Page 271 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
Just the way she’s looking at me.
Just the way she’s asking without saying it outright.
And for a second, I want to forget everything else. The room, the people, the threat that’s still sitting just outside the edges of this night, I want to take her somewhere quiet, somewhere hidden, and give her exactly what she’s asking for.
But I don’t. Because I can’t. Not here. Not yet.
So I force my focus forward as Zach steps up to the podium.
The room quiets gradually, the conversations softening into a low hum before fading enough for his voice to carry.
He doesn’t rush into it.
“This event exists because of Evelyn,” he begins, his tone calm, grounded, the kind of steady that doesn’t demand attention but holds it anyway. “She created something that doesn’t just draw attention, but directs it. In a way that actually matters.”
His gaze shifts briefly toward her, and there’s something in it, respect, pride, something deeper, that makes people pay attention without him needing to say anything more.
“She found a way to raise awareness and funding without turning it into spectacle,” he continues. “And that matters, especially for something like this.”
He pauses, just long enough for the room to settle fully.
“Diabetes has shaped a large part of my life,” he says then, more quietly. “Not just as an athlete, but as a person. It’s something I’ve had to learn to live with, train through, manage in ways most people don’t see.”
There’s no pity in his voice.
No performance.
Just truth.
“And that’s why this foundation matters. Because it’s not just about me. It’s about everyone who’s dealing with it, everyone who’s learning how to navigate it, everyone who deserves better support than what’s currently there.”
He thanks the sponsors.
The attendees.
The people who showed up.
And then his tone shifts slightly, something more personal threading through it.
“There’s one more thing,” he says.
The room stills again.
“At the end of this season,” he continues, “I’ll be retiring from professional hockey.”
It lands hard. You can feel it ripple through the room, the quiet shock, the murmurs that follow, but he doesn’t waver.
“I’m ready to move into the next chapter of my life,” he says simply. “And to focus on this foundation fully.”
My gaze flicks briefly to Lia.
She’s watching him with something soft and proud, something that tells me she understands exactly what that choice means.
Zach finishes the way he always does. Clean. Direct.
“Thank you for being here.”
Applause rises. And for a moment, everything feels steady again. Like we’ve stepped into something new. Like we’re finally moving forward.
