Page 27 of My Athlete Neighbor

"No statistics at dinner," Coach Vicky called from the doorway. "But I will take some of that borscht. My grandmother used to make it after every game."

"First you must learn proper technique." Dmitri demonstrated, spooning sour cream into the deep red soup and stirring it to create a perfect swirl. "Is art form. Like triple axel, but with spoon."

"Here we go," Oliver muttered. "Twenty minutes about proper borscht technique."

"Better than your twenty minutes about Instagram filters," Kane chirped.

"And these?" Allison gestured to what looked like small dumplings keeping warm in the oven, trying to head off the social media versus soup technique debate.

"Pelmeni! Best part of meal." His face lit up with pride. "Is like tiny pockets of happiness. Meat wrapped in pasta. My cousin taught me her secret. A bit of ice water in filling makes them juicy."

"Over FaceTime," Oliver added. "He also spent three hours with his mom yesterday getting the recipes exactly right."

"Is better than your protein shake dinners." Dmitri sniffed. "No wonder your one-timer lacks power. Need real food for real hockey."

"My protein shakes are scientifically formulated—"

"Science cannot compete with grandmother's recipes," Dmitri declared. "Is proven fact."

"Actually," Marcus started, but several teammates threw napkins at him before he could launch into another statistical analysis.

As the team settled into eating, Allison noticed the individual dramas playing out around her. Dmitri kept glancing at his phone, positioned to show the time in Moscow. Oliver alternatedbetween filming and checking his social media metrics. Marcus had a physics textbook propped against the table.

Each of them balancing their hockey lives with personal pressures—family across oceans, online expectations, academic demands.

"It's a lot, isn't it?" Kane murmured beside her, following her gaze. "Everyone trying to juggle hockey with everything else."

"At least they have each other," Allison said, watching Dmitri show Marcus's something on his phone that made them both laugh. "The team seems really close."

"We are."

The team. Always about the team. The words from the press conference echoed in her head—about luck and superstitions and playoff pressure.

"Allison." His hand found hers under the table. "About what you heard earlier at the press conference..."

"I get it." She stirred her borscht, watching the sour cream create patterns. "The team needs good luck. The puck helps morale."

"No." His fingers tightened on hers. "Well, yes, but that's not—" He broke off, frustrated. "Could we talk somewhere private?"

They slipped onto Dmitri's balcony, the sounds of team dinner muted behind the glass door. The night air was crisp, carrying the promise of playoff weather.

"What I said to those reporters..." Kane ran a hand through his hair. "I was trying to protect you. From the media circus, the pressure, all of it. But I did it wrong. Made it sound like you were just some good luck charm for the team."

"Aren't I?" The words came out more bitter than she intended.

"God, no." He turned to face her fully. "Allison, you're the best thing that's happened to me. Not the team— me. Andthat terrifies me because I've never wanted anything more than hockey before. Never let myself want anything more."

"Kane—"

"Let me finish. Please." He took her hands in his. "The timing wasn't fortunate because of the puck or the winning streak. It was fortunate because it brought you into my life.”

Through the glass, they could see Dmitri laughing at something his mother was saying on video chat, his whole face lit up with joy.

"The team doesn't need your grandfather's puck," Kane continued softly. "We need you. I need you. And I'm sorry I didn't make that clear to those reporters. I was trying to shield you from the attention, but instead I made you doubt what's between us."

"I've been burned before," she whispered. "When hockey and relationships mix..."

"I know." He touched her cheek. "But I'm not Jesse. And what I feel for you has nothing to do with luck or playoffs or anything except who you are."

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