust him too. Completely.”
Nadia spends the next few minutes gushing over the fact that I’m apparently in love, followed by an equal amount of time teasing me for taking this long to figure it out. By the time she finally lets me off the hook, the conversation drifts back to work and then, inevitably, to the playoff push that has swallowed most of Los Angeles.
Every game feels bigger than the one before, and I’ve been at the rink so often that Nadia has started making fun of me for pretending it has anything to do with supporting my father.
“I’m sure Coach Brennan appreciates your sudden dedication to the entire organization,” she says.
“He does.”
“The entire organization.”
“Yes.”
“Not one particular player.”
I give her a look. “Wyatt’s playing amazing hockey. That’s according to my dad, by the way.”
Nadia rolls her eyes.
Later that night, when I’m sitting in the coach’s box watching the LA Ice clinch their playoff spot, I have to admit she has a point.
The whole building erupts at once when the final horn sounds. People are screaming, Theo’s daughter Emma is shrieking somewhere above the noise, and down on the ice, the players pile into each other against the boards.
I’m watching all of them.
But I’m looking for Wyatt.
He finds me too.
Even with the entire arena on its feet and his teammates surrounding him, his eyes lift toward the box until they land on mine, and the grin that spreads across his face feels different from the one he gives everyone else.
Maybe that’s because I know him differently now.
And watching him down there, happier than I’ve ever seen him, I finally stop trying to find a safer word for what I’m feeling.
I love him.
The realization doesn’t hit like some huge revelation. It feels more like finally admitting something I already knew.
Afterward, the team spills into the parking lot with someone’s phone hooked up to a speaker and nobody particularly concerned about who’s standing next to whom.
Dad has his tie loosened and is laughing at something Kai says, more relaxed than I’ve seen him in months, while Wyatt, Jordan, Riley, Easton, and I end up in a loose group a few feet away.
Dad glances over once, and his eyes linger on Wyatt and me for a beat longer than I’d like.
I don’t let myself worry about it tonight.
“We’re going to the playoffs,” Wyatt says, sounding like the sentence still doesn’t quite fit in his mouth.
“I know.”
He looks at me with this huge, ridiculous grin, and I want to throw my arms around him. Instead, I glance past his shoulder and find Dad still close enough to see us, watching.
