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Connor smirks and nudges Parker. They both nod, clearly having spotted us.

"They see us!" Grace says, half-laughing, half-screaming.

"Oh my God, they totally see us!" Haley adds, waving both arms like she’s directing traffic.

My heart races. This is so exciting!

***

Middle of the third period. Tie game. The entire arena holds its breath.

Connor wins the faceoff. Nate corrals the puck and threads a perfect breakout pass up the ice, right onto James’s stick. James flies down the ice and roofs it, top shelf.

GOAL!

I’m cheering and dancing. Grace screams. Haley nearly falls over.

3–2.

With two minutes left, the Blue Jackets throw everything they’ve got at the net. It’s like a war zone out there: bodies crashing, sticks slashing, the puck flying through a maze of players. But Alex is an absolute brick wall in goal, blocking shots left and right, up and down. A one-timer rockets in from the point and he flashes the glove. A rebound skitters loose and he dives to smother it. The crowd is on their feet, shouting, groaning, gasping.

"He’s a machine!" Grace yells, eyes wide.

"I swear he just teleported across the crease," Haley adds, hands on her head.

Nate’s out there battling for every inch. He checks a forward so hard he knocks the guy's stick out of his hands, then scoops up the puck and sends it sailing down the ice. It’s pure grit and precision, and as they clear the zone again, the clock is running.

The Acers hold the lead. The final seconds tick down—five, four, three. The buzzer blasts. We win!

We’re going to the damn finals!

The bench empties. Helmets fly. Nate’s on the ice, arms up, teammates mobbing him.

And then, he looks back at me.

His grin is wild and beautiful and full of everything: relief, joy, love.

I press a hand over my heart.

He sees me.

And I see him.

The celebration continues as we are dancing in our seats, watching the chaos with hearts full.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzes.

A text from Nate.

Wait for me.

I smile.

Already am.

Chapter twenty-seven

Nate