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I don’t stay to watch the rest of the game.

I slip out of the arena, the cold air biting at my skin. My head’s spinning, my thoughts a jumbled mess as I get into the Uber and head home. The drive is quiet, the city lights blurring past the window as I try to make sense of what I just saw.

The moment I walk into my room, the first thing I see is the Diet Coke can sitting on my nightstand, mocking me. It’s almost like it’s there to remind me of him. I stare at it like it has the answers to what I’m feeling. But it doesn’t. It’s just a fucking soda can. And yet, it’s the only thing in the room that feels like it’s got any meaning right now.

Eli Grayson and Caleb McCabe. Two of the most infuriating people I’ve ever met. And yet, they’ve somehow managed to wedge themselves into every corner of my mind. I don’t know what it is about them, but I can’t seem to shake them. The fight, the tension, the way Eli looked at me, everything’s swirling together like I’m stuck in the middle of some fucked-up hurricane.

I shake my head, grab the can, and chuck it in the trash. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for them.

Whatever this is, it needs to stop.

But deep down, I know it’s already too late for me.

The Diet Coke can sits on my desk, mocking me.

I fished it out of the trash hours ago, and now I can’t stop staring at it. What kind of dumb girl keeps something like this? It’s just a stupid can, but here I am, giving it space on my desk like it has a goddamn meaning.

The sound of the front door opening snaps me out of it.

A few seconds later, my dad walks in, his jacket slung over his arm and his face a mix of frustration and pride. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey.” I swivel my chair to face him, trying to act casual.

He plops down in the chair across from me, running a hand through his hair. “Well, we won.”

“That’s good, right? I was there for a little bit, but just for the first half.”

“So, you saw it?” He sighs, shaking his head. “That fight between Eli and Caleb? Jesus Christ. I don’t get it. Two of my best players, and they can’t keep their shit together for one game.”

“What happened between them?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.

He leans back in the chair, exasperated. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Caleb’s been on edge lately, and Eli… well, he’s new, but damn, the kid’s got fire. I’m lucky I only had to suspend them for one game. Could’ve been worse.”

I tilt my head, considering. “Maybe it’s competition?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “they’re both alpha types, right? High performers. Sometimes when you put two strong personalities together, it creates friction. They might see each other as a threat.”

He rubs his chin, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. But what the hell am I supposed to do about it? They’re too good to bench for long, but I can’t have them fighting like that again.”

An idea sparks in my head, and before I can second-guess it, I blurt out, “Make them mascots.”

He stares at me, confused. “What?”

“For the next game,” I explain. “Make them wear the mascot uniforms. It’s humiliating but harmless. And it forces them to work together without being on the ice.”

He blinks at me, then laughs, the sound deep and genuine. “That’s… not a terrible idea.”

“Psychologically,” I add, “it could work. It takes them out of their element, lowers the stakes, and maybe they’ll realize they’re not as different as they think.”

He scratches the back of his neck, still chuckling. “You’re something else, you know that?”

I shrug, feeling a small flicker of pride. “Just trying to help.”

He stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I’ll think about it. Now, what are we doing for dinner?”

“I can make noodles,” I offer, already standing up.