Page 115 of From Maybe to Baby

Game winner.

The arena erupts.

I point to the family section before my teammates mob me. Just long enough to see three huge smiles. Just long enough to know I’m not hallucinating. This shit is real. It happened and everyone in the arena and watching on TV is my witness.

I drop to my knees, my stick hitting the ice with a crack. The helmet’s off before I even think about it, skidding halfway across the rink. I don’t care.

I look up, and there she is. Alexa.

My chest tightens, the kind of pressure that no amount of deep breaths or adrenaline can fix. She’s here. She’s actually, finally here and with the game over, I can finally be fucking blown away by that.

The kids are bouncing next to her, losing their minds like we just won the Cup. But it’s her who I can’t stop staring at. Her eyes lock on mine, and everything else—the crowd, the noise, the thrill of the win—blurs.

I rub a hand down my face, trying to pull it together, but there’s no hiding what’s going on inside me. This isn’t just a game. This isn’t just a win.

This is everything.

I push to my feet, slow, deliberate, my legs somehow heavier now than they were after sixty minutes of hockey. I tap my chest twice and hold her gaze.

She nods, just barely, but it’s enough.

I skate to the bench, adrenaline still buzzing, knowing one thing for sure—whatever happens next, I’m not losing her again.

The post-game interview questions hit like slapshots, quick and relentless.

What was the key to shutting them down in the third?

You’ve been in a bit of a scoring slump lately. How’d it feel to break out of that tonight?

Jonas, was that celebration for someone special in the stands?

I answer automatically, giving them just enough to chew on without actually saying anything. The usual script.

But my focus isn’t on them. It’s on the family section, where Alexa’s trying to keep the kids from diving over the railing in their excitement. She looks like she’s laughing. Like she belongs there.

"Big win tonight," Coach says as I head for the locker room. "Something click out there?"

I glance back at them—at her—waiting by the tunnel. And for the first time, the answer’s easy.

"Yeah," I say. "Everything."

The PR teamdescends before I'm even out of my gear. Vince's vibrating with excitement, tablet in hand, already planning how to spin this.

"The social media response is massive," he tells me, scrolling through stats. "That point to the stands? Instant viral moment. We're talking serious engagement numbers. The team's Instagram followers doubled in the last hour."

"Glad my personal life's good for business." I focus on unlacing my skates, trying to maintain a little normalcy in the middle of a circus.

"Don't be cynical. This is gold. The prodigal travel writer returns, the family reunion, the game-winning goal—you couldn't script this better."

What people really love, based on the media scrum outside, is watching Alexa try to maintain her professional facade while Jace and Lukas systematically destroy it. She's got her notepad out like she's actually here to cover hockey, but Jace keeps stealing her pen to draw on her brother’s arm.

One of my teammates passes by my stall, grinning. "Nice support section, Knight. Travel writer's got good timing."

"Shut up and hit the showers."

"Hey, I set up that winning play. I'm basically Cupid."

The media wants statements, sound bites, anything they can use to build the story. Vince's already drafting headlines:Love Conquers ParisandFamily Over Fashion Week.

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