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nova

I had no idea the arena had a jail.

Huh.

You learn something new every day.

Apparently, if you break into the penalty box and scream a full-throated love confession in front of a stadium packed with twenty-thousand people, they don’t let you go with a slap on the wrist and a wink. No. They escort you to stadium jail.

Which is exactly what it sounds like.

A holding room in the concrete underworld of the arena, lit by flickering fluorescent lights, the walls painted a shade of beige that does nothing for my complexion, now that I’m brunette.

Honestly, it’s offensive.

At least the old me—blonde me—might’ve glowed under this lighting. But new me? Post-confession, possibly banned-from-the-arena me?

I look unhinged.

Not cute.

I shift in the metal chair, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, which is hard when the woman next to me compliments my large, hoop earrings and tries to touch them. Meanwhile, a middle-aged man in the opposing team’s jersey is slumped in the corner, passed out.

This cell smells like beer and defeat, full of poor decision makers.

Aka: me.

Sigh.

I am a cautionary tale. A girl in an oversized Luca Babineaux jersey with zero regrets and zero fucks given.

“What’s your name?” the woman says, the glitter on her lashes is bright blue and gold—clearly a Baddies fan.

“Nova.”

She nods. “I’m Hailey. What did you do to get thrown in here?”

“It’s a long story, Hailey.” A really long story… “What about you?”

“I threw a cup of beer at the Pirates mascot when it walked by. But I wasn’t planning on it, I swear! And now it’s going to cost me five-hundred bucks to get out of here. My boyfriend is so pissed.” Hailey crosses her arms. “He said I overreacted. We’re in a bit of a rough patch.”

“Well Hailey—you’re in good company.” I smile. “You deserve someone who’ll bail you out of hockey jail without judgment.”

She lights up. “Right?!”

I sink in the uncomfortable metal chair, hands clasped in my lap, wishing they hadn’t taken my phone. I want to scream and laugh and shout it from the rooftop—I told a man I love him!

Stormed the penalty box like a lunatic. Declared my feelings in front of an entire arena. Got escorted out by security. All in under five minutes.

How is this for a grand gesture?!

Hailey is still mumbling about her boyfriend’s lack of mascot loyalty when a shadow passes by the door .

The heavy thud of boots. The unmistakable jingle of keys. Then the squeak of the door hinges as it creaks open.

I glance up.

It’s the same security guard who walked me in here. Still looks unimpressed.

She peeps her nose into our holding cell, studying my face a bit too long.

“Why do you look so familiar?” She squints. “Wait a second. Aren’t you Gio Montagalo’s sister?”

I blink, giving her a sheepish little wave. “Unfortunately, yes.”

She raises both brows. “Then why the hell are you wearing a Babineaux jersey?”

WHY IS EVERYTHING ABOUT HOCKEY WITH THESE PEOPLE?!

I plaster on a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I’m wearing his jersey because sometimes your brother’s teammate has a thick head of hair and a stupidly strong jawline and suddenly you find yourself falling in love with him.”

Hailey gasps. “ You’re sleeping with Luca Babineaux? ”

“That is not what I said!” But yes, I’m sleeping with Luca Babineaux and the proof is spelled across my back like a glowing, neon sign. Not that it’s any of their business.

“You have plenty of time to tell me the story from the beginning.” The security guard laughs. “There are still nine minutes in the game.”

Crap.

Nine minutes is an eternity!

“Okay. So.” I sit up straighter in chair, fully aware that everyone in the holding cell is blatantly eavesdropping—including Hailey, some guy who tried to fight the mascot—and the previously unconscious man in the corner, who is blinking himself awake. “I matched with Luca on a dating app and we’ve been dating in secret for the past month.”

The guard gets closer to the bars at the word ‘secret. ’

“No way.”

I nod. “Way.”

“Why was it a secret?”

Ugh, this is the embarrassing part. “Because my sibling is overprotective and thinks he’s the boss of me and has forbidden me from dating his teammates.”

Everyone mutters their disapproval.

“That’s messed up.” Mascot fighter crosses his arms, indignant.

“Seriously,” Hailey agrees, nodding. “You deserve love and a man you can climb like a tree.”

Rawr.

“Thank you,” I say, putting my hands on my heart. “That’s exactly the energy we’re going for.”

The guard lingers by the bars, brows furrowed. “What happened during the game? Why did you storm the penalty box?”

“My brother caught Luca and me on a date last week,” I say, letting the words hang for dramatic effect. “And my reaction… was not the greatest. There was yelling. Some dodging. A spectacular refusal to take accountability on my part.”

Everyone leans in.

“ Then, ” I continue. “Luca told me he loved me.”

Hailey gasps.

I pause, placing a hand to my chest. “I straight up panicked. Nay—I froze. Absolutely did not say it back.”

A collective groan echoes off the cement walls.

“ Girl— ” the drunk mutters, facepalming. “You didn’t say it back?!”

I nod solemnly. “I did not.”

Hailey clutches her heart like I personally wounded her. “You monster.”

“I know!” I say, throwing up my hands. “I panicked! He said the thing, and my brain short-circuited and all I could think about was Gio murdering him and me being forced to give a eulogy at a closed-casket funeral.”

“Still,” Mascot fighter mutters. “Cold-blooded.”

“It was! ” I groan. “I meant to say it. I knew I loved him! I just didn’t know how to say it in the moment and then it was too late and?—”

“You were scared,” the drunk guy interrupts, now miraculously upright and sipping a water like he’s been alert the entire time. “Happens to the best of us.”

I blink at him. “Thank you?”

He nods. “Love is terrifying. Makes you do dumb shit.”

Hailey dabs at her eyes again. “He’s so right.”

Crackle .

Hissing technology.

The walkie on the guard’s hip crackles again. Static.

Then: “Jenny, be advised. Babineaux is two minutes out. He’s… um. Running at a full sprint.”

My stomach does an actual somersault.

Running.

He’s running to me! How romantic.

Swoon!

Everyone cheers.

I jump to my feet, smoothing Luca’s jersey down, trying to finger-comb my hair and wondering if it’s possible to look cute while being emotionally feral and lightly damp with anxiety.

The prison door slams open.

Panting. Wild-eyed. Clothes pulled on haphazardly like he pulled his gear off mid-sprint simply because he’s required to return it to the laundress for washing.

Luca is flushed, bleeding from his nose, chest rising and falling like he’s either about to pass out—or propose.

I rise.

The holding cell erupts.

“Oh my gawd,” Hailey breathes, clutching my arm. “He’s even hotter in person.” She fans herself with an empty granola wrapper.

The security guard tries—and fails—to keep a straight face as Luca storms up to the bars like a man on a mission.

“I’m so sorry but can I just say—I’m your biggest fan,” she gushes, smoothing her hands down the front of her beige uniform to look professional while gushing. “My nephew made me memorize your stats. And that goal you scored in Chicago? I cried. Like, actually cried.”

Luca blinks at the beaming officer, clearly not expecting to be emotionally tackled by a stadium employee while bleeding from the face.

“Uh—thank you?” He was clearly not expecting accolades in the stadium prison. “Thanks!”

The drunk guy in the corner hiccups. “Is it weird if I ask for a selfie?”

“Yes!” we all say in unison.

The guard sighs, dreamily. “You’re so committed. Running all the way down here in skates like it’s a Nicholas Sparks film.”

I mean.

Not really?

“Can I remind you all that the reason he’s here is because I made an ass of myself in front of the entire stadium full of people?” I hate to point this out, but I’m trying to keep everyone on task.

“Can I remind you that before you made an ass of yourself, I was making an ass out of myself? I played like shit.”

Hmm. He has a point.

I tilt my head at him. “Are you saying your terrible performance was my fault?”

He scoffs. “I’m saying you’re a monster who lives rent-free in my head and it’s impossible to skate when all I can think about is whether or not you hate me.”

Hailey lets out an audible sob .

Mascot fighter clutches his chest like he’s having heart palpitations, entering the conversation. “Bro.”

The guard sighs again, this time misty-eyed. “You two are, like… my new Roman Empire.”

“She hijacked an entire stadium event and screamed ‘I love you’ in front of twenty thousand people like it was Hockey: The Musical. ”

“Aww.” I bask under his praise. “Thanks for the compliment, babe.”

Hailey clutches her chest and whispers, “Why is this so sexy?”

“I want them to fight forever,” the drunk whispers back.

“Nova.” Luca leans in until we’re nose to nose, the bars the only thing between us. “I came here to kiss you.”

I step up to the bars, grabbing on to them. “I can’t kiss you through these.”

His brows go up. “Oh? I think you’re going to have to.”

I look at the security guard for help.

She shrugs, on Luca’s side.

“Come on,” he teases me on freedom’s side, lowering his voice. “One kiss. Then I’ll figure out how to get you out of here before someone puts this on TikTok.”

I groan, then grip the bars tighter and stretch up on my toes.

His hand comes through the bars, palm warm and steady against the back of my neck.

And then he kisses me.

Slow. Certain. A little showy.

The whole cell lets out a collective gasp like they’re watching the end of a telenovela.

“Best. Game. Ever,” Hailey singsongs. “Seriously one of the highlights of prison.”

When we break apart, I’m slightly breathless and extremely aware that I just made out with my boyfriend through correctional infrastructure while wearing his name on my back.

“I hate how hot that was,” I whisper .

“You’re welcome,” he says, smug.

And that’s when the door behind him swings open and Gio appears; takes one long look at us—me gripping bars, Luca’s hand still cupping my jaw, an entire peanut gallery drooling behind me—and sighs, long and hard.

“Why is my sister still behind bars?”

The security guard raises her hands up. “Sir. Can I just say, I’m a huge fan? My nephew made me memorize all your stats and I?—”

“Hey!” Luca cuts in, prickly. “Get your own fan club. This one’s taken.”

I smirk, resting my cheek against the bars. “Aw. Look at you getting territorial. It’s almost romantic.”

Gio makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, like he’s actively fighting the urge to launch himself into the sun.

“I didn’t sprint down here in full gear for this bullshit. I have a baby at home,” he mutters, flipping through the guard’s clipboard with the energy of someone who’s barely holding onto his sanity. Clicks the pen three times. “I came to sign her release, but I can see I’m too late.”

I roll my eyes. “You are so full of shit. You knew he was down here.”

The guard doesn’t move. “Sir, can you autograph my water bottle first?”

“Can you sign my bra?” Hailey calls sweetly from the back, ogling my brother.

Gio doesn’t even dignify that with a response. “Open the damn door.”

Luca holds up his hand. “Ah ah—not so fast.”

All eyes turn to him.

“Not before she admits she’s madly in love with me and she’s my girlfriend.”

The room collectively gasps.

I gape at him. “You are unbelievable.”

“Say it, Starshine,” he insists, smug as hell, arms folded like he didn’t just bleed through three shifts and run a mile in skates. “Sing my little jailbird.”

I want to murder him.

Hailey swoons onto a folding chair, practically melting onto the floor. “Say it, Nova. He stormed the basement of an arena for you.”

“I’ll say it when you admit you’ve been in love with me since you saw me at the ESPY Awards,” I fire back.

“Pfft,” he counters. “I’ve already admitted that to your brother.”

Oh.

Oh…

He has?

“Shoot me now.” Gio curses, stabbing the clipboard with his pen. “This wait is worse than childbirth.”

“Fine,” I announce defiantly, grabbing the bars with both hands. “You want a declaration?”

He lifts his chin. “Hit me with your best shot.”

The entire holding cell holds its collective breath. Someone dims the lights (unclear how or why), and it feels like we’re the only two in the room, despite the audience.

“I, Nova Montagalo,” I shout, like I’m breaking a curse. My curse. “Am hopelessly, stupidly in love with Luca Babineaux—and I want to spend the next few weeks making everything up to him. And making up for lost time.” I suck in a breath. “You are the most amazing man and I’m sorry.”

I can’t say sorry enough.

The security guard sniffles. “This is better than Bridgerton. ”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “For freaking out. For not saying I love you back the first time—and for taking so long to realize that being scared doesn’t mean I don’t feel everything in my body when I look at you.”

Luca holds his breath.

“Also.” I clear my throat. “I’d very much like to kiss you again. And maybe other things. Later. Not in here. ”

Luca grabs the bars like he might bend them open with sheer emotional willpower.

“Nova,” he says, voice low and shaking. “You just made me fall in love with you all over again.”

Gio slaps the clipboard onto the guard’s desk. “For the love of Christ—if someone doesn’t open this door in the next thirty seconds, I’m filing a grievance with the League and you’ll all be watching recaps from your couches for the rest of the season.”

“Why are you such a buzzkill?” the drunk asks, breaking the stunned silence. “Dude, I thought you were cool. ”

The guard jingles her keys at Luca.

He nods. “Guard. Can you please let my girlfriend out of her jail cell?”

His girlfriend.

The guard, who’s openly crying into her sleeve, finally unlocks the gate and steps aside with all the flair of a game show host.

“You’re free to go,” she whispers, sniffling. “And also, please get married and also, invite me.”

I laugh, overwhelmed—probably delirious—and definitely still riding the high of hearing him say my girlfriend.

Luca doesn’t wait.

The second the lock clicks, he pushes the gate open and steps inside like he’s crossing a finish line—like nothing else matters except the girl standing in the middle of a stadium holding cell.

Me.

His eyes are locked on mine, glassy and full of something so raw it steals the breath right from my lungs. Closing the space between us in two long strides before I can even process it, arms coming around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground as if I weigh nothing.

I gasp, hands flying to his shoulders, my feet dangling in the air as he buries his face in my neck. His chest is heaving.

His voice is husky when he says, “God, I missed you,” into the nape of my neck .

My fingers twist into the collar of his wrinkled shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” He pulls back, enough to look me in the eyes. Kisses the top of my nose. “You meant it, didn’t you? Everything you said?”

“I meant all of it,” I whisper. “I love you, Luca.”

He exhales like those words have just stitched his heart back together.

“Say it again.”

I brush my nose against his. “I love you.”

He kisses me—soft at first. The kind of kiss that says I found you again. And then it deepens, his hand cradling the back of my head, my legs wrapping around his waist without thinking, like my body has already decided it’s done letting him go.

Someone in the cell quietly sobs.

My brother grunts, reminding everyone he’s in the room. Grumpy Gus. “Can we wrap this up before someone proposes and I have to officiate?”

I peek over Luca’s shoulder at him.

Arms crossed, helmet tucked under one arm, scowl in place, I can’t help but laugh at him.

“Go away!”

“Hey,” he counters. “Remember that time you two were hiding this from me and lying every third sentence?”

I laugh again, not even the least bit guilty.

Luca grins against my temple as he says, “We’ve grown.”

“You love it,” I tell my twin, taking Luca’s hand. “You’re going to be the best man at our wedding.”

He points his clipboard at me. “If you even joke about that, I will walk into traffic.”

Harsh words.

And he says I’m the monster?

“See?” I say, nudging Luca. “He’s so ready to walk me down the aisle. ”

My brother hands the clipboard to the guard, and turns on his heels, stomping out the door.

As his heavy footsteps echo down the hallway, Luca presses a soft kiss to my cheek and whispers, “Let’s get out of here before he comes back and locks me in.”

And just like that, we head for the exit—grinning, hand in hand, with a stadium full of chaos behind us and whatever comes next stretched out ahead.

Preferably with less jail time— but who knows?