“Partly.” I take a drink of water. “But also just... figuring some stuff out. About what matters. About how to actually lead instead of just control.”
“Deep thoughts from Captain Soft Boy, formerly Captain Hothead.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We finish practice stronger than we’ve been in weeks. Not championship-ready—I’m not delusional—but solid. Cohesive. The kind of foundation you can build something on.
As the guys start filing off the ice, Shep catches my arm.
“Hey. Serious question.”
“What?”
“Gisele.” His voice drops. “What is she to you? For real this time.”
The question that destroyed me before the evaluation. Before everything that followed. The question I couldn’t answer when it mattered most.
I don’t hesitate now. That’s the difference. Two days ago the question paralyzed me. Now it’s just the truth.
“She’s everything.” The words come out steady. Certain. “She’s the person I’ve loved since I was fifteen. She’s the reason I finally stopped being such a control freak. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me directly.”
Shep stares at me for a long moment.
Then he nods. “Good answer.”
“It’s the only answer.”
“Yeah.” A genuine smile crosses his face. “It is.”
The locker room is winding down—guys showering, changing, heading out to their normal lives—when the door opens and Gisele walks in.
She’s not supposed to be here. We didn’t plan this. But somehow, her presence feels inevitable—like of course she’d show up at the exact moment I needed to prove something.
“Am I interrupting?” she asks, and her voice carries the same steadiness she’s always had. The confidence I’ve loved since wewere kids. “I’m about to have my Off Campus moment. So cover yourselves up, if you haven’t already.”
“You’re not interrupting.” Shep answers before I can. “Captain was just telling us how you’re the love of his life. Very touching. I may have cried.”
“You did not cry,” Holden mutters.
“I cried internally. It’s a valid form of emotional expression.”
Gisele’s eyes find mine across the room. There’s a question in them—a checking-in. Making sure this is okay. Making sure I’m not about to retreat into the safety of non-answers and hedging.
I don’t hesitate.
I cross the room in four strides, cup her face in my hands, and kiss her. I hear Shep inhale about half a second before the room detonates.
Not a quick peck. Not a careful, controlled display of appropriate public affection. I kiss fully, completely, and without caring who’s watching.
The locker room erupts.
Shep’s whooping. Someone’s clapping. I’m pretty sure I hear Heath whistle. But I’m not paying attention to any of it, because Gisele is kissing me back with equal enthusiasm, her hands fisted in my jersey, pulling me closer.
When we finally break apart, she’s smiling.
“That was quite a greeting.”
