Stopping, we looked at each other.
“We did it,” I said.
“We did.”
“He didn’t kill you.”
“I’m as surprised as you are.”
Laughter bubbled up in my chest, and he started laughing too.
“No more hiding,” I said.
He grinned. “I’m glad.”
We stood there, not saying a word.
Tomorrow, the team would know. The hiding would be over, but the real test would begin.
“I’ll see you at home,” I said.
His smile broke wide. “Yeah. Home.”
We separated and headed in different directions, but this time the distance didn’t feel like loss.
The hiding was over. What came next would be harder and messier, but completely ours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
HALEY
Six months later, and the press box still ran cold enough to need a jacket.
Some things had changed. The nameplate on my office door now read, “Director of Video Analysis” instead of just my name. Mark reported to me instead of working beside me. I could leave early to cook dinner for my fiancé without anyone side-eyeing my commitment.
Other things stayed exactly the same. My desk. My monitors. The way the light made my hands look alien at 2 a.m. when I was still tagging sequences.
Tonight wasn’t an early night.
The arena was packed for a late-season game that mattered more than most. A win tonight would clinch a playoff spot. If we lost, we’d have to fight for it over the final three games.
The pressure showed on the ice during warm-ups. My father stood behind the bench, his arms folded across his chest, watching everything intently.
Tolrek took his position with the first line, and six months hadn’t made watching him any less complicated. The professional part of me tracked his movements and logged them. The woman who’d woken up next to him this morning noticedthe way he skated across the ice with a confidence that had become second nature.
My father had handled the announcement the morning after our conversation, standing in front of the team and laying out the situation with the same directness he brought to tactical discussions.
“Haley and Tolrek are in a relationship,” he’d said. “This doesn’t affect how we operate as a team. She’s still your video analyst, though now your Director of Video Analysis, and he’s still a first-line defenseman. Any questions?”
Brashe’s hand shot up before my father finished speaking.
“What?” Dad’s tone suggested he was already regretting this approach.
“I just want it on record that I called this weeks ago.” Brashe’s grin held smug satisfaction. “Crim owes me fifty dollars.”
Laughter rang through the room. Crim threw a puck at Brashe’s head. Mikael wolf-whistled until one of the assistant coaches told him to knock it off.
