Page 135 of On Ice

When he finally stops in front of me, he grates out, “Luca…” He lets out a harsh breath. “What’s wrong?” The words cracks right down the middle.

Noah stops first, but Rodriguez and Jackson continue a few steps before realizing Evan has stopped. They turn back, momentarily oblivious to the shift in atmosphere.

“Cap, you coming?” Noah asks, glancing between us. He’s accepted that Evan and I are together. But he still doesn’t like me.

Evan doesn’t look away from me. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“You sure?” Jackson frowns slightly, finally sensing something’s off.

“Yeah. Save me a spot.” Evan’s voice is steady, but I can see the tension creeping into his shoulders, the joy being gradually replaced by apprehension. Dread.

“Evan, you sure you’re okay?” Noah’s voice is alert. He obviously knows his friend well.

Evan’s throat works as he tries to speak, then he says hoarsely, “I’m fine. I’ll be right there, okay?”

They hesitate for a moment longer before nodding and continuing toward the players’ parking area, their voices fading as they round the corner. In the sudden quiet, I can hear distant traffic, the hum of the arena’s massive air conditioning units, the soft sound of Evan’s breathing.

He approaches me slowly. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Why’d you disappear?”

I take a breath. There’s no gentle way to say this, no perfect words that will soften the blow. I have to say the words that will gut him and there’s just no way around it. “Evan, your mom she… she died.”

His posture changes instantly, a stiffening, a bracing. His hands curl into loose fists at his sides. He shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” My voice breaks.

He takes a half-step backward, as if physically struck. The Cup-winning smile is gone completely now, replaced by a blankness that’s somehow worse than any visible pain.

“Matt called me during the first period. I went right away,” I say.

“You were there?” His eyes search mine, desperate for details, for something to hold onto.

I nod. “With Matt and your father.”

“Really?” He sounds like a little kid. “You were really there with her?”

“I swear to god.”

“Did she—” His voice cracks slightly. He swallows hard and tries again. “Was she in pain?”

“No. She was comfortable.” I step closer, close enough to touch him, though I don’t yet. “Evan, she had a moment of clarity at the end. She saw you win.”

His eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“The game was on in her room. When you won, when they showed you on screen, she sat up. She pointed to you and said, ‘That’s my boy, Evan.’ She said she was proud of you, that she always knew you’d win the Cup someday.”

Tears fill his eyes but don’t fall. He blinks rapidly, processing. “She... she knew me? Sherecognizedme?”

“Yes.” I reach for his hand now, feeling his fingers cold against mine. “She knew exactly who you were and that you won the Cup. She was lucid, Evan. She was so fucking proud of you.”

His breathing becomes uneven. I watch him struggle to maintain composure, his jaw working silently. The juxtaposition is jarring, the distant sounds of fans still celebrating his victory, all against the backdrop of this devastating news.

“I should have been there,” he says finally, his voice hollow. “Someone should have told me. Should have come and got me.”

“No, she wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“But… shedied. And I wasn’t there.” The raw pain in his voice is like a knife to my heart.

“Evan, the game had started.” I shake my head. “You were exactly where she wanted you to be. Winning the Cup. Fulfilling the dreamshealways had for you.”

---