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Sabrina seemed to consider it. Then she rolled her shoulders and met my gaze as she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve played through worse.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was worse than her dad buying out an empty section.

Now definitely wasn’t the time to ask for a tour of her Memory Lane, though, especially since she really did seem to be pulling herself together. She had her game face on, and anyway, we only had so much time left on this intermission.

So I gave her arm another reassuring squeeze, and we continued into the locker room to go about our intermission rituals.

A few minutes later, everyone started back to the ice. Sabrina put on her gloves and helmet, and as she headed out, she looked like she had it together. God, no wonder she was such dynamite on the ice—she was so used to playing under the weight of unimaginable bullshit from her dadon top ofall the assumptions that she didn’t deserve to be here at all.

Sabrina had to be one of the strongest women I’d ever met. We were lucky to have her as a teammate and captain, and I was damn lucky she was forgiving enough to treat me like a friend.

I followed my teammates out, Sabrina and the alternate captains bringing up the rear as always. After I’d skated a small circle, I looked her way, making sure she still had that game face on.

But right when I looked her direction, she did a double take and almost stumbled. I followed her gaze, and hell, I nearly lost my edge, too.

Section 114 wasn’t empty anymore. The first few rows were full, and the ushers were guiding a long line of kids down the steps to fill the rest.

What the hell?

At our bench, Sabrina asked Tanya if she knew what was going on.

Our team reporter smiled. “They’re kids who were sitting in the charity suites or whose teams had been invited to the VIPsuites. I guess they all saw the big empty section and asked if they could sit closer.” She half-shrugged. “Since the ticket holders for those seats hadn’t shown up during the second period…”

I stared at the stream of kids coming down to take those seats. Then I turned to Sabrina, who was smiling as she too watched the kids.

Shifting my weight on my skates, I quietly asked, “Won’t your dad just try to grab all the credit he can for buying seats for them?”

Sabrina shook her head. “Then he’ll have to explain why the seats were empty for most of the game.” She laughed with some actual feeling. “He’s probably watching this on TV and losing his mind right now.”

“You think he’s actually watching?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe? If nothing else, to see how I react to the big empty section that we both know he bought.” She grinned. “I hope he’s enjoying the show.”

I laughed. “Think he’s thrown a beer can at the TV yet?”

Sabrina cackled. “Probably. I’ll bet he’s apoplectic.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “Let’s piss him off even more by winning.”

“Ooh, good idea. Especially since if we win, we’ll leapfrog Detroit in the conference standings.”

The way her face lit up made my heart skip. “Let’s do it.”

We bumped fists, and when the game started up again, we played our hearts out to do exactly that.

I hated that her dad was such a dick to her, but his comeuppance—even if only he and Sabrina knew about it—was thoroughly satisfying. All the kids in section 114 screamed their heads off and had an amazing time. Sabrina even tossed them some signed pucks during a stoppage, which clearly made their night.

I hoped Doran saw the whole thing. All the smiling kids. All of them cheering for Sabrina. Her enormous smile while she signed pucks and threw them over the glass. I could imagine him fuming and snarling over it, and I loved it.

And I especially hoped a commentator mentioned that the section was sold out but empty, so the arena staff made the decision to move the charity group kids into those seats. That way Doran couldn’t pretend he’d done it on purpose to give those kids a chance to sit closer. Maybe we’d even get lucky and a reporter would have the spine to ask him why he bought that many seats and left them unoccupied. I couldn’t wait to see how he’d try to back pedal fromthat.

They probably wouldn’t ask—no one dared put Doran McAvoy on the spot—but I could dream. Either way, if he wanted to be miserable and spiteful instead of celebrating his talented, hard-working daughter, then fine.

Sabrina was, despite his best efforts, enjoying the game and having a great night. She was playing like the superstar he’d tried so hard to stop her from being.

I’d always been impressed by her hockey. Even during those times when I’d wanted to hate her and would try to tell myself she wasn’t that good, I knew shewasthat good. Realizing now how much she’d had to overcome to be this star—how everything that we all believed gave her a boost had actually held her back—I was awestruck by her.

That she’d come out of it as a strong, kind person. That she’d soared to this level on her own power, not through nepotism.

And as I watched her taking a selfie with a kid through the glass, that huge smile on her face and her dark eyes sparkling…