Grant was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “They miss you too.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do. Rook asks about you every day. Mercer's been texting me updates about stupid locker room shit he thinks you'd find funny. Even Finn's been moping around like someone stole his favorite toy.” He bumped his shoulder against mine. “You matter to them. Not because of what you do on the ice. Because of who you are.”
My throat went tight. “Don't make me cry on a fucking hiking trail.”
“Noted.” But I heard the smile in his voice.
We sat there for a few more minutes, drinking water and not talking, and I felt something shift inside me. A decision taking shape, edges still blurry but the center becoming clear. I wasn't ready to name it yet, wasn't ready to say it out loud. But it was there, growing stronger with every breath.
“Come on,” Grant said finally, standing and offering me his hand. “Let's keep moving.”
I took it, let him pull me up, and we headed back down the trail.
By the time we made it back to the parking lot, the sun was lower in the sky and my leg was starting to protest. Not pain, exactly—just the deep ache that said I'd done enough. Grant noticed immediately, of course, because the man missed nothing.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired. But good.” I leaned against the car, stretching the leg carefully. “That helped. Being out here, moving. It helped.”
“Good.” He opened the trunk and pulled out a small backpack I hadn't noticed before. “So here's an idea. There's a campsite about half a mile from here. Close to the car, easy access, completely flat. We could set up for the night. Camp under the stars. Head back to the cabin tomorrow morning.”
I stared at him. “You planned this.”
“I brought supplies just in case you wanted to.” He looked almost sheepish. “Figured you might need more than just a walk.”
Something warm bloomed in my chest. “You're full of surprises, Coach.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Hell yes.”
The campsite was exactlywhat he'd promised—a small clearing with a fire ring, close enough to the car that we could see it through the trees. Grant pulled out a tent and sleeping bags and a small camp stove. I just stood there and watched him work.
“You camp a lot?” I asked.
“Used to. Before...” He trailed off, but I knew what he meant.
“Well, I'm glad you remembered how.” I grabbed one of the tent poles and immediately regretted it when my shoulder protested. “Fuck.”
“Let me.” Grant took the pole from me gently.
We worked together, him driving stakes into the ground and securing the structure while I threaded poles through loops and tied off guy lines.
I struggled with one of the knots, fingers clumsy from the cold, and swore under my breath. Grant appeared beside me, hands covering mine, guiding the rope through the right pattern. “Like this.”
His breath was warm against my neck, and I felt the familiar pull of wanting him.
“Got it?” he asked, voice low.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He stepped back, and I finished securing the line, then turned to find him watching me with that look—the one that made my pulse spike and my brain go quiet.
He kissed me, soft and brief. “Come on. Let's get the fire going.”
We built the campfire together. Grant arranged the kindling while I fed small sticks into the growing flames. By the time thesun set completely, we had a decent blaze crackling in the ring, heat pushing back the cold and casting dancing shadows across the clearing.
