Page 83 of The Boyfriend Zone

"Yeah," I confirmed. "Besides, we're getting ahead of ourselves. I don't even know if I got the internship yet."

"Let's check," Sean suggested suddenly, reaching for my laptop on the coffee table. "The posting is probably still up, right? We can compare dates with the camp schedule, see how they'd overlap."

We spent the next half hour huddled over my computer, pulling up information about both opportunities, laughing at the serendipity of it all. If everything worked out—if I got the internship, if Sean attended the camp—we'd be in Boston at almost exactly the same time, with only a week or two difference on either end.

"It's like it was meant to be," I mused, closing the laptop once we'd confirmed the dates.

"Very cosmic," Sean agreed with a grin. "The hockey gods and the journalism gods conspiring together."

The conversation shifted naturally into deeper waters—what came after summer, what our plans might look like beyond these immediate opportunities.

"I'm probably going to take over as Editor-in-Chief at the paper my final semester," I confessed, a goal I'd been quietly working toward but hadn't discussed much with Sean. "Mia's recommended me to the faculty advisor, and it would be huge for my resume."

Sean's face lit up with genuine pride. "Lucas, that's amazing!" He pulled me into a bear hug, nearly crushing the air from my lungs. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? This calls for a celebration!"

"It's not official yet," I laughed, touched by his enthusiasm. "And with everything going on—the championship, finals, graduation planning—it didn't seem like the right time."

"It's always the right time for good news," Sean insisted.

His unabashed pride in my achievements was one of the countless things I'd come to love about him—the way he treated my successes as if they were his own, never competitive, always supportive.

"I've been thinking about something else too," I said, feeling suddenly shy about sharing the idea that had been taking shape in my mind. "Something career-wise, I mean."

Sean looked at me expectantly, his full attention focused on my words in that way that always made me feel valued.

"I'm thinking about focusing on sports journalism long-term," I explained. "But not just game recaps or player profiles. I want to write about the human side—the pressures athletes face, the way the system sometimes fails them, the reforms that could make sports healthier for everyone involved."

"Because of me?" Sean asked, his expression unreadable.

"Partly," I admitted. "Seeing what you went through with your injury, how the culture pushed you to hide it... it made me realize there are important stories that aren't being told the right way. But it's also because I genuinely love sports—the drama of it, the community, the way it brings people together. I want to write about it in a way that matters."

Sean was quiet for a moment, processing this. Then he nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "You'd be amazing at that. Athletes need voices like yours—people who understand both the game and the person playing it."

"What about you?" I asked. "The camp is a big step toward going pro. Is that still the dream?"

It was Sean's turn to look contemplative. "Yes," he said finally. "I want to take hockey as far as I can. But this year has shown me that there are other things I'm interested in too. Coaching, maybe. Sports management. If the pro thing doesn't pan out, or even after a short stint... I think I'd be okay."

He met my eyes directly, a depth of emotion in his gaze. "I have other things that fulfill me now," he said softly. "Especially you."

The simple declaration hit me like a physical force. For someone like Sean, who had built his entire identity around hockey for as long as he could remember, to acknowledge that there was more to his life, more to his happiness than the sport—it was monumental.

"I love you," I said, the words slipping out before I could overthink them. We'd been dancing around this declaration for weeks, saying it in every way except explicitly, but suddenly it seemed absurd to hold back any longer.

Sean's eyes widened briefly before his face softened into the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen. "I love you too," he replied, pulling me closer. "So much."

The kiss that followed was different from our others—deeper somehow, infused with the promise of futures intertwined no matter what paths we took individually.

When we finally broke apart, I couldn't help the slightly giddy laugh that escaped me. "Well, that makes the whole potential long-distance thing a lot less scary."

"Definitely improves the odds," Sean agreed, his expression a mixture of happiness and mild disbelief, as if he couldn't quite process that this was real. "Though I still vote for the cosmic coincidence option where we both end up in Boston."

"From your lips to the hockey gods' ears," I grinned.

We spent the rest of the evening curled together on the couch, talking about increasingly ridiculous hypothetical scenarios for our future. Like me following Sean to some remote Canadian town if he got drafted there. "Hope you like moose and maple syrup for every meal" In another scenario, Sean attending press conferences where I was the reporter. "I'll only answer questions from the cute journalist in the third row".

"You'd make a terrible hockey wife," Sean teased, running his fingers through my hair. "You can barely boil water without setting off the smoke alarm."

"Excuse you," I retorted with mock indignation. "I would be an excellent hockey wife. I'd learn to cook, I'd cheer appropriately at games, I'd join all the right charity committees."

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