Page 35 of My Athlete Neighbor

He tried not to notice when everyone sagged a little in relief. But as the team fell into their actual pre-game routines—minus the more elaborate superstitions—Kane felt the atmosphere shift. They were ready. They were going to play their game.

His phone buzzed one last time before he had to turn it off:

Allison:You've got this. All of you.

The first period started rough. Kane missed a perfect setup from Oliver, something he'd normally bury without thinking. The opponents scored first on a broken play.

But then something shifted. Instead of falling into panic, the team rallied. Dmitri's skating found its flow—not ballet-inspired, just pure hockey skill. Oliver stopped checking to see if his phone was recording where he had left it and was focused entirely on the game. Marcus trusted his instincts instead of his calculations. And Liam practically stood on his head in the net, making save after incredible save.

By the second period, they'd found their rhythm. Kane's line cycled the puck with practiced precision, wearing down the opposition. When Dmitri finally scored to tie it up, his celebration was simple—just pure joy, no choreography required.

During the second intermission, Kane caught glimpses of the team's usual supporters in the stands. Mrs. Peterson had produced what appeared to be championship-round lucky scarves for her entire section. The building chat group was probably going crazy. But his eyes found Allison, and everything else faded away.

She gave him a small nod, and he felt the last of his tension release. They didn't need luck. They had this. And he had her.

The third period was hockey distilled to its purest form. No superstitions, no rituals, just skill and heart and trust in each other. Kane led by example, making plays happen through sheer determination and talent. The team followed, each player elevating their game not through luck but through belief in themselves and each other.

With two minutes left, tied 1-1, Kane gathered his line during a TV timeout. "Remember what got us here," was all he said. But he saw how they responded—shoulders straightening, eyes focusing, energy aligning.

No one mentioned the puck.

The final minute felt like poetry in motion. Kane to Oliver to Dmitri, the puck flowing between them like they'd practiced it a thousand times. A perfectly timed pick by Marcus to create space. Kane finding the seam, Oliver's no-look pass, Kane's stick flexing as he one-timed it...

The goal horn sounded like victory and vindication and validation all at once.

As soon as they were back in the locker room and it was safe to use his phone, Kane texted Allison a message he should have made it clearer before now.

Chapter Fourteen

Once Allison's hands wouldn't stop shaking as she made her way to the arena's family room. The hallways echoed with celebration—she could hear Dmitri's voice carrying above the chaos, probably choreographing some kind of victory ballet. But her focus narrowed to the message on her phone:

Kane:I love you.

She pushed open the door to find Kane already waiting, still in his game gear minus his skates. His hair was damp with sweat, his face flushed from victory, and his eyes made her heart stumble in her chest.

“I love you too,” she said breathlessly.

He whirled her around. “Let’s get out of here.”

They managed to escape the arena despite Dmitri's attempts to teach everyone a victory dance, Mrs. Peterson's offerings of celebration scarves, and Oliver's livestream documentation.

The drive to their building was charged with anticipation, but there was tenderness too in the way Kane kept finding reasons to touch her—fingers linked over the center console, thumb brushing her knee at red lights, soft glances that said more than words.

Kane barely got his apartment door closed before Allison was kissing him again, all the tension and doubt of the past weeks dissolving into heat and need. His hands found her hips, lifting her against the wall with easy strength, but there was reverence in his touch now, like he was memorizing every moment.

"What do you say we get married? Let me prove every day that this isn't about luck or superstition or anything except how much I—."

She kissed him before he could finish, pouring everything she felt into it—all the fear and doubt transformed into trust and certainty. His groan vibrated through her as he carried her toward the bedroom, somehow managing not to trip over his own hockey gear scattered around. But there was no rush now, just the slow burn of finding their way home.

"Is that a yes?" He pulled back just enough to ask, his hands gentle as they traced patterns on her skin. His eyes searched hers, still holding that mix of hope and vulnerability that made her heart ache.

"Yes." She helped him with the buttons of his dress shirt, taking time to appreciate each newly revealed inch. "Although we might need a bigger place. Your hockey stuff is a hazard."

His smile was brilliant, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. "Already looking at houses. With libraries."

"And a ballet studio for Dmitri?" She pressed kisses along his jaw, feeling how his breath caught.

"And a statistical analysis room for Marcus. And a professional kitchen for Liam. And—" His voice broke slightly. "And a home. A real home, with you."

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