The arena pulsed with energy that bordered on violence.
Fifteen thousand people screaming in unison, the thunder of bodies slamming into boards, the crack of sticks against ice and pucks against glass. The air itself seemed to vibrate with tension—the particular electricity of a rivalry game where every point mattered and every hit carried personal weight.
I worked the medical bench with professional focus, checking equipment, monitoring players who rotated through for quick assessments between shifts.
But my attention kept drifting to the ice, to one player in particular, and every time Jay scored or took a hit, my heart lurched in ways that had nothing to do with medicine.
He was magnificent out there. Brutal and graceful in equal measure, moving across the ice like he'd been born to it. Which, in a way, he had been—molded from childhood into the perfect Callahan athlete, shaped by expectations he'd never chosen.
I understood that now. Understood so much more than I had before that afternoon in the park, before the confessions and the kisses and the way his hands had felt on my skin.
The memory heated my cheeks despite the arena's chill.
"Quite a game."
I turned, and my stomach dropped.
Xavier stood at the edge of the medical area, dressed in civilian clothes that looked deliberately casual—dark jeans, a fitted sweater, the kind of understated elegance that announced wealth without screaming it.
He held two coffee cups, and when he extended one toward me, I saw my usual order written on the side.
"What are you doing here?" The question came out sharper than I intended.
"Watching hockey." His smile was mild, unruffled. "I've developed an interest in the sport recently. Mind if I sit with you during the break?"
I should have said no, should have maintained the boundaries I'd been desperately trying to construct. But the coffee was warm in my hands and the game was entering a timeout, and refusing felt like it would draw more attention than accepting.
We found seats in the stands, away from the main crowd but close enough to watch the action. Xavier settled beside me with the easy confidence I'd once found so reassuring—the posture of a man who belonged everywhere he went.
"Your brother's having a strong game," he observed, nodding toward the ice where Nathan was conferring with teammates. "The whole team seems energized tonight."
"Rivalry games tend to bring that out."
"Mmm." He made light conversation—observations about plays, questions about my week, the kind of casual exchange that could have been innocent if not for the way his arm kept brushing mine.
The way his thigh pressed against mine in the cramped seating, warm through the fabric of his jeans.
I didn't pull away. Some part of me, the part that remembered six months of stolen moments, of feeling chosen and wanted and seen, responded to his proximity despite everything.
When intermission arrived, I excused myself toward the restrooms, grateful for the chance to breathe air that didn't carry his cologne. But I'd barely made it to the quiet corridor behind the concourse when footsteps caught up with me.
"Summer, wait."
I turned. Xavier stood a few feet away, his composure cracked just enough to show something raw beneath.
"I can't stop thinking about you." The words came out rushed, urgent—nothing like his usual measured delivery. "Dinner helped, but it wasn't enough. I need to know if there's any chance, any possibility that we could…"
"Xavier."
"Let me finish. Please." He stepped closer, and I found myself backing against the corridor wall. "I have news. Real news, not excuses or promises for someday."
Something in his expression made me pause. "What news?"
"The divorce process has begun. Officially." His eyes held mine with fierce intensity. "Papers filed, lawyers engaged, everything moving forward. And because the child isn't mine—because Camille's infidelity is now documented—the process should be faster than I originally feared. Months, not years."
The words landed like physical impacts, each one reshaping the landscape of everything I'd believed.
"Once it's finalized," he continued, moving closer still, "we can have the life we talked about during those six months. The life I promised you. No more hiding, no more secrets. A real future, Summer. Out in the open, where everyone can see."
My defenses wavered.
This was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? What I'd waited for? The proof that he was serious, that I wasn't just a convenient distraction while he sorted out his real life. He was actually doing it. Actually choosing me over the comfortable lie of his marriage.
"I know I hurt you," Xavier said softly. "I know I handled everything wrong. But I'm trying to make it right. I'm trying to give you what you deserve."
His hand found my waist—familiar, possessive, warm through the fabric of my shirt. My body responded before my mind could intervene, six months of conditioning triggering muscle memory I couldn't quite override.
I felt myself leaning into him, the old pull reasserting itself with surprising strength.
His other hand rose to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone the way it had a hundred times before. His mouth descended toward mine, and I didn't pull away, didn't protest, didn't do anything except close my eyes and wait—
"Summer?"
We sprang apart like startled animals.
Nathan stood at the end of the corridor, still in his gear, helmet tucked under one arm. His expression was carefully blank—the kind of emptiness that promised storms beneath the surface.
His gaze moved between me and Xavier with slow, assessing precision, taking in the proximity, Xavier's hand still hovering near my waist, my guilty flinch backward.
"Nathan." My voice came out too high, too thin. "What are you doing here? You should be in the locker room."
"Came to check on you. Saw you leave the stands with someone." His eyes narrowed at Xavier, cold and sharp. "Who's this?"
Xavier recovered first, his composure snapping back into place like armor. He stepped forward with an extended hand and a pleasant smile.
"Dr. Hale. I work with your sister at St. Caroline's. Just catching up during the break."
Nathan didn't take the offered hand.
His jaw tightened, the muscle flexing visibly beneath his skin. He looked at Xavier the way he looked at opposing players who'd made the mistake of targeting his teammates—with quiet, patient menace.
"Catching up." He repeated the words flatly. "In an empty hallway. During a game."
"Nathan, it's fine…" I started.
"We'll talk later." His voice left no room for argument, no space for excuses. The captain had spoken, and the captain expected to be obeyed. Then his attention shifted to Xavier, his stance widening almost imperceptibly. "The second period's about to start. I'm sure you'll want to get back to your seat."
It wasn't a suggestion, wasn't even a request. It was a command delivered with the kind of authority that had led teams to championships and made grown men back down without a word.
Xavier met Nathan's stare for a long moment. Something passed between them—a silent negotiation, a measuring of threats and consequences. Then Xavier nodded with practiced politeness, his smile never wavering.
"Of course. Good luck out there."
He left without looking at me. His footsteps echoed down the corridor until they faded into the distant roar of the crowd, and then it was just me and my brother and the weight of secrets that suddenly felt much less secure.
Nathan watched the empty corridor for a moment longer, then turned to me with an expression that promised a conversation I'd been dreading since the day I'd started hiding pieces of my life from him.
"Later," he said. "You and me."
He disappeared toward the locker room before I could respond, leaving me standing alone in the corridor with my heart pounding against my ribs.
Xavier's words echoed in my mind: the life they talked about, no more hiding, a real future. Everything I'd wanted, offered on a silver platter, just when I'd started to believe I might want something else entirely.
The crowd roared as the second period began. Somewhere on that ice, Jay was fighting battles I couldn't see, carrying burdens I was only beginning to understand.
And somewhere in my chest, two futures warred for dominance—one safe and familiar and finally within reach, the other terrifying and complicated and alive in ways I'd never known I needed.
I didn't know whether to feel hope or dread.
I suspected I'd be feeling both for a very long time.
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