“If you could help me pick my room?”
“I know the one,” she said, suddenly energized, skittering down the hall. “This one.”
She opened a door to a sunny room with a window facing the side lawn, a good-sized closet, and its own bathroom.
“I love it. Thanks, Cassy.”
When evening came, she voted for talking-animal comedy, and I voted for a subtitled cartoon. We compromised on a princess movie with surprisingly complex lessons about self-worth.
Apparently, Friday nights were movie nights in this house. So we ate popcorn and watched while I peripherally followed thegame on my iPad. As expected between two heavyweights, it was nail-biting, breath-holding, scream-into-a-pillow insane. Dallas won, tying 3–3.
My heart was heavy as I carried Cassy, fast asleep, to her room. I felt everything I knew Sean must be feeling: the pressure of being so close and missing, the nerves of what would happen if the team didn’t clinched the final spot. He needed props. The urge to kiss him to smooth the stink was overwhelming.
I texted him.
Me:I saw the look in your eyes after Game 6. No words are needed. I believe in you more than anyone ever has. You’re the fire behind the bench and the man I’ll be kissing, win or lose. But let’s win tomorrow. Imagine me wearing the orange barrette you like, since you’ve got it hostage.
Saturday drifted by in a haze of park, snacks, and Cassy’s nonstop chatter. By evening, the quiet gave way to game time.
The final duel for the Western Conference Championship and a spot in the Cup final was on the line. Cassy beamed proudly in herUncle Sean is a Big Dealshirt as we settled in to watch Tahoe West try to clinch it. She asked if we could have popcorn again, even though it wasn’t Friday, and it was a YES.
I set the popcorn bowl on the table, and we sat to watch the pregame warmup. Cassy ran to her room and returned with a blanket covered in tiny penguins. Of course. We curled up together on the couch, ready to watch Tahoe West and Dallas battle it out.
Somewhere around the second period, she fell asleep, warm and soft against me. I held her close, not just to keep her steady, but because I needed something to hold.
My heart thudded as if I were out there on the ice. Sergei took a brutal shove into the boards. Meanwhile, Colton, ever the rebel, tripped over his own stick twice and still managed to make it look intentional. Sean kicked the bench barrier and pacedbehind his players, eyes locked onto the ice as if he could will the puck into the opponent’s net. He tossed his cap and raked his fingers through his hair so many times I worried about his hairline’s future.
None of that felt distant.
I felt it all—his stress, his fire, his desperate need to win settling into my bones. My throat tightened. My eyes burned.
The game stayed tied through the third period. I barely registered the overtime until Paxton, our goalie, deflected the puck. Porter scooped it up, passing it to Colton—and he scored.
Sudden death.
The horn blasted. The world erupted.
Tahoe West won.
The cameras zoomed in on the man I’d kissed, the man I’d laughed with. Sean scanned the ice as if needing confirmation that it was real. Then his players swarmed him, lifted him up. And moments later, the Clarence S. Campbell Bowl presentation.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
That breathless moment of relief—his and mine.
A victory that wasn’t just his. It was ours.
I held Cassy tighter as a sharp, electric feeling surged through me.
Between skating lessons and dumping my family drama on him, between him casually balancing me on a bike in a photo shoot and calling me Cutie, somewhere in the midst of all of it, I’d fallen.
I carried Cassy to her room like a ghost, drunk on that feeling.
Sleep didn’t come easily. I lay there in that guest room, heart racing, wondering how I was going to protect this thing growing inside me from the world. And whether it could survive my mother.
I woke to the sound of movement in the house. It was soft, but unmistakable. The clock read 5:20 a.m.
My pulse stuttered. He was back.
