Page 26 of My Athlete Neighbor

"We could grab dinner, talk about—"

"I can't." The words came out too fast. "I have... library things."

His face fell. "Right. Of course."

"Kane..."

"It's fine." But it wasn't, and they both knew it.

She watched him walk away, her heart pulling in two directions. Part of her wanted to call him back, to forget what she'd overheard, to trust that what was growing between them was real.

But the other part rememberedthe timing was fortunateand couldn't stop wondering if everything—the flirting, the kisses, the quiet moments between chaos—was just another playoff strategy.

Her phone buzzed again.

Dmitri:Team dinner at my apartment!

How did she get signed up to this chat? She wasn’t part of the team.

Dmitri:Teaching everyone proper borscht appreciation. No excuses. Is mandatory team bonding.

Oliver: I'm documenting this for posterity.

Marcus:92% chance of food poisoning based on last attempt.

Liam:I'm bringing backup pizzas just in case.

Allison looked at her phone, then at Kane's retreating figure, then back at the ice where so many moments of connection had happened.

Maybe understanding came through watching and waiting, through seeing people as they really were beyond the narratives and pressures and expectations. Maybe it was time to stop listening to doubts and start trusting her own observations.

"Kane!" The word echoed in the empty arena.

He turned, hope and wariness warring on his face.

"Save me some borscht?"

His smile was slow but real. "Always."

It wasn't a resolution. They still needed to talk about what she'd overheard, about expectations and pressure and trust. But watching him walk away with lighter shoulders, Allison thought maybe that was okay. Because sometimes understanding came one small moment at a time.

SAVORY AROMAS FILLEDDmitri's apartment, where he'd spent the day preparing a team dinner. A pot of beef stroganoff simmered on the stove while something simmered in another pot, filling the air with the scent of beef and vegetables. Classical music played softly in the background, a piano concerto that reminded him of home.

"Welcome to team dinner," Dmitri announced as everyone filed in. "My mother always says food brings family together. Is important before playoffs."

"It smells amazing," Allison said, peering at the various pots. "What's this one?"

"Borscht." Dmitri lifted the lid, revealing a rich, deep red soup. "Is like therapy in bowl. Beef, beets, cabbage, everything good. My mother swears it heals all injuries."

"Is that why you've been force-feeding it to Jax every time he takes a hard hit?" Kane asked, grinning.

"Works better than your ice packs," Dmitri shot back.

"His recovery time improved by thirty percent,” Marcus said.

"That's because he'll do anything to stop you hovering with soup," Oliver chimed in, already setting up his camera.

"Statistics don't lie." Marcus pulled out his phone. "I've been tracking team injuries against borscht consumption. The correlation is actually quite interesting—"

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