It's not technically a lie. I am with Tyler, in the sense that I'm here because of him, and that Harper and I are a unit connected to him.
But the woman smiles like I've just confirmed we're together, and I don't correct her.
Emma definitely notices, her eyebrows raised, but she doesn't say anything.
The teams take the ice for warm-ups, and I immediately find number 17. Tyler's skating hard, warming up his shot, and he hasn't looked up at the stands yet.
"Wait for it," Emma whispers, grinning.
Tyler does his usual warm-up routine—a few laps, some stretches, shooting on the net. Then he glances toward where the Falcons' family section would normally be, realizes he's in the away arena, and starts to turn back.
That's when he sees us.
He stops skating so abruptly that he nearly falls over, standing there on the ice, stick in hand, staring at us like he can't believe what he's seeing.
Then his whole face breaks into the biggest smile I've ever seen.
He skates toward the glass as fast as he can without actually sprinting, stopping right in front of our section. Then he does it again, a full loop, stick raised, grinning like an absolute idiot, andLiam's laughing at him from the blue line. He taps his stick against the glass, mouthing, "You came?"
I nod, holding Harper up so he can see her better.
He presses his glove against the glass, and I press Harper's hand against it from our side. The barrier between us feels simultaneously massive and insignificant.
"Told you he'd lose his mind," Emma says, laughing.
Tyler's still staring at us, and I can see Liam skating over, saying something that makes Tyler shake his head. He can't stop smiling, looking back at us even as he has to return to warm-ups.
"He's got it bad," Emma murmurs.
"What?"
"Tyler. He's head over heels for you."
"We're not—it's not like that."
"Nora." Emma shifts Sofia to her other hip. "I've known Tyler for years. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him? That's not just professional."
I don't know what to say to that, so I focus on Harper, who's awake and looking around at all the noise and color.
The puck drops at 2 p.m. sharp, and the energy is immediate and intense. This is the Wolves' home ice and their crowd. They're loud and passionate in a way that makes Ridgeport games seem tame.
The first period is fast and physical. Tyler's on the ice for his first shift, and I watch him line up against Chase at the faceoff. They're grinning at each other through their cages. It's strange to watch the easy familiarity between two men who used to be teammates, both of them Bears once, before everything changed and Chase ended up a Wolf and Tyler ended up a Falcon, and somehow they all ended up in my life through Emma. Now they're on opposite sides of the ice, fighting for position at the faceoff dot like they're trying to prove something just for the fun of it.
Chase gets the puck and starts to move it up ice; Tyler's on him immediately. Defensive pressure, stick checking, forcingChase wide. Chase tries to cut back toward the middle, but Tyler reads it, stays with him, and Chase has to dump it into the corner.
"Nice coverage," Emma says, impressed. "Tyler's really good."
"He is."
Midway through the first, Tyler's line is out against Jackson's. Jackson is everywhere on the ice—calling plays, directing traffic, playing both ends.
Tyler receives a pass at the blue line, and immediately Jackson's on him. They battle along the boards, physical and intense, and Jackson wins it, stripping the puck and sending it back the other way.
"Damn," Emma mutters. "My brother’s on it tonight."
The Wolves score first, and their crowd erupts. But the Falcons answer back three minutes later on a goal from Danny, and suddenly it's a game.
During the second period, Tyler gets his moment.