"Well, I'm still thrilled," she says, smiling through the phone. "Your dad would've loved this news too, you know. He always said you and Caroline were perfect for each other."
My throat tightens again, but this time it's gentler — bittersweet. "Yeah," I whisper. "He did."
She takes a slow breath, her voice soft again. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll let you go. Don't work too hard, okay?"
"Yes, Mom," I say. "Love you."
"Love you too, my darling boy."
When the call ends, I just sit there, staring at the phone in my hand. The room feels quieter—heavier—not empty, just weighted with everything I wish I could say to my Dad.
So much has happened since he's been gone. Wins. Losses. Things he would've laughed at, things I know he would've been proud of. I keep catching myself wanting to tell him about them—about Caroline, about life, about how much I've changed.
The ache hits hard, sitting right under my ribs. Five years, and it still doesn't fade.
I miss him.
And God, I hope he'd be proud.
*****
The house is shaking. Someone downstairs just yelled that the stereo "needs more bass," which is insane because the floor's already vibrating like we're sitting on top of a jet engine.
We won.
Ridgewater 5, Hudson Valley 3.
The rivalry game — the one that defines the season.
And yeah, I pulled off a hat trick tonight.
Three goals. Three perfect shots.
And every single one of them were for her. For my girlfriend.
And right now, the entire team is celebrating like we've been handed the Stanley Cup.
Everyone except me.
Because I'm upstairs, in my room, with Caroline.
My lucky charm. My good-luck kiss. My reason for every damn goal.
The adrenaline's still buzzing under my skin, but it's not the crowd I'm craving. It's her.
She's tucked against me on the edge of my bed—away from the chaos, the beer, the shouting—and honest to God, I can't imagine a better victory lap than this.
I grin against her mouth between kisses. "You know," I murmur, "they're gonna say I ditched my own party."
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging lightly. "You did," she whispers, smiling against my lips. "For me."
"Worth it," I say, not even pretending to sound guilty. "Ten out of ten. Would ditch again."
She laughs, the sound muffled as I kiss her again, softer this time. Every time our lips meet, it hits me like muscle memory—like this is the real game I never want to stop playing.
My favorite hobby? Easy.
Kissing Caroline Pennington until the rest of the world fades into white noise.
