Page 66 of Glitz & Goals

“Grounded?” Knova snorts. “You mean doesn’t let him explode. That man is wound tighter than a cheap guitar string. He could snap if anyone breathes near him.”

Dante, sitting behind us, chuckles. “It’s not anger,La Tigre. It’s passion. Metcalfe’s one of the best we’ve had in years. And I will happily take all the credit. I’m bringing the magic back.”

I don’t disagree. Watching him down there, so utterly in control, makes my chest ache. And that terrifies me.

Because for the first time in my life, I’m falling for someone when I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know where this is going or if it’s even going anywhere at all. I’ve always been careful, deliberate, making sure I never gave away too much of myself unless I was certain the risk was worth it. But with Grady…

With Grady, it feels like I’m freefalling.

I know he has feelings for me, too, but is that enough?

I’ve never looked at a man like this before, never been so drawn to someone that the thought of a future without him makes my stomach twist. The way he moves, the way he commands respect without demanding it, the way his voice cuts through the chaos and pulls his team together—it’s all so Grady. Strong. Steady. Relentless.

And yet, when he looks at me, it’s different. I don’t see the coach or the competitor. I saw the man who cooked me dinner and listened to me ramble about costume fittings, as if it were the most important conversation in the world. I see the man who makes me laugh when I want to cry, who looks at me like I’m something worth holding onto.

The crowd’s roaring as the players battle it out on the ice, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him. For the first time, I want to believe in something I can’t see, can’t plan for.

And that terrifies me even more.

With the game down to the wire, the tension in the arena is unbearable. Knight’s line is out, cycling the puck in the offensive zone, and everyone in the VIP box leans forward as one. Mom grips my arm, her knuckles white. Knova is practically vibrating with energy.

“Move it, Viktor, you fucking boner doner!” Knova shouts, punching the air as her brother dishes a crisp pass to him. “Yes! That’s it—oh, come on!”

The play shifts, the Caribou clearing the puck down the ice. My gaze flicks to Grady on the bench, yelling something at Ranger and pointing toward the defensemen. His voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding, until—

The puck comes out of nowhere, flying over the boards straight at the home bench. I barely register what’s happening until it collides with Grady’s head. The sound—God, the sound—is a sickening crack, like splitting wood. He stumbles, his hand shooting up to his temple before his legs give out.

“Grady!” I scream, but my voice is swallowed by the gasp of the crowd. He hits the ground, motionless, as the trainers rush toward him.

“Oh, my God,” Knova whispers, her hand clutching mine. “That sounded really bad.”

Kingsley turns to Dante, her face pale. “Where are the team doctors?”

I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s been crushed, my heart pounding so hard it might crack my ribs. Grady is lying behind the bench, surrounded by Violet and the other trainers, and everything else—the crowd, the game, the noise—fades into nothing. I’m frozen, my hands gripping the railing so tightly that my fingers are numb.

He doesn’t move.

The trainers are working, Ranger is pacing, and I think I hear someone yelling instructions, but it’s all muffled like I’m underwater. My mind is a chaotic mess. This isn’t supposed to happen. Grady is larger than life. He’s unshakable, indestructible, always in control. Seeing him like this is so wrong, so completely alien; it’s like my brain can’t process it.

Where is the fucking team doctor? The ambulance?

Am I the only one who really cares?

I glance back at Dante with pleading eyes, but he’s already on the phone, screaming in Italian.

Someone next to me—Mom, maybe?—says something, but I don’t respond. I can’t. My thoughts are spiraling, tangling into a knot of panic and fear. What if this is serious? What if he doesn’t get back up? What if I never get to tell him—

Oh, my God.

It hits me like a freight train, a rush of emotion so overwhelming it nearly knocks me over. I love him. Not the casual, crush-like feelings I’ve been pretending to myself that I have, but real, raw, bone-deep love. The kind that makes you terrified of losing someone because losing them would break you.

And it’s not just for the way he looks at me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, but for everything he is. His relentless drive, his unwavering loyalty, the way he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever complaining. I love that he’s gruff with everyone else but gentle with me. That he’s patient when I push, steady when I waver. That he knows when to challenge me and when to simply hold me. I love that he makes me laugh, makes me feel safe, and makes me feel seen. And now, as he lies there prone and unconscious, I can’t imagine a world without him in it.

I blink back tears, my vision blurring as they lift him onto the stretcher, his legs unmoving. I should run, do something, but I’m paralyzed. My heart screams at me to get down there, to be with him, but my feet are stuck to the floor.

And in that moment, I know. I can’t sit here and do nothing. I have to get to him. I have to tell him. Before it’s too late.

I’m already standing, my heart lodged in my throat. He’s still not moving.

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