I chuckled, warmth blooming at this win. What a freaking good day this turned out to be.
“That’s great. Goodnight, Dad.”
“Night, sweetie.”
I headed to my room happy. Things were slowly lining up.
By the next afternoon, that conversation with Dad still lingered when I caught up with Sam during my break. She was slowly settling into Baltimore, juggling hospital onboarding and her new roommate’s dog, who treated phone chargers like breath mints.
“This Wednesday is starred on my calendar,” she said after we’d been chatting for a while. “I met a cute resident today.”
“Ooooh, sizzling chemistry?” I cooed.
“Yes, between his laptop charger and the nearest outlet.” We cracked up.
“In his book, romance is dead. Buried three years under,” I said.
We hung up in a fit of laughter.
Sean’s text came in later. My spark-leading man.
Sean:Skate date tomorrow night? Dress code: warm. Style: cute.
I said yes, of course. These days, we were in full tutor-pupil mode, with him clearly being the tutor. The guy had me enrolled in skating posture, cheerleader-based posing, and motorcycle rides.
I loved it.
Being a student of Sean Murphy’s was my favorite pastime, and his coaching style was chef’s kiss. The week rolled on, full of texts, skating lessons, another bike ride, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
Then came Friday.
Work was busy, and by the time I settled in to watch our team’s press conference, it was already underway. Eyes locked on the screen, my heart pounded as if I was the one under the spotlight.
The Golden State Arena media room looked sharper than usual, polished in that spotlight way that made everything feel heightened. Sean sat at the table, flanked by Dane, his assistant, Asher, the captain, and Brent, the right forward.
Sean was the main event of the whole show in a dark suit, perfectly tailored, of course. When the camera cut to a close-up, I caught the crease between his brows, the hard line of hisjaw, the exact tilt of his shoulders. Every detail screamed laser focused.
He looked every bit the NHL head coach: powerful, respected.
And he was my very own intimidating, swoon-worthy, boyfriend. Just saying it in my head made my heart do flips.
I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for this man, and even less that he was this gentle with me. Watching him take questions without blinking, something in me straightened. His calm traveled, settled my nerves, and made room in my chest. If he could hold a room like that, I could hold my corner. Some people take your air, but he gave me more, made my spine remember itself. I wanted more of that—from him, in me.
The questions came one after another, mostly about their upcoming Stanley Cup battle against the Eastern Conference champs, whoever emerged from the Florida versus Carolina game. Then the challenges and benefits of the two-week gap, rest, minor injury recovery, and staying mentally sharp.
Then came the question about the viral photo.
My heart gave a little drumroll.
Sean straightened. “Listen, I know we’re gunning for the Cup, but you’re right. Carrying her like that was my real championship moment.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
I felt my face warm. Sean never liked talking about his private life on camera; I’d gathered that much from our pre-fake-date talk. But after we went public in that Bloomberg way, he didn’t have a choice. The price of being the publicly smitten hockey coach.
“So…is she your fiancée?” came the next question.
My heart skipped a beat. Everything on my side stopped, except for my fingers curling around the edge of my desk and the pulse thudding in my ears. What would he say?
