"I'm just the pretty face. You're the backbone."
Lou laughed—really laughed, the sound echoing across the ice—and pulled Camille into a one-armed hug that the cameras would undoubtedly capture for tomorrow's sports pages. They didn't hide anymore. Couldn't hide, even if they'd wanted to. Their relationship had become part of the story—the captain and the star forward, the love that had transformed a struggling team into championship contenders.
At the edge of the celebration, Lou caught sight of Rowan. The young forward stood slightly apart from the group, her expression wistful as she watched the team's joy. Something flickered in her eyes—loneliness, maybe, or longing for a connection she hadn't yet found. Lou made a mental note to check in with her later—maybe introduce her to some people outside the team, help her build the kind of connections that made life feel full. Nobody on this team should feel alone.
"Ready to go home?" Camille asked quietly, her hand finding Lou's.
"More than ready."
The drive from the arena to their townhouse took twenty minutes through the evening streets of Phoenix Ridge. The city had become home in ways Lou had never expected—not just because of the team or the hockey, but because of the life she'd built here. The familiar restaurants and coffee shops, the neighbors who waved from their porches, the particular way the sunset painted the mountains in shades of orange and pink.
Their townhouse sat at the end of a quiet street in Phoenix Ridge Harbor, overlooking the water. It wasn't extravagant—two bedrooms, a modest yard, a garage that was perpetually cluttered with hockey gear—but it was theirs. They'd bought it six months ago, officially combining their lives in a way that still made Lou's heart swell every time she pulled into the driveway.
The front door burst open before they'd even gotten out of the car.
Max bounded down the front steps, his golden fur gleaming in the porch light, his tail wagging so hard his entire body shook with enthusiasm. Lou crouched down to catch him, burying her face in his soft coat, letting his excited licks cover her cheeks with doggy affection.
"Did you miss us, buddy? Did you miss us?"
Max's answering bark was all the confirmation she needed.
She'd seen the adoption ad at Lavender's coffee shop eight months ago—a golden retriever mix found wandering the streets, looking for a forever home. Lou had always wanted a dog but had never had the stability to care for one properly. Too many moves, too many uncertain seasons, too many years of living out of suitcases and temporary apartments.
But with Camille, everything was different. Stable. Real.
They went inside together, Max dancing circles around their feet, and Lou felt that particular warmth that came from coming home—the familiar smells of laundry detergent and the citrus candles Camille loved, the comfortable chaos of shoes by the door and jackets hung haphazardly on hooks, the evidence of a life built together from the ground up.
"Shower first, then dinner?" Camille asked, already heading for the stairs.
"I'll start cooking. Pasta okay?"
"Pasta is perfect."
Lou moved to the kitchen on autopilot, filling a pot with water, pulling pasta from the cabinet, starting the sauce she'd perfected over months of practice. Domestic tasks had never come naturally to her—she'd spent too many years eating takeout in hotel rooms and ordering delivery to empty apartments. But cooking for Camille, cooking in their home, had become one of her favorite rituals.
The ring box sat in her jacket pocket, heavy with significance.
She'd been carrying it for three weeks now, waiting for the right moment. The proposal had been planned in the abstract for months—Lou had known she wanted to spend her life with Camille since that first real conversation in the locker room, since Camille had looked at her with those blue eyes and seen something worth saving. But finding the perfect time had proven surprisingly difficult. There was always a game, a practice, an interview, a team event that demanded their attention.
Tonight, though. Tonight the house was quiet. Tonight they had nowhere to be and nothing to prove. Tonight was just them, in the home they'd made together, with theirridiculous dog and their comfortable routines and all the small intimacies that made up a life.
Tonight was the night.
The shower had been exactly what Camille needed—hot water soothing muscles that had been pushed to their limits, steam clearing the last of the game-day adrenaline from her system. She towel-dried her hair and pulled on soft pajama pants and one of Lou's old team shirts, the fabric worn thin and comfortable against her skin.
The smell of garlic and tomatoes drifted up the stairs, making her stomach growl. Lou's cooking had improved dramatically over the past year—another small miracle in a life full of them.
Max was already sprawled on the sofa when she came downstairs, his golden fur a bright spot against the dark leather. Camille settled beside him, scratching behind his ears, watching through the open archway as Lou moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency.
How strange, to be this happy.
A year ago, she would have laughed at the idea of domestic bliss. Would have dismissed it as something other people wanted, something that didn't fit into her carefully calculated life plan. She'd been so focused on her career, her image, the endless pursuit of achievement that she'd convinced herself would fill the emptiness inside her.
And then Lou had happened.
Lou, with her steady presence and her guarded heart and her particular way of seeing straight through Camille's defenses. Lou, who had shown her that love wasn't a distractionfrom success—it was the thing that made success meaningful. Lou, who had changed everything.
Camille watched her now—the way she tasted the sauce and added a pinch of salt, the way her hair fell across her forehead, the way her body moved with the same efficiency on the stove as it did on the ice. Love swelled in her chest, so big it almost hurt.
