Chapter 9: Ronan

Ronan

⛸️

The rink was alive. No, not just alive—it was buzzing. A sea of people filled the lobby, the bleachers, and the makeshift event area set up just outside.

Popcorn and hot dogs hung in the air, clashing with the sharp chill from the ice. If anyone had told me this many people would show up for our game and fundraiser, I'd have laughed in their face. But Nesta? She'd pulled it off.

I leaned against the boards, my stick resting against my shoulder, watching her. She was at the promo booth near the entrance, surrounded by a crowd of people eager to buy raffle tickets, grab merch, or figure out what was happening.

Nesta was in her element, handling everyone with the precision of a drill sergeant, but with the kind of effortless charm that had everyone wrapped around her finger. Her ponytail bounced as she darted between the register and the display table, her laugh cutting through the noise of the crowd.

Gosh, she was good at this.

Okay, I'll admit it—she looked good doing it too. Her oversized hoodie, somehow making her look effortlessly cool, and the way her hazel eyes lit up when she smiled... it had me feeling things I didn't want to acknowledge.

"Ronan!" Colby's voice cut through my thoughts. He skated up next to me, slapping my shoulder. "Dude, are you even paying attention? Coach is about to lose his mind over here."

I glanced over at Coach, who was giving his usual pregame pep talk from the bench. He hadn't noticed I was zoning out yet, but he would soon if I didn't snap out of it.

"Yeah, I'm good," I said, giving Colby a shove before skating toward the bench. But not before one last glance at Nesta.

By the time we wrapped up warmups, the crowd had only gotten bigger. The stands were nearly full, and the raffle line snaked out the door.

Nesta was still at the booth, her focus sharp as she handled everything flawlessly. She was like a machine, keeping everything running smoothly while somehow managing to charm every single person who came her way.

I wasn't sure when it happened—maybe it was seeing how much she cared about this, or how she was a huge part of why tonight was such a success.

But something shifted. Nesta wasn't just the girl who rolled her eyes at my jokes or the one I could always count on to roast me in front of my friends. She was... something else. Something I couldn't quite put into words.

Not that I'd ever tell her that.

Instead, I grabbed my jersey from the locker room, the bold red "#5" on the back catching my eye. Nesta was the reason this night was such a big deal. It only made sense to thank her. Right? It wasn't weird or anything. Just a casual gesture. Normal.

I jogged back to the booth, weaving through the crowd until I reached her. She was in the middle of explaining the raffle rules to a group of parents when she noticed me. Her brows furrowed like they always did when I interrupted her.

"Ronan," she said, folding her arms. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the game?"

"Yeah, I will," I said, holding up the jersey. "But first, I wanted to give you this."

Nesta blinked, her gaze shifting to the jersey. "What?"

"For helping us out," I said casually, shrugging like it was no big deal. "You've been killing it tonight, so... thought you should have something to wear while you're running the show."

Her eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke. "You're giving me your jersey?"

"Yeah. Why not?" I tossed it to her, smirking when she caught it instinctively. "You've earned it."

She stared at the jersey for a moment, her fingers brushing over the stitched number. I could see the hesitation in her eyes, the way she bit her lip like she wasn't sure if she should accept it.

"Don't overthink it, Nesta," I said, leaning against the booth. "It's just a jersey. Wear it, don't wear it—up to you."

She glanced at me, then back at the jersey. Finally, she rolled her eyes, muttering, "Fine." She pulled it over her hoodie, the dark navy and white standing out against her dark jeans.

"There," I said, stepping back to admire my work. "Looks good on you."

"Don't push it," she shot back, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.

I turned to leave, but not before catching one last glance at her. She looked... right in my jersey. Like she belonged in it.

And for some reason, that thought stuck with me as I made my way back to the locker room.

❤︎

The rink was alive with energy, the sound of the crowd cheering, clapping, and shouting reverberating off the walls. The pregame fundraiser had exceeded all expectations, with merch flying off the shelves and the raffle tickets selling faster than we could count.

Nesta had been at the center of it all, working like a machine to make sure everything ran smoothly. She was still at the booth, finishing up the last of the raffle prizes as people slowly trickled into the stands.

And there she was—wearing my jersey.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen someone wear my number, but something about seeing her in it felt different. She wasn't just wearing it because she was supporting the team. It felt... personal. And it made my chest tighten, like there was some knot I couldn't untangle.

But I couldn't let myself get lost in those thoughts. The game was about to start.

As I stepped onto the ice, I was immediately hit with the roar of the crowd and the buzz in the air. I spotted the Crows warming up across from us, and sure enough, Luke Holman, their captain, was talking trash like he always did.

"Nice turnout, Ronan," Luke called as I skated past him, his smug grin as irritating as ever. "Hope you're ready for your big night."

"Just another game," I said, keeping my voice flat, not letting him get under my skin.

Luke skated closer, leaning on his stick. "We'll see if you still feel that way when I score the game-winner."

I didn't respond, but his words lit a fire inside me. Luke Holman was a skilled player, no doubt about it, but tonight? I wasn't letting him take this from us. Not on my watch.

The puck dropped, and the game was a war from the very start. The Crows were relentless, playing with speed and aggression, and Luke was everywhere—always in my face, always pushing. But we held our ground, matching their intensity.

By the third period, the game was tied. The tension in the air was thick. Each team was running on fumes, and every play felt like it could be the last. One minute left. We needed a goal.

Coach called a timeout, and we gathered at the bench, his voice steady as he laid out the plan. Akil and I would run the give-and-go, the play we'd practiced countless times. Either I'd take the shot, or I'd set Akil up for the score.

As we broke the huddle, my eyes flicked to the stands. I found Nesta almost immediately. She was sitting near the middle, still wearing my jersey. Her arms were crossed, her gaze intense as she focused on the ice. She wasn't cheering, wasn't waving or clapping. But just seeing her there, supporting me in her quiet way, made the chaos in my head settle.

I took a deep breath, adjusting my grip on my stick. I needed this goal. Not just for the team, not just to shut Luke up, but for her.

The puck dropped, and we got to work. Akil took control in the neutral zone, charging forward with me right behind him. The Crows closed in fast, their defense collapsing on us, but Akil was quick—he slipped past one of their forwards and dropped the puck to me.

Everything felt like it slowed down in that moment. I could feel the ice beneath my skates, the weight of my stick, and the puck just ahead of me. I glanced up and saw Luke charging after me, his trash talk muffled by the noise of the crowd. But I barely heard it.

All I could think about was the net.

And then, for a split second, doubt crept in.

Why was I hesitating?

I glanced up at the stands again. There she was. Nesta. And it hit me—hard. I didn't want to mess up in front of her. Not when she was wearing my number, not when she was supporting me without saying a word.

I shook the thought off and focused on the shot. I could dish it to Akil, let him take the glory. But no, this was mine. I had this.

I wound up, the blade of my skate carving through the ice as I launched the puck toward the top corner. The shot was clean, precise, and the moment it left my stick, I knew it was in.

The puck flew past the goalie's glove and slammed into the net.

The arena erupted.

We'd done it. I'd done it.

My teammates swarmed me, clapping me on the back, shouting, but I couldn't focus on that. My eyes were already searching the stands.

There she was—standing now, clapping along with the crowd. Our gazes met for the briefest of moments, and I felt it like a punch to the gut. She wasn't just clapping for the win. She was clapping for me.

And that was when I realized something I wasn't ready to admit.

Winning felt incredible. But it wasn't the goal, the victory, or even the celebration with my teammates that had me floating on air.

It was her.

❤︎

The locker room was a madhouse after the game. Guys were shouting, slapping each other on the back, and blasting music from someone's speaker.

The energy was electric, the kind that only comes after a hard-fought win. I let the guys have their moment while I peeled off my gear, still buzzing from the adrenaline. The thought of that shot—the way the puck sailed perfectly into the net—kept replaying in my head.

But every time it did, another image crept in, uninvited. Nesta, standing in the crowd, wearing my jersey, her eyes locked on me.

I shook my head, trying to focus on the victory, but it was like she was stuck in my brain.

After the celebration started winding down, I headed out of the locker room, my hair still damp from the shower, and walked into the main hallway where the fans were starting to clear out. That's when I saw her.

Nesta.

She was leaning against the wall, still in my jersey, her phone in hand. She looked up when she saw me, and her face lit up with a smile that hit me harder than any check I'd taken on the ice tonight.

"Ronan!" she said, pushing off the wall and walking toward me. "You killed it out there! That shot was insane."

"Thanks," I said, grinning despite myself. "We needed it."

She stepped closer, her smile softening as her eyes flicked over me. "Seriously, though. You played like a beast tonight. That was some captain-level stuff."

"Captain-level, huh?" I teased, trying to keep it casual even though my chest felt tight.

"Don't let it go to your head," she shot back, smirking.

Then, before I could say anything else, she stepped forward and hugged me.

It wasn't a quick, casual hug. It wasn't one of those awkward, pat-on-the-back kind of hugs either. It was warm and solid, her arms wrapping around me like she actually meant it. I froze for a second, caught off guard, but then I hugged her back.

And that's when I felt it.

A spark.

Not just the physical kind, though her touch sent a jolt through me. It was something deeper, something that made my heart race and my mind stumble.

She pulled back, smiling up at me, completely unaware of the chaos she'd just caused in my head.

"Seriously," she said, her voice softer now. "You deserve this win. You played your heart out."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to smile like everything was normal. "Thanks, Nesta. And, you know...thanks for everything you did tonight. The fundraiser was a huge success because of you."

She shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. "Team effort, right?"

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my pulse was still hammering. "Right."

She glanced down at the jersey she was still wearing and laughed. "Guess I should probably give this back, huh?"

"Nah," I said quickly, too quickly. "Keep it. Consider it a thank-you for tonight."

Her brow arched, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Oh, so now I'm part of the team?"

"Something like that," I said, smirking, trying to play it off.

"Alright, Captain," she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "I'll take it."

She turned to leave, throwing a quick "See you around" over her shoulder, and I stood there, watching her walk away, my head spinning.

Why did a simple hug feel like it had just changed everything?

Why did I feel more nervous about her than I did about taking that game-winning shot?

And why, despite every instinct telling me to shake this off, did I want to chase after her and find out what this spark really meant?

Something took over me. Before I even realized it, my feet had started moving, ready to chase her down, to forget the lines we'd drawn in the sand, to risk ruining this friendship because, in this moment, I couldn't care less. I was riding a high—winning the game, the fundraiser being a success, and then Nesta... Gosh, Nesta.

But just as I turned, a voice behind me cut through the haze.

"Good job tonight," Luke Holman said, his tone casual, but I could hear the edge to it. "But hey, I couldn't help noticing a certain girl wearing your jersey. What's that about?"

I turned to face him, forcing myself to stay calm. "It's none of your business, Luke."

He smirked, leaning back like he owned the place. "Why not? If she's not your girlfriend, she shouldn't be wearing it. Hell, she should be wearing mine."

I froze, my hands clenching into fists.

"And you know what? I'd tap that."

That was it. I lost control.

Before I knew what I was doing, I shoved him hard against the wall, the sound echoing down the hallway. His cocky grin faltered for a second, replaced with surprise, and maybe even a little fear.

"Say that again," I seethed, my voice low and dangerous.

"Whoa, man—"

"Say it again," I snapped, my fists pressing into his shirt. "You don't talk about her like that. Ever. Got it?"

Luke raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk creeping back onto his face. "Relax, man. Didn't know you were so protective. Guess maybe she's more than just a friend, huh?"

I pushed him one last time before letting go, stepping back and trying to rein myself in. My pulse was racing, anger coursing through me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.

"She's not your concern," I said, my voice cold and steady. "Stay away from her."

Without waiting for his response, I turned and walked away, my chest heaving. The moment with Nesta, the spark, the urge to chase after her—it was all overshadowed now by a new thought.

I didn't know what this was between us. But one thing was clear: no one was going to mess with her while I was around.