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For a moment, I think Detroit has the upper hand, but then Cooper manages to swipe the puck away, clearing it toward Sanderson, who takes off down the ice.

But while almost everyone else follows the puck, my eyes stay on Cooper as he continues to tussle with the winger who was just denied a goal.

The two of them are barking at each other, heads low, helmets almost touching.

Let it go, Cooper, I silently beg.

Detroit has been asking for a fight all night. They’ve managed to achieve it as well, if the time we’ve spent in the penalty box is anything to go by.

I have no idea what happens, but one minute, Cooper has his opponent’s jersey in his fists, and the next, the guys ’s helmet is hitting the ice as Cooper takes swing after swing.

The crowd erupts as blood sprays across the ice and players flood toward the scene as the ref blows his whistle.

Whatever the winger said to Cooper, it clearly touched a nerve. I haven’t seen him fight like that on the ice for a long time.

But even as Sanderson and Rovvy try to drag him away, he doesn’t stop. He tries to fight them off, but thankfully, they’re strong enough to pull him back as Detroit players surround their teammate and help him off the ice.

Cooper continues shouting, barking at his teammates, who eventually back off, allowing the ref to speak.

I already know what’s about to happen, and if the red haze has descended enough for his brain to function properly, then Cooper will too.

A round of boos erupts across the arena as he’s ejected from the game.

Cooper’s shoulders slump as a lump of emotion crawls up my throat. This is going to hurt—and more than a few bruises to the face.

I expect him to keep his head down and walk off the ice. It’s the way he’s spent the game. So my breath catches in my throat when he looks up. And he doesn’t just look anywhere; he looks right toward where I’m sitting.

Does he know?

No, he can’t, because when his eyes lock on someone, it’s not me. It’s someone a couple of rows down.

Following his line of sight, I discover the three people I’ve been searching for this whole time are literally right under my nose.

There are two boys, both with dark brown hair like Cooper’s, and an older man to their right, his own hair littered with silver. The boys are both wearing Nash jerseys, but the man isn’t. He isn’t openly supporting his eldest son, which only makes me hate him that much more.

I’m not sure which of them he’s looking at; I would suspect his brothers, because Cooper would happily live in a world where his father no longer existed.

He holds their attention for a few seconds, and I’m expecting him to look back down and make his way off the ice when something makes him look up.

Oh my god.

His eyes instantly collide with me, and I swear I stop breathing.

Time ceases to exist, and the entire arena full of screaming fans fades to nothing.

It’s just him and me.

Just like it should be.

It’s hard to read the expression on his face with the blood and bruises covering it, but I want to say there’s some relief there. It might be wishful thinking, though.

Long before I’m ready, he drags his eyes away from mine and finally makes his way off the ice.

I watch him go, my chest aching that his game ended this way.

I focus back on the ice as the game restarts, but I quickly become aware of someone looking at me. Glancing down, I find two little boys twisted around, staring up at me.

My face heats as I lift my hand to wave at them. Huxley’s smile widens, whereas Ryker’s stoic expression remains the same. I smile at him, wishing I could do so much more for both of them.