Page 12

12

ANNA

T he hum of anticipation thrums through the arena like an electric current, rising to a crescendo as the clock ticks closer to game time. It’s the kind of energy you feel in your chest, as the music pulses, a loud backdrop to the air of excitement and camaraderie.

Fans decked out in festive sweaters, blinking Christmas lights, and oversized Santa hats fill the stands, their laughter and chatter a cheerful backdrop to the ice's cool sheen under the arena lights. The scents of popcorn, beer and pizza drift around me, and I’m glad I ate before arriving at the arena.

I’m in the front row, right up against the glass, and the faint chill seeps through to my legs. I tug my coat tighter around me, watching as players skate sharply across the ice, stretching their muscles during the warm-up. The sound of blades carving into the surface and pucks clanging against the boards creates a rhythmic symphony of hockey chaos.

Felix is out there, focused as always, his movements sharp and precise. He passes a puck to a teammate, his stick slicing cleanly through the air, and then glances briefly in my direction. I wave, and he skates over the glass, checking out the row. People are still filing in and some of the seats around me are empty, but the arena is filling up fast. He gives me a short nod before skating back to his teammates. A couple more of the guys give me a wave as they skate past, and I smile.

The seat next to me remains conspicuously empty. It’s strange since the game was sold out weeks ago, and I know Felix’s team doesn’t skimp on their ticket giveaways. He told me these tickets had been set aside for him and I thought one of our cousins would be joining me as we decided to try and get together for the holidays this year. I glance around, half-expecting someone to show up late, but the spot remains vacant through warm-ups and the national anthem. Maybe someone couldn’t make it at the last minute.

The hockey horn sounds, signaling the start of the game, and the arena erupts into a frenzy. Fans leap to their feet as the puck drops, the noise a deafening roar that shakes the glass. Felix's team dominates early, their quick passes and aggressive forechecks putting pressure on the opposing defense. The energy is infectious, and I find myself screaming wildly along with the crowd as Felix drives a breakaway past three defensemen to score the first goal.

By the end of the first period, the score is tied, and I take a moment to soak in the atmosphere as the players exit to the dressing rooms. The festive outfits, the booming announcer's voice, the smell of popcorn wafting through the air—it’s all so quintessentially hockey, and I definitely missed this. Watching the game online in Vienna, even wrapped in my cozy blanket, can’t compete with this.

And then the commotion starts.

It ripples through the crowd like a wave—laughter, cheers, and a few gasps of recognition. People begin pointing toward my section, and I sit up straighter, craning my neck to see what’s causing the fuss. The guy behind me moves and suddenly I can see Felix’s team mascot —a strange mash-up between a polar bear and a moose, affectionately called Boosey, probably because a bunch of drunk guys named him—bounding down the steps. He’s waving his oversized arms dramatically, his moose antlers shaking, playing up the crowd as he approaches. A shadow falls over me. Oh no. What in the world has Felix done now?

Boosey stops right in front of me and gestures with a paw, pointing back up the steps. I turn and blink in disbelief, just as the announcer shouts to the crowd that a special guest has arrived.

Boosey starts jumping up and down, holding out the hem of his jersey and flashing a giant thumbs up.

Max.

My stomach flips. He’s sauntering down the steps with that infuriatingly confident grin, wearing—of all things—a Felix J?ger jersey. The team logo stretches across his broad chest, the fabric hugging his shoulders in a way that should be illegal. Fans are stopping him on the stairs, getting their photo taken with him, slapping him on the back and cheering. Max’s feud with my brother is the stuff of hockey legend and a few people boo him, until he turns and points his thumbs over his shoulders to show off the number eighteen and ‘J?ger’ displayed on his back. Boosey runs back up the steps and raises his arm with Max’s like he’s just won a boxing match, before pulling him down to where I’m seated, my jaw on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt as he slides into the seat next to me, the empty space suddenly feeling a hundred times smaller with all eyes on us thanks to the jumbotron.

Max stretches out his legs, like he’s settling in to watch the game. “Thought I’d take in the local hockey scene,” he says.

My heads tilts in disbelief. “Really? I thought I wouldn’t see you until after Christmas.”

Max straightens and leans in, his voice low, “I couldn’t wait that long.”

I arch an eyebrow. “And what is this spectacle?” I gesture to his jersey.

His grin is teasing. “You said you wouldn’t wear my jersey until I wore the J?ger name on my back. I’m just making good on the deal.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, Boosey shoves a bright red box into my hands. I look at it, then back at Max, who’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Open it,” he says, nudging my arm.

Curiosity wins out, and I lift the lid. Inside, folded neatly, is a black and gold Titanium jersey with Max’s name and number emblazoned on the back. My heart stutters in my chest.

“For when you come to my games,” he says, his tone soft now, almost tentative.

Emotion tightens my throat, and for a moment, I can’t speak. I run my fingers over the fabric, feeling the weight of his gesture—not just the jersey, but everything it represents.

I start to pull it out, but Max stops me, his hand brushing against mine. “Save it for later,” he murmurs, his eyes locking with mine. “I don’t want Felix having a heart attack mid-game. And I’d rather enjoy seeing you in it for the first time... privately.” His eyes darken with his husky words.

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I quickly shove the jersey back into the box, ignoring the wolf whistle that comes from a nearby fan. Max just smirks, clearly enjoying my flustered state.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“True,” he says, leaning back in his seat like he belongs here, like he hasn’t just upended my entire evening. “But you like it.”

Before I can respond, the arena lights dim slightly, signaling the start of the second period. The players flood back onto the ice, and my focus shifts as Felix skates toward our section.

He stops in front of us, his skates kicking up a spray of ice, and lifts his visor, his gaze zeroing in on Max.

For a moment, the two of them just stare at each other, the tension palpable.

Then Felix nods, knocking his stick on the glass, “Looks good on you, Walker,” he shouts before skating off for the face-off.

I turn to Max, who looks ridiculously smug.

“You knew he’d be okay with this,” I say, realization dawning. “Didn’t you?”

“I might have gotten a heads-up,” he admits, his tone far too casual. “And an invitation to Christmas dinner.”

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, but I can’t hide my smile.

Max leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just a reminder, Luxx has offices in Vegas. Once that promotion of yours comes through, you could transfer. Maybe wear that jersey while I’m on home ice, and around the house if you’re so inclined.”

My heart stutters, caught between the playfulness of his words and the weight of what he’s suggesting. “Your house?”

“If Santa gives me what I asked for, it could be our house.” He winks. “I’ve been a very good boy this year, you know.”

I blush again and he reaches out to take my hand.

“I don’t know, it seems wrong to cheer for another hockey team,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

“You can root for whatever team you want,” he says, his eyes locking with mine. “As long as the only name you scream is mine.”

Suddenly, it’s too hot, even sitting right next to the ice.

“I love you, Anya. Every decision I’ve ever made in life, I’ve made it quickly, knowing it’s the right one. You’re the right one. Come home with me after Christmas, Anya.”

The chaos of the game fades into the background as his words settle over me, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, I forget the crowd, the noise, the glare of the arena lights. All I can see is him, the man who somehow managed to find his way into my heart despite every wall I’ve tried to build.

And, as we sit here my hand warm in his, I realize he belongs there.