My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, soI went for a run and headed north. Outside, the city was coming to life. Delivery trucks were double-parked on Eighth Avenue, coffee cart owners were setting up, and the morning traffic noise was already too loud.
My legs settled into a fast rhythm as I tried to burn off the restlessness that had me so anxious. Yet no matter how hard I tried to focus on the run, my brain wouldn’t stop racing.What happens when the playoffs are over? Will Pack still want to talk? Was Buffalo the end or only a break?
By the time I reached Central Park South, my shirt was plastered to my chest. I peeled it off and tied it around my waist, still heading north. The park stretched out on my right, wide and green.
Does Pack miss me as much as I miss him? Does the texting really mean anything?
I didn’t stop until 110th Street. My head was clearer, and the knot in my stomach had eased. It was great to take what was probably the deepest breath I’d had since Buffalo.
The run back was slower, but I still pushed myself. When I got home, I stripped in the entryway and tossed my soakedclothes into a pile. The blinds were still closed, so the apartment was cool and dim. I lay on the living room floor until my heart finally slowed.
Eventually, I got up and took my clothes to the laundry room, then ate a banana in the kitchen. Figuring Pack was still asleep after last night’s win, I decided to text him later.
The shower was hot enough to turn my skin pink, but it felt so good I stayed under the spray until it ran cool. The tightness in my chest had eased from a stranglehold to something I could live with for another day.
After pulling on shorts and a soft T-shirt, I stretched out on the couch with my tablet. Sunlight poured through the windows, cutting the room into neat geometric shapes. It should have been peaceful, but I was still on edge.
I opened TikTok to distract myself, but the first video was about Pack and me. Someone had mixed footage from our outreach events with clips of us goofing off in college. Jesus. Back then, we’d been all about long, sultry looks, whispered jokes, and not-so-secret smiles.
It was more of the same after the PR tour began, but somehow more intense. At one event, I didn’t even look at the reporter asking a question because I was practically drooling over Pack. The video ended with us skating in the snow in Buffalo, face-to-face, so close it looked like we were dancing.
The caption read:
The slowest slow burn in hockey history. Tell me again what big rivals they are. #Packo #FlirtingOnIce #BladesOfLove #PackoLove
I read some of the comments.
@topcheddar1169: This is not a rivalry, this is foreplay on ice. #PackoForeplay
@heart_over_hockey: I hope they know what they have. #MenForMen
I kept scrolling, and soon another clip of us showed up. This one was quieter: a slideshow with recent shots of me, and photos of Pack from the playoffs. He looked so sad, even when he should’ve been thrilled. The caption was:
Is it just me or do they both look not okay lately?
This time, the comments hit even harder.
@itguruwithapuck: I’ve watched hockey my whole life. That’s not stress. That’s grief.
@softsticktaps: I wish they knew how many people are rooting for them. #PackoForever
My stomach clenched so tight I nearly gagged. I threw my tablet at the end of the sofa and covered my face with my hands. While I wondered what to do, the doorbell rang.
I didn’t move at first. When it rang again, I got up and stretched before walking to the door. Whoever it was started knocking.
“Okay,” I yelled. “I’m coming.”
My brain froze when I looked through the peephole. I glanced away, then back again. Pack was standing in the hall,staring straight ahead. While I watched, he licked his lips. My heart kicked so hard it made me gasp.
Holy fuck.
For a moment, I couldn’t move, and then my hands were on the locks, fumbling the chain and deadbolt. I opened the door so fast it hit the wall.
Pack’s hand was raised, ready to knock again. He froze when he saw me. “Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked.
“You’re here.” The smile that broke across my face was so wide it hurt. “You’re actually here.”
“I didn’t want to—” He stopped and swallowed. “I couldn’t keep texting. I had to see you.”
