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“Hey now, enough of that.” He laughs. “Let me just grab my stuff and we’ll head out. You good here?”

“Sure thing,” I say, taking a step back and allowing him to go and get what he needs.

With nothing else to distract me, I lift my gaze to the ice and watch as three players speed around before each taking a shot at the goal.

Tingles rush across my body.

He’s there. Number Fifty-Five. He’s one of them.

All three score, but one is significantly more impressive than the others.

The line of his body in the seconds before he shoots. The speed and strength of his shot. The way he follows through as the puck sails into the net.

Every muscle in my body pulls tight at the thought of that impressive body. He was so in control.

He knew exactly what he wanted, and he took it.

They continue for another couple of minutes before he turns and skates away from the goal.

My heart jumps into my throat as he lifts his head...

And his eyes lock on mine. I cringe.

His celebratory smirk lasts for another second before it falls, realization slamming into him.

My stomach twists.

He reaches up and rips his helmet from his head, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

“You,” he mouths, making acid rush up my throat.

“You fucking with us or not?” someone barks from behind him.

He blinks before shaking his head in disbelief.

“Ready, kid?” Dad calls, successfully stealing my attention.

That guilt I felt earlier returns full force, mixing with the nausea.

He wasn’t meant to recognize me.

No one was supposed to recognize me.

“Yes,” I say, mustering up as much confidence as I can before turning my back on Kodie and walking awayat my dad’s side.

I want to think it has the same devastating effect that his walking away had on me, but something tells me we’re worlds apart in our opinions over that night right now.

Oh well. I got what I wanted.

#1 bucket list item checked off.

I’m ready for my next challenge.

“Are you okay?” Dad asks after we’ve taken our seats and placed our order almost an hour later. “You barely said anything on the way here.”

“Of course,” I say with a forced smile. “It’s just been a long week.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, dragging his fingers through his too-long hair.