Page 81 of Huge Pucking Play

"Call me George, please." He smiles slightly.

"As for Marjorie..." He sighs. "Her behavior was wildly inappropriate. I'll speak with HR about that immediately."

"We don't want to cause problems," Cyn starts.

George holds up a hand. "The problem isn't your relationship, Ms. Lockhart. It's threatening someone's career over a non-existent policy violation." He looks at me. "I won’t tolerate that from anyone on my team.”

I nod, a surge of respect for him washing through me.

George stands indicating the end of the meeting. "Keep doing excellent work, both of you. That's all I ask."

We both rise and I extend my hand. "We will."

He shakes it firmly, then offers his hand to Cyn. "I don't often question Marjorie's personnel judgments—she's been here longer than most of us—but her assessment of your skills couldn't be more wrong. The players speak very highly of you."

Cyn shakes his hand, her professional mask lifting slightly to reveal genuine gratitude. "That means a lot."

"Good." George walks us to the door. "Now, I suggest you both get back to preparing for tomorrow's game. Edmonton's power play has been ruthless lately."

"On it," I say, and we step into the hallway.

The door closes behind us. Cyn and I look at each other, not touching, not speaking. Her eyes are bright. We walk side by side down the hallway, maintaining proper distance until we reach the elevator.

"Did that just happen?" she whispers as the doors close, giving us a moment of privacy.

"It did." I finally let myself smile. "It absolutely did."

The relief is so strong it makes my knees weak. I won't have to choose between my career and her. She won't be punished for choosing me. Sometimes the game breaks your way after all.

We head into my office and I shut the door behind us. The blinds are already drawn from our earlier strategy session. Cyn stands in the center of the room, her professional composure still intact. Then her eyes meet mine, and it crumbles all at once. A smile breaks across her face like sunrise.

I cross to her in two strides and wrap my arms around her waist, lifting her slightly. Her hands grip my shoulders, and she lets out a sound between a laugh and a sob.

"I can't believe it," she whispers against my neck. "I was so sure we were screwed."

I set her down, but I don’t let go. Not yet. The adrenaline crash hits us both—the aftermath of preparing for the worst and finding grace instead.

She laughs, the sound full and unrestrained. "God, I feel like I can breathe for the first time today."

I guide her to the small couch against the wall. We sit, her hand in mine, our shoulders touching. Simple contact that felt dangerous hours ago now sanctioned, acknowledged.

I bring her hand to my lips, press a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm sorry this morning was so awful."

"I’m okay." She leans her head against my shoulder. "I’m just happy we don't have to sneak around anymore. No more pretending we barely know each other in the hallways."

The relief in her voice mirrors what's expanding in my chest. Freedom. We have freedom now.

"I was ready to walk away from my job, you know." I say it quietly. "If he'd made us choose."

She sits up, eyes serious suddenly. "I never asked you to do that."

"You didn't have to."

"I wouldn't have let you."

I smile at her fierceness. "Might not have been up to you."

"Everything that involves us is up to both of us." She pokes my chest for emphasis. "Equal partners, Hughes. On and off the clock."

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