“You’re gonna need the rest after winning the Stanley Cup,” she says confidently.
This isn’t my first venture into the playoffs. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t more hopeful this time.
I nod. As much as I want it, I refuse to think it could be possible. We still have—hopefully—a lot of games ahead of us, and a lot of work to do.
“We’ll see,” I mutter.
“Well, whatever happens. I’ll be there watching.” I light up at the thought.
My heart swells in my chest.
“I never have anyone come to games for me. You have no idea how it feels knowing that you’re there, cheering me on. I used to watch the others go to their families after a game, and I thought I was okay without it. It isn’t until you started being there, eyes on the door, waiting for me to appear, that I realized just how okay I wasn’t with it.”
“Cole,” she whispers, her hands sliding down to my chest, no doubt feeling just how hard my heart is beating beneath my ribs.
“Thank you, Freya. Thank you for taking a chance on me. Thank you for being there, for supporting me, for becoming my family.”
She swallows thickly, her eyes as full of unshed tears as mine. She nods, her bottom lip trembling.
“Italy,” she suddenly blurts. “I really want to go to Italy.”
I smile. “Then we’ll go to Italy, Whirlwind.”
My lips meet hers in a kiss that sends fire shooting through my veins.
I’m desperate to say fuck it and carry her back to my bed.
But I can’t.
We have three games left in the regular season. I have to be at training. I have to be focused.
Reluctantly, I put her down and force myself to take a step back.
“You need me, you call me.”
“Go and be the league’s best goalie. I’m good here. Promise.”
I comb my fingers through my hair, feeling like I’m being ripped in two.
I want to be here. But I need to be there.
“Go, Handsy.” She laughs.
“Fuck. Yeah. I’m going. I’ll see you later.”
“See you later. Message me when you’re leaving the arena.”
With my agreement ringing through the air, I swipe my duffel bag from the hallway floor and march out of the apartment before I change my mind.
I go straight to the parking garage and climb into my car. Unease sits heavily in my stomach about what I’m going to find in front of my building.
Melvin has kept us up to date about the size of the crowd hoping to get a glimpse of us yesterday.
Surely, they’ll have gotten bored. Surely, someone of way more importance has done something that requires all the journalists to turn their attention to them.
But I quickly discover that it doesn’t seem to have happened; because the instant I emerge from the parking garage, they’re waiting for me.
People crowd around my car as I attempt to see if I can pull onto the road, and cameras flash in my eyes.
