My insides pitched.
I could barely manage my mom’s side-eyes and Sam’s running commentaries. This level of scrutiny was out of my league.
The puck dropped, and the game blurred my emotions. The crowd roared with every pass, the boards rattled, and the air smelled like adrenaline and ice. Then Dallas scored. Coltonresponded with one in the second, and Paxton made a perfect blocker save right before the final buzzer.
The arena exploded as the bench rose as one. I high fived with the staff and stepped back toward the tunnel. I didn’t even sneak a glance at him.
Okay, maybe I did. But only to see if he was doing that jaw thing again. The one that said tight game, big win…and to see if even in the chaos, he’d catch me looking.
I ducked out through one of the back doors. My phone alerted me.
Sean:You okay?
Me:Mostly. I got a little overwhelmed.
Sean:But you handled it so well, like you usually do.
Me:Not gonna lie, I wanted to crawl under the bench and live there permanently.
Sean:Everyone was focused on the scoreboard. Promise.
I didn’t fully believe him, but he had a way of making me feel okay, even when I wasn’t. His text lingered, making me smile as I packed for Dallas. A small comfort in the middle of a big leap.
Walking into the shuttle bus after Sam dropped me off at the Tahoe West HQ, I’d never been this sweating-through-my-bra nervous. I made my way down the aisle, avoiding eye contact, and slid into a seat near the back. Headphones in, and eyes on my phone.
We were heading to Dallas after a loss last night. Tomorrow, Saturday, was the game in Cowboy City against their team. The stakes were climbing, I could feel that current of tension threading through the team.
The seat beside me dipped. His scent, clean citrus, like a refreshing dip in a pool, floated into my breath. I didn’t have to look; my body already knew it was him. My favorite complication.
“Hey,” Sean said.
“Hi.”
That was all we said. The bus rumbled forward, gear bags thudding below, low voice conversations filling the background. I kept my eyes on my phone screen, pretending not to notice the warmth of his arm brushing mine, the way his presence pulled my thoughts into that spiral hole of being seen.
When we disembarked, Sean waited for me, his easy stride keeping pace with mine as we crossed toward the private charter.
“You dodged me the last two days,” he said.
I glanced at him.
“I wasn’t—” I started, then gave up halfway through the lie. “Both days were busy. One win, one loss, locker room, press... I figured you needed space.”
“Really?” he asked, skeptical. Not mean, just knowing.
“I was trying not to be in the way,” I admitted, adjusting the strap on my carry-on. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”
In other words, I was having an existential crisis about being your girlfriend Sean.
He huffed a low laugh. “If I didn’t want you close, I wouldn’t have asked you to be my girl. You don’t distract me, Mel. I like you near.”
Well, hello there. Perfectly delivered romantic line. My fan club just fainted.
After takeoff, I wanted to tell Sean how it felt, being rinkside with everyone watching, knowing we were dating. But shoulder to shoulder with thirty-plus people wasn’t exactly the space for emotional vulnerability. So, I pushed it for later.
“When we land, we’ll have plenty of time,” he said, breaking the silence. “I would like you to meet Ben. He and I have been buds for almost two decades.”
I turned to him. “That’d be nice.”
