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"Come on! Let's get that puck!" Emily shouts, her voice trying to slice through the cold indifference that seems to have settled over the rink.
I take a sip of the hot liquid, letting it warm me from the inside out, but it does little to thaw the sinking feeling in my stomach. Down by ten points in the fourthquarter, the scoreboard is a glaring reminder of the inevitable.
"Looks grim," I mutter, more to myself than to Emily.
"Yep," she sighs, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth—or maybe comfort.
The away team swoops in like birds of prey, their skates cutting the ice with precision. Another goal slips past our goalie, and the sound hits us harder than the bite of the metal bleachers. Emily and I exchange glum looks, understanding each other without words.
"I think the kids are upset about Victor not coaching," she admits after a moment, her gaze fixed on the slumped shoulders of our young players.
"He did bring something special to the game," I agree reluctantly, remembering the few times Victor's tough exterior had cracked, revealing a genuine passion for the sport—and for teaching it to the kids.
"It doesn't feel like they're playing with their hearts." Her observation echoes the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I nod, watching the defeated drag of skates across the ice. My phone feels heavy in my pocket, an anchor pulling at me with the weight of silence from Victor's end. I pull it out and look at it, almost out of habit. Emily's eyes flicker to me, curious and concerned. "Heard anything from him?"
My thumb brushes over the screen, lighting it up to reveal the same lack of response. No new messages.None from him. I shake my head silently, locking the phone back into its silent mode.
"Nothing," I say, feeling the word like a stone on my tongue. Emily's expression softens as she reaches over, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "He's seen it, though. Can't even bother with a 'no' or a 'leave me alone.'"
Her arm loops around my shoulders, a warm contrast to the frosty air. "Don't let it eat at you, Avery. These things have a way of working themselves out."
A laugh bubbles up, humorless and sharp. "Work out? The only work I'm planning is to make sure his fancy development crumbles before it starts."
"Is this really about the project, or is it more personal now?" Her eyes probe, looking for truth I'm not ready to face.
"Both," I snap, then sigh. "I don't know, Em. I just... I can't stand the thought of him bulldozing over our lives. It feels personal."
She tilts her head, skeptical. "Maybe take some time to think on it? Things might look different in the morning."
"Thinking time's over," I say, firmer now. "If I never hear the name Victor Stone again, it'll be too soon."
"Oh!" The exclamation escapes me as a deep, all-too-familiar voice cuts through the chill evening air. "Well, this is going to be awkward then," Victor says from somewhere above me.
I crane my neck back, squinting against the glare of the stadium lights to see him towering over us—a dark silhouette with piercing eyes that somehow make the shadows seem less dense. My heart skips, not ready for this confrontation—not now, not ever. But before I can muster a response, or even decide if I want to, I swivel back to the game, trying to focus on anything but the man behind me.
The sound of rubber meeting net echoes in my ears as the away team scores yet again. Emily's hand finds mine in a squeeze of shared disappointment, our fingers entwined in cold solidarity. As the final buzzer sounds, defeat settles over us like the night.
"Can we talk?" Victor's question hangs between us, and I feel Emily stiffen at my side.
"No," I say, not looking at him.
"I'm going to go meet the kids," she murmurs, her discomfort palpable.
"Yeah," I agree too quickly, standing up, eager to escape his presence. But before I can shuffle past, Victor's hand reaches out, lightly touching my arm. "Avery, please."
His tone catches me off guard—sincere, almost pleading. I look into his eyes, those damn blue eyes, searching for traces of the coldness I expect to see there. Instead, I find something that looks like regret. It weakens my resolve just enough, and I sink back onto the bleacher with a reluctant nod.
"Alright," I sigh, feeling Emily's gaze on us, full of worry.
"I'll watch for Liv and meet you in the lobby," she says then, retreating down the steps.
Victor sits beside me, leaving just enough space to let the cold creep in. The hum of the departing crowd fills the silence between us, punctuated by hushed voices and the scrape of shoes on metal. Some other parents glance our way, recognizing him, their whispers flickering around us.
"Is that...?"
"Can't believe he's here after..."