Riley's POV
I was already twenty minutes late, freezing my ass off, and half-sprinting through a maze of concrete hallways that all reeked like sweat, rubber, and overpriced stadium food. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying, casting everything in a sickly blue-white haze. This wasn't my scene, hell, it wasn't even my city. And yet here I was, dragging my boots across ice-slick flooring, trying to find Section C like it held the meaning of life.
"This is so dumb," I muttered, charging down some random concrete hallway in the depths of the arena that looked identical to the one I was just in. The walls were painted some sad shade of gray, chipped in places, tagged with team stickers, gum, and old tape. It was cold, echoey, and smelled like sweaty gear and stale popcorn. The kind of place where dreams go to die or get punched in the face and sent to the penalty box.
All because Avery guilt-tripped me with a text that said, "Please? Just this once. It's important to Liam." Liam is her boyfriend. Liam was the reason I was surrounded by people yelling about sticks and pucks like it was a religion, just to spend some time with my best friend, whom I haven't seen in years.
I shouldn't have come. I hated hockey. It was loud, aggressive, and smelled like testosterone and crushed dreams.
"Excuse me…sorry, coming through…Jesus, why is it so cold back here?"
I turned a corner too fast and bam…slammed full-body into what felt like a moving brick wall. Hard. Solid. Warm under the layers of gear, and unfairly good-smelling, like cedarwood soap and winter air.
My body jolted, but I didn't fall. I don't fall. I stumbled back two steps and looked up, ready to throw hands or at least a verbal punch.
"Watch it," a deep voice said, gruff and low, like gravel wrapped in velvet.
I blinked up but only caught a glimpse of broad shoulders, padded gear, and the back of a jersey as he turned and jogged away. Helmet tucked under one arm. Skates on. Already leaving.
I couldn't even see his number.
The hell?
"Try watching where you're going," I muttered after him, but it was pointless. He was already halfway down the tunnel before I could say something.
Whatever. Probably some jock who thought the world bent around his precious puck.
I exhaled hard through my nose, tugged my coat tighter, and kept moving. The chill clawed through every layer I wore. Somewhere above, the crowd's roar thudded through the concrete like a living thing—relentless and pulsing. The whole place buzzed like it was alive: too loud, too cold, too... hockey.
I finally found my way up to the stands. Avery was probably already waiting. The crowd's roar thudded against my ears as I got closer to the arena entrance. When I finally found our section, I spotted Avery immediately. She waved like a lunatic, bundled up in a puffer jacket and wearing Liam's jersey like it was couture. I sank into the seat beside her with a huff.
"Took you long enough," she chirped, brushing popcorn salt off her fingers. "You missed warmups!"
"Tragic," I said flatly, brushing snow off my sleeves. "I almost died getting here. Some linebacker tried to bodycheck me in the hallway." If that guy had knocked me down, I might've left. But I stayed. Not for the game. For Avery. That's it.
Avery snorted. "Welcome to hockey, babe."
I didn't laugh. I didn't cheer. I didn't even pretend to care.
But later, somewhere between the first period and me zoning out, watching pucks ricochet like bullets, one of the players skated near the boards, paused for a second, and tilted his head like he was looking for something in the crowd.
His helmet hid his face. His gear made him look like every other guy out there. But for one stupid second, I thought he might be looking at me.
And for the first time, I didn't immediately want to walk out of a hockey arena.