Trevor Zegras - Behind the Glass
You shivered as you walked into the Wells Fargo Center, the cold Philly air still clinging to your scarf. The crowd was loud, orange and black everywhere, and you could already hear the echoes of chants from fans who clearly came early. You slid into your glass-side seats behind the Flyers’ bench, knees bouncing from nerves and excitement.
“Hey, you made it!” Trevor’s voice came from the ice before you even spotted him. He skated over during warmups, grinning like a fool, and waved. “I thought you were gonna bail on me and eat a cheesesteak instead.”
“Pfft. Me? Bail on you?” You laughed. “You know I’m the only person crazy enough to scream at the top of my lungs for you in every game.”
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Screaming, huh? Is that what counts as motivation now? I was thinking hot chocolate, but screaming works too, I guess.”
“Hot chocolate? Are you kidding me? It’s February, dude. You’re on ice, not in some cozy cafe. I’d freeze before you even touched a puck.”
He shook his head, laughing, then skated off to warm up. You watched him weave through the ice like he was born there, passing and pivoting with the kind of grace that made you sigh quietly to yourself. You always got a little caught up in him—always had—but tonight it felt… different. There was a pulse in the air, in him, that made your stomach twist in a familiar way.
The first period passed in a blur. Midway through the second, Trevor snatched the puck in the neutral zone and zipped past two defenders. You jumped out of your seat, hands thrown in the air, when he made a perfect pass that set up a goal.
He skated past the bench and winked at you. You groaned, laughing and clutching the glass. “Ugh, stop doing that!”
“Doing what?” he called over his shoulder, grinning. “Winking at my biggest fan?”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but the blush creeping up your neck betrayed you.
After the Flyers’ win, the crowd still buzzing, you stayed near the glass, waiting for Trevor to come off. He jogged over, helmet in hand, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead.
“You… were nuts tonight,” you said, tossing him a bottle of water. “Seriously, that third goal—insane.”
“Yeah, well, don’t act like you didn’t cheer me on like a maniac.” He leaned on the glass, still catching his breath. “You know, I can hear you from here, right?”
You snorted. “Good. Consider it motivation. Or harassment. Whichever works for you.”
He laughed, but then his grin softened. “Hey… can I be honest for a sec?”
“Uh-oh,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I should run?”
“No, seriously,” he said, scratching the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “I’ve been… thinking about stuff. You know… us.”
Your stomach did a little flip. “Us?”
“Yeah,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “I mean, you’ve always been there—at every practice, every game, yelling at me, embarrassing me in front of everyone—and… I don’t know. I kinda like you. More than… friends like.”
You blinked. “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Probably. Yeah.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I’m terrible at this.”
You laughed, half in disbelief, half from relief. “Oh my god, you’re the worst… and also the best.”
He smiled, leaning a little closer. “So… you feel the same?”
“I think… yeah,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I’ve been trying not to, but… yeah.”
Trevor’s grin turned triumphant, and he shook his head like he couldn’t believe it was real. “About time,” he muttered. Then he leaned over the glass and gently pressed a quick, nervous kiss to your cheek, just to see your reaction.
You rolled your eyes and laughed, heart pounding. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, but your voice was soft, and your hand brushed his.
He caught it. “Yeah, but apparently it works,” he said, winking again, and you groaned, because you knew he was right.
From that night on, everything changed. Practices became more fun, games more electric, and every glance across the rink carried a little extra weight. You were still best friends, still partners in crime, but now there was something more. Something messy, thrilling, and yours. And in Philly, with the roar of the fans echoing through the arena, it felt like maybe, finally, you were both exactly where you were supposed to be.