Chapter 21 Arthur Vance
The score was 2-0, and the Vipers were falling apart. The energy in the arena was toxic.
Every time Jaxson touched the puck, the home crowd, his own fans booed him. The betrayal was all anyone could talk about. On the ice, the team was a mess because Leo refused to play.
He was the Captain, the heart of the team, but he was playing like a man who wanted to watch the world burn.
I stood by the glass, my hands shaking. I could see the sweat dripping from Leo’s face as he skated near the boards. He looked miserable. His ego was winning, but his team was losing. If they lost this game, Jaxson would be the scapegoat. He would be blamed for everything, and his dream of the NHL would vanish.
I knew what I had to do. It was the only way to snap Leo out of it.
I walked right up to the thick glass, directly in front of the Vipers' bench. The stadium cameras, always looking for drama, swung toward me. My face appeared on the giant jumbotron above the ice. I was pale, my eyes red from crying, but I didn't hide.
Leo skated past, and for a split second, he looked at me. I pressed my palm against the cold glass. I didn't scream. I didn't make a scene. I waited until I knew he was looking into my eyes, and then I slowly mouthed the words.
I. Love. Him.
The stadium went silent. The announcers stopped talking. The camera stayed on my face, broadcasting my confession to a thousand people. Jaxson wasn't a "project." It wasn't a mistake. It was the truth.
Leo froze. He stood in the middle of the ice, his chest heaving. He looked at me, then he looked at Jaxson, who was standing ten feet away, looking completely broken.
I saw the struggle in Leo’s eyes. He was a Vance, he was proud, he was protective, and he was angry. But he was also a brother who loved me. He saw my tears, and he saw the desperation in my face. He realized that by trying to "save" me, he was actually breaking me.
The whistle blew for the start of the third period. Leo didn't say a word. He didn't look at me again. He skated over to Jaxson. He didn't hug him, and he didn't apologize. He just reached out and tapped Jaxson’s shin guard with his stick, the universal hockey signal for let's go.
"Miller," Leo said, his voice carrying through the quiet air. "Line one. Now. If you miss a single pass, I’m benched you myself."
Jaxson looked up, shock crossing his face. He nodded once, his jaw tightening.
The change was instant. The Vipers stopped playing like individuals and started playing like a pack of wolves. Leo and Jaxson moved in perfect harmony, the way they used to. Leo took a hit to make a play; Jaxson dove to block a shot. They didn't speak, but the silent communication was back.
With five minutes left, Leo intercepted a pass and flipped the puck to Cooper, who sent it screaming down the ice. Jaxson caught it on his backhand, spun around a defender, and fired.
Goal! 2-1.
The crowd began to shift. The boos turned into hesitant cheers.
With thirty seconds left on the clock, the Lions were scrambling. The Vipers pulled their goalie for an extra attacker. It was all or nothing. Leo had the puck at the point. He had a clear lane to shoot, a chance to be the hero and tie the game himself.
But he didn't take it. Instead, he saw Jaxson cutting toward the net.
Leo made a hard, crisp pass right to Jaxson’s tape. Jaxson didn't hesitate. He slammed the puck into the top corner of the net just as the buzzer sounded.
The arena exploded. The Vipers had won.
The teammates jumped onto the ice, screaming and hugging. Marcus and Toby tried to join the celebration, but Leo walked right past them. He didn't celebrate. He didn't cheer. He skated slowly toward the gate.
As he reached the exit, he passed Jaxson. Jaxson stopped, looking at his Captain, waiting for a sign, a nod, a word, anything.
Leo didn't look at him. He didn't even slow down. He walked off the ice and straight into the locker room tunnel, leaving his team and his sister behind. He had chosen to be a Captain for the game, but he wasn't ready to be a brother yet.
The ice cleared as the other players headed in.
Only Jaxson and I were left near the glass. The security guard, seeing the look on Jaxson’s face, finally opened the gate.
Jaxson skated toward me. He looked exhausted, his face bruised and his jersey torn. He reached out and pulled me onto the ice. My shoes slipped, but he caught me, pulling me hard against his chest.
I didn't care that the cameras were still rolling. I didn't care that the scouts were watching. I buried my face in his neck, smelling the ice and the sweat.
"You did it," I whispered, crying into his shoulder. "You won."
Jaxson held me tight, his heart beating fast against mine. He looked toward the empty tunnel where Leo had disappeared.
"We won the game, El," Jaxson said, his voice heavy with sadness. "But I’m not sure we won your brother."
"He'll come around," I said, though my voice lacked confidence. "He worked with you. He made the pass. That counts for something."
"He did it for the 'C' on his jersey, not for me," Jaxson replied. He squeezed my hand, his eyes searching mine. "Everyone saw, Elena. There’s no hiding anymore. There's no going back. From tomorrow, everything changes."
"I don't want to hide," I said firmly.
We skated off the ice together. My shoes hit the rubber matting of the tunnel, and the cheers of the stadium began to fade, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic thud of hockey skates walking toward the lockers.
We rounded the corner, expecting to see the team celebrating. Instead, we saw a wall of silence.
The players were all standing still, their helmets in their hands. Even Marcus was quiet, looking at the floor. At the end of the hall, leaning against the brick wall, was Leo. He looked like he had seen a ghost.
And then I saw why.
Standing in the center of the hallway, wearing a suit that cost more than most people's cars, was Arthur Vance. My father.
He wasn't supposed to be here. He lived three states away and only communicated through short, cold emails or bank transfers. He didn't go to games. He didn't "do" family events.
"Dad?" I whispered, my hand slipping out of Jaxson's.
Arthur didn't look at me. He looked at Jaxson.
His eyes were like chips of ice, calculating, cold, and completely devoid of warmth. He didn't look angry; he looked disappointed, which was a thousand times worse.