"Silas, incredible performance tonight. What was working for you out there?"
I think about Scout in the stands, therapy with Dr. Max, and finally feeling like I have a life outside of hockey.
"I got my priorities straight," I say. "I found something more important than hockey. It’s helped me relax and just play the game."
"Can you elaborate on that?"
I have to try not to roll my eye. "Not really. But it's made all the difference, as you can see."
I shower quick and change fast. The media obligations can wait. I need to see Scout.
She's waiting outside the family room, still wearing my jersey, bouncing on her toes with barely contained energy. The second she sees me, she launches herself into my arms.
"That was amazing!" She kisses me hard, not caring that we're in public with cameras probably pointed in our direction. "You were incredible, Si. I've never seen you play like that."
"You inspired me."
"I was just sitting there eating nachos."
"You were wearing my jersey." I pull her closer. "Everyone in that building knew you were mine."
Her eyes soften. "I am yours. Completely."
"Good." I kiss her again, slower this time. "Because I'm not letting you go."
"Silas! Scout!" Reporters are approaching. "Can we get a quote about your relationship?"
Scout looks at me, questioning. This is it. The moment we go fully public. No more hiding. No more protecting her from speculation or criticism.
I take her hand and turn to face the cameras.
"Scout Nash is my girlfriend," I say clearly. "She's also the best thing that's ever happened to me. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me directly."
The questions explode. How long have we been together? Does the team know? Is there a conflict of interest?
“Guys,” Juliet cuts in. “You know the rules. Be respectful of the players. Do you really think they would be dumb enough to announce their relationship if they didn’t have all the paperwork cleared? Like I would ever let that happen on my watch.”
“It’s true.” Scout takes it from Juliet like a pro. "We disclosed our relationship to HR months ago. The team's been supportive. And if you want to know more about my work with the Havoc, you should come to a Mobility Monday session. I'd love to show you what we're building."
She turns the conversation from gossip to her program without missing a beat. Pride surges through me. She's not hiding behind me or shrinking herself down. She's standing tall and claiming space and reminding everyone that she's more than just my girlfriend.
Later, after the media obligations are done and we're finally alone in my truck, Scout leans over and kisses my cheek.
"Thank you," she says.
"For what?"
"For not making me your dirty secret. You stood up there and told everyone I'm yours." Her voice gets quiet. "Enzo never did that. He always kept me separate from his career. I was something that he was ashamed of."
"I could never be ashamed of you." I thread my fingers through hers. "You're the best thing in my life, Scout. Everyone should know it."
We drive home with her hand in mine, both of us grinning like idiots. The radio plays highlights from the game. The announcers are calling it a statement win, proof that the Havoc are legitimate playoff contenders.
But all I can think about is Scout in my jersey, smiling at me from the stands like I hung the moon.
My shoulder holds up better than expected. The PT work, the icing, the careful management pays off.
"You might have more years than you thought," the doctor said last week.
