stick around • matthew schaefer

chapter twenty-eight

adrianna's pov.

i laced up my skates like they were armor.

pulled my jersey over my head like it was a battle flag.

this wasn't just a playoff game.

not tonight.

tonight, she was in the crowd.

madison roy.

perfect hair. perfect timing. perfectly curled smile tucked into a front-row VIP seat.

everyone saw her.
the cameras.
the guys in the locker room.
the crowd that roared when she waved like she was part of the team.

but she's not.

she never was.

and no matter how good she looks standing beside him

she didn't fight for this the way i did.

she didn't bleed for this.

for him.

⸻

the warmup was brutal.

i couldn't shake the nerves. not from the puck. not from the game.

from him.

he wasn't on the bench. not on the roster.

but he was here.

hospital bracelet still tight on his wrist.
jacket hanging loose around shoulders that used to carry half our blue line.
eyes fixed on the ice like he'd never left it.

when our eyes met during laps, the air shifted.

for a second, i forgot how to breathe.

he didn't look away.

and neither did i.

⸻

i played like i had something to lose.

because maybe i did.

every shift, i hit harder. skated faster. moved the puck with precision that felt like instinct.

i didn't chirp. didn't speak.

just focused.

i could feel madison's eyes on me.
every shift.
every shot.
every block.

but i didn't give her the satisfaction of looking back.

this wasn't about her.

this was about me.

and the boy i never stopped skating for.

⸻

second period. tied 1–1.
penalty kill.

i stepped over the boards like i owned the ice.

sprinted to the puck like it owed me something.

i caught the forechecker in open ice, shoulder to chest, dropped him clean.
the building exploded.

my stick found the puck, and i launched it down the boards.
perfect clear.

my breath caught when i heard the crowd roar louder than usual.

and i knew why.

he was on his feet.

⸻

after the buzzer, we were up 3–2.

series lead.

and i didn't feel relief.

i felt fire.

the kind that didn't go out when the clock stopped.

i skated past the tunnel and glanced toward the corner where i knew he was watching.

and for a second—

just a heartbeat—

his eyes weren't on madison.

they were on me.

and i could feel it.

like gravity.

like home.

⸻

i didn't go to the locker room right away.

i looped around.
snuck out back.
found the hallway outside the VIP suite.

he was there.

alone.

leaning against the wall like he was still learning how to stand without help, hospital bracelet still peeking out from under his sleeve.

he looked at me like he'd been waiting all night.

i stopped a few feet away.

neither of us said anything.

not at first.

then—

"you played like you were pissed," he said softly.

"i am."

his brow lifted.

"at who?"

i hesitated.

then whispered—

"myself."

he nodded slowly.

and the silence settled again.

he didn't move.

didn't close the space.

and neither did i.

because we both knew...

there was still something between us.

but tonight wasn't the night to say it.

not with madison waiting in the shadows.

not with our history still unspoken.

so i said the only thing i could:

"i saw you stand."

he nodded.

"i was proud."

i blinked.

something cracked.

but i caught it before it could break.

"you're almost out of there," i said, nodding toward the hospital band.

"few more days."

"good," i whispered.

and then—

i turned.

walked back into the tunnel.

because if he was going to chase me—

it had to be for me.

not because madison was a placeholder.

not because i showed up big in a playoff game.

but because he wanted me.

still.

always.

and if he didn't?

then i'd skate forward anyway.

even if every stride felt like leaving him behind.
_________
a/n: rawr