Life is funny that way.
I'm sprinting through the Leviathans' arena concourse, my work bag bouncing against my hip, still wearing my Monterey Waves polo.The basketball team ran over and now I'm late.
Jay's going to give me so much shit for this.
The thought makes me smile even as I'm dodging confused fans heading for the exits.Mainly because I like the way he makes me pay him back.I can hear the roar of the crowd from here, which means the game's still going.Or just ended.Either way, I'm missing it.
Story of my life these days.
Don't get me wrong; I love my job with the Waves.Getting to work with professional athletes, building my own reputation separate from “Jay Cross's girlfriend” or “that girl who taped the Leviathans' right wing”?It's everything I worked for.
But it also means nights like this.Nights where Jay's playing the biggest game of the season and I'm stuck across town dealing with a point guard who doesn't understand that “pre-game stretching” isn't optional.
I round the corner to the main arena entrance just as the final buzzer sounds.
The crowd erupts.
Shit.
I push through the doors and immediately scan the ice, searching for number seventeen in teal and silver.
There.
Jay's being mobbed by his teammates at center ice, his helmet is off, and he’s got that stupid gorgeous grin on his face.Even from here I can see the way his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, the way his chest is heaving from exertion.
They won.
No surprise.Jay Cross doesn't lose playoff games.Not since his right adductor healed.
I make my way down toward the glass, weaving through celebrating fans, and watch as he hoists the conference championship trophy over his head.The arena lights catch on the silver, and my heart aches just watching how happy he is out there.
I love him.I love him more than I ever thought possible.
Even when he's being an idiot about his recovery schedule, or he leaves his sweaty gear all over our apartment, or when he wakes me up at 2 A.M.because he “had a dream about that time you taped my mouth shut and needs to recreate it for research purposes.”
Especially then, actually.
I'm so lost in watching him celebrate that I don't notice when his eyes scan the crowd and land on me.That’s when his whole face changes.His smile softens as I give him a small wave and mouth the words “congratulations.”
Moving away from his teammates, he skates over to the boards, and even through the plexiglass I can read his lips: You made it.
I press my hand against the glass.Barely.
Doesn't matter.You're here now.
The team circles up for the traditional handshake line, and I watch Jay make his way through it.Ha talks to the players as he passes them, but he keeps glancing back at me, making sure I haven't disappeared.
As if I would.
After two years, he should know by now: I'm not going anywhere.
Anhourlater,thearena is nearly empty.
The fans have cleared out, the media has finished their interviews, and most of the team has headed to the bars to celebrate.I'm sitting in the stands, scrolling through congratulatory texts from Kinsey (seventeen messages, all in caps, most unintelligible), when I hear skates on ice.
I look up.
