Page 33 of The Fine Line
Rhett drops his chin, shakes his head, then waves at a group of screaming girls. He flashes them a smile, but his eyes drift upward—so far up he has to tilt his head back, like he’s looking toward the upper deck.
Then he skates to center ice, picks up another puck, and firesagain. He misses high. The puck slams the glass in front of the girls, making them flinch. One drops a full bucket of popcorn.
They gasp, then laugh when they realize they’re fine. Rhett’s already behind the net, gripping his stick in frustration—a tell I know too well. Still, he turns back and blows them a kiss like nothing happened.
They swoon. I roll my eyes.
He mouths, “Sorry,” gives a wave…then lifts his gaze again, right back to that same spot in the upper level.
My brow furrows. I take a few steps sideways, trying to follow his line of sight.
“What the hell are you looking at…?” I mumble.
I glance between him and the upper deck—and just when I’m about to give up, I catch movement. Something clicks. My spine straightens.
He’s gliding backward now, hockey stick resting behind his neck, neck craned—staring not at the stands, but at the broadcast booth between the second and third levels.
Where he thinks I should be.
“Caroline, are you there?”
I jolt and hit the mic unmute. “Hey, Bryan. I’m here.”
“Great opening,” he says. “You looked and sounded like a pro.”
“Thanks,” I say, a small ache blooming in my chest.
“Alright, next time we’ll see you is during the first intermission. Try to grab whoever scores first for a quick interview. If the Storm don’t score, we’ll pivot and have you grab your dad.”
I nod, silently begging for a Storm goal. I know I can’t avoid interviewing Dad forever, and sure, some people already know we’re related, but the moment we’re side-by-side on camera, there’s no hiding it.
“Sounds good,” I say.
Bryan runs through a few more logistics, then I’m left insilence—or at least, arena-level silence. I turn slowly, but the ice is now empty.
I exhale, stepping back. Then I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.
Addie: You’re a star!!!
A smile tugs at one corner of my mouth. Another text pops up.
Addie: I know it’s not where you want to be, and it’s frustrating as hell—but you’re already killing it. And you’re gonna keep killing it!
Me: Isn’t it 2 a.m. in Paris?
Addie: And? You thought me and Bennett were going to miss your and Rhett’s first game?
My smile falters.
Rhett.
Addie: How is he? Do you think he’s ready? Ben talked to him last night and thinks he is, but you know how guys are.
Addie: Did you at least try to give him an encouraging word?
Thanks for the pep talk, Cub.
I blow out a breath, guilt twisting in my stomach.
