Chapter 22: Center Ice

Willa's POV

We sat in the same upper deck seats as the first night, row twelve, on the aisle.

Emil wore the blue jersey and a hat with ears, and he had an enormous pretzel.

"Is Dad going to win?" he asked.

"He's going to try."

"Is the lady going to be here?"

"I hope not, baby."

Eighteen thousand people filled Lakehead Arena, and about a third of them were wolves.

I could feel it, in the low steady hum under the noise.

Every one of them knew what had happened in the Hall two nights ago.

Nobody said a word about it in the stands.

Rhys scored in the first period, and Emil screamed so loudly that a man two rows down moved his beer.

In the second he assisted, and Bram scored, and the two of them piled onto the glass in front of our section.

Rhys looked up through the plexiglass, found my face, and winked.

At the second intermission, the lights dropped.

Three men in Zamboni vests dragged out a microphone stand and set it at center ice.

The announcer's voice came over the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your captain has asked for a moment of your time."

The crowd roared.

Rhys skated out alone, in his number nine jersey with the C on the chest.

He took the microphone off the stand, and the roar settled slowly.

"Thank you," he said.

The jumbotron lit above him.

The camera swept the building, row by row, finding fans in hats and face paint, and every one of them waved.

It swept over the owner's box.

I saw her before the screen did.

Pia sat alone in the front row of the glass box, in white, with a program on her lap.

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