Page 79 of The Boyfriend Zone

As we cleaned up, I noticed a stray fortune cookie that had fallen beneath a stack of papers. I cracked it open, pulling out the small strip of paper inside.

"An unexpected road will lead to lasting friendships," I read aloud. "Well, that's surprisingly accurate."

Sean wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "I'd say it led to something more than friendship," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I leaned back into his embrace, closing my eyes to commit this moment to memory—the solid strength of his chest against my back, the gentle pressure of his arms around my waist, the absolute rightness of being held by him.

"Definitely more," I agreed softly.

We stood like that for a long moment, neither of us needing to fill the silence with words. Outside the window, campus life continued its usual rhythm—students hurrying to evening classes, friends gathering for dinner, couples walking hand in hand across the quad. But here in this small corner of the newspaper office, time seemed suspended, holding us in a perfect bubble of contentment.

Eventually, we gathered our things and headed out, Sean's hand finding mine as we walked across campus.

Chapter 25: Sean

The locker room before Senior Night had a different energy than usual—a strange mix of pre-game focus and nostalgic reflection. For the seniors on the team, myself included, this was one of our last times playing on home ice, possibly the very last if we didn't advance far enough in the tournament to host playoff games.

"Nervous?" Tristan asked, noticing me staring contemplatively at my helmet.

"A little," I admitted. "Not about the game. Just... all of it. The ceremony, the symbolism. The what-comes-next part."

Tristan nodded in understanding. "Yeah, it hits different. Four years gone in a blink."

Around us, the other seniors were unusually quiet, each processing the milestone in their own way. The underclassmen, sensing the mood, kept their usual pre-game antics more subdued out of respect.

"Your grandmother made it in?" Tristan asked as he laced up his skates.

"Yeah, she's here. My dad too, flew in this morning." I still found it hard to believe that my father had rearranged his busy schedule to be here today. Our relationship had shifted subtly but significantly since our dinner conversation—not perfect by any means, but more honest, more balanced.

"And Lucas?"

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face at the mention of his name. "He's sitting with them. First time they're all meeting in person, actually."

"Bold move," Tristan whistled. "Introducing the boyfriend to the family on Senior Night. No pressure or anything."

"Lucas can handle it," I said with more confidence than I felt. "He's good with people. And Grandma Rose already loves him from our video calls."

"And your dad?"

I shrugged, focusing intently on taping my stick. "He's trying. That's something, at least."

Before Tristan could respond, Coach Barnett entered the locker room, signaling the start of our pre-game routine. Time compressed, as it always did on game days, into a series of familiar rituals—the warm-up drills, the strategic reminders, the growing anticipation as we prepared to take the ice.

The Senior Night ceremony itself was a blur of emotion. Standing on the ice with Grandma Rose and my father, receiving the framed jersey and bouquet as my name was announced, hearing the genuine cheers from the crowd—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Rose milked her moment in the spotlight, of course, blowing theatrical kisses to the crowd and making everyone laugh. My father was more reserved, but the hand he placed briefly on my shoulder spoke volumes. And from his seat just behind them, Lucas beamed with undisguised pride, holding up a homemade sign that read "We love you Sean!" in what I recognized as Nate's artistic handwriting.

As the national anthem played and we lined up for the face-off, I took a moment to truly absorb it all—the packed arena, the familiar ice beneath my skates, the teammates who had become family over the past four years.

The game itself was electric, both teams fighting fiercely for a crucial playoff position. I felt locked in from the first shift, my body responding without hesitation, the months of rehabilitation and careful return to play culminating in what might have been my best performance of the season.

In the second period, I found myself with a perfect opportunity to contribute offensively—a clear lane to the net opening up unexpectedly. Instead of taking the shot, I saw Zach positioned even better at the far post and sent him a stretch pass that he buried with clinical precision. The crowd erupted, and as we celebrated, Zach grabbed me in a headlock, shouting "That's what I'm talking about!" loud enough for the first three rows to hear.

But the true test came in the final minute of the game. We were up by one, the opposing team had pulled their goalie, and everyone on the ice knew they would throw everything they had at us for an equalizer. During a chaotic scramble in front of our net, I saw an opponent winding up for what would surely be a game-tying shot.

Without hesitation, I dove in front of it, feeling the puck impact painfully against my previously injured shoulder. The immediate sting was worth it as the puck deflected harmlessly to the corner. I crashed to the ice, momentarily dazed by both the impact and the flash of pain.

Through watering eyes, I caught a glimpse of Lucas's face in the crowd, his expression shifting from excitement to concern as he realized where the puck had hit me. But before he could truly worry, I pushed myself up, grimacing but grinning as my teammates surrounded me, thumping my back and shouting congratulations as the final horn sounded.

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