I’m as excited as I am terrified for it.
I want the world to know. But also, I want to keep what we’ve found between us. It’s special and sacred, and I’m terrified that others’ opinions will poison that somehow.
“It feels like only yesterday Hailee had my face filling that Jumbotron,” Casey mutters beside me.
“Don’t,” I warn, making her chuckle.
She reaches for my hand and squeezes in support. “It’s going to be okay. Handsy won’t allow it any other way.”
My heart swells. She’s right; I know she is. Cole has been nothing but incredible since Rowan ensured my face was splashed all over the media. His support has been unwavering, and I know it’s going to continue.
“I can’t believe after all these years, we get to do this together,” she says excitedly.
“I can’t believe that after all these years, Freya finally understands the rules of the game,” Dad interjects.
I roll my eyes at him as he chuckles, his arm wrapped around Mom’s shoulders.
My heart swells at the sight of them both proudly wearing their Hansley jerseys. There may have been a time when Cole didn’t have anyone in the stands specifically for him, but those days are long over.
“I thought the biggest surprise here would be that your daughter is dating your favorite player,” Mom points out.
Warmth spreads through me.
Who’d have thought it? Little ol’ me. A woman who had no idea who she was just a few months ago, standing here now with the most incredible future ahead of her with the most amazing man.
“They’re coming. They’re coming,” Sutton cries, ensuring all our attention turns to the tunnel.
Only seconds after her announcement, we hear them. Blades against the floor and their deep voices and booming laughs.
Their happiness and excitement over their achievements this year are palpable. Butterflies erupt in my stomach as the first player appears.
Cole Hansley.
LA Vipers number thirty-three.
My boyfriend.
Cheers and chants begin as more and more fans notice movement.
I can only assume the rest of the team appears behind Cole, because I only have eyes for him.
He does a quick lap around the ice, giving the fans what they all came here to see. But instead of stopping in his usual favorite position for warmups, he continues forward, his eyes set on one person.
Me.
My heart jumps into my throat as he moves closer.
The attention of those around me burns into my skin, but I can’t find it in myself to care.
The moment he stops at the boards, he lifts his gloved hands, leaving zero question about who he’s looking for.
Behind me, fans cry out his name, desperate for him to look up and give them even a second of attention, but he never does.
“Hey, baby,” he shouts. “Turn around. Let’s see who you belong to.”
With a smile so wide it makes my cheeks hurt, I do as he says.
I can’t see or hear his reaction, but I can imagine it, and I’m not ashamed that it makes heat pool between my thighs.
