stick around • matthew schaefer

chapter twenty-nine

matthew's pov.

being back in the rink felt like coming up for air after weeks underwater.

the sound of skates carving into ice. the crisp slap of a puck against the boards. the low hum of the lights overhead—it all hit me like a second heartbeat.

i missed this.

not just the game.

but the feel of it.

the rhythm.
the structure.
the weight of a stick in my hands like a compass pointing me home.

but even as i skated drills and got my legs under me again, something was off.

because the person i used to pass to without thinking?
the one who always met me at center ice with that glare-turned-smirk?

was now skating like i wasn't even there.

⸻

adrianna hasn't said more than two words to me since the game.

and that night outside the tunnel?

the one where she told me she was mad at herself?

it stuck with me.

i can't stop thinking about the way she looked in that moment.
like she wanted to say more.
like she almost did.

but then she walked away.

again.

and i didn't follow.

again.

because madison was still in the picture.

and that was the problem.

madison wasn't the one i wanted.

but she was the one who stayed.

who didn't flinch.

who didn't leave me hanging when the silence between adrianna and me got too loud to bear.

and i let her in.

even if i knew the second adrianna looked at me during that penalty kill that madison was standing in the wrong place.

⸻

"you're moving well," coach said during the cooldown. "still got your timing."

i nodded, breathless, wiping sweat off my forehead with the sleeve of my hoodie.

he clapped me on the shoulder. "give it one more week. you'll be cleared to play again."

my chest clenched.

not with nerves.

with anticipation.

because the second i'm cleared, we'll be on the ice together again.