Page 95 of The Boyfriend Zone

By the time we finished our calls—Lucas's mother was equally delighted by the apartment tour, though less opinionated about our decorating choices—night had fallen, the city lights visible through our windows as we continued unpacking.

I uncovered an old playlist on my phone, the same one we'd listened to on that team bus ride so many months ago, and set it to play softly in the background as we worked. Box by box, the apartment transformed from a collection of disparate items into our home, each object finding its place in our shared space.

The championship trophy took pride of place on a shelf in the living room, something I'd initially been hesitant about displaying so prominently.

"It's yours," I'd protested when Lucas insisted it should be front and center. "You earned it."

"We earned it," Lucas had corrected firmly. "That goal doesn't happen without your deflection. It's a team trophy, remember? And we're a team."

It was hard to argue with that logic, especially when he looked at me with those earnest eyes that still made my heart skip a beat.

Now, as I set up the last of my hockey gear in the designated corner of our bedroom—a compromise we'd reached during the apartment hunting process—I felt a profound sense of contentment settle over me. This place, with its modest square footage and second-hand furniture, already felt more like home than anywhere I'd lived since leaving my grandmother's house for college.

When I returned to the living room, I found Lucas on the couch, a tired but satisfied expression on his face as he surveyed our evening's work.

"I think we did pretty well," he commented as I dropped down beside him. "I mean, we still have about a dozen boxes to unpack, but the essentials are done."

"The essentials being the TV, the bed, and the coffee maker," I clarified.

"Exactly. A man of priorities."

I pulled him into my arms, arranging us so his back was against my chest, my chin resting comfortably on top of his head. "Thank you," I said softly, feeling the simple words were inadequate for what I was trying to express.

"For helping you unpack?" Lucas asked, though I suspected he knew what I really meant.

"For everything," I clarified anyway. "For making this place feel like home already. For being willing to rearrange your entire senior year so we could be together. For believing in me when I wasn't sure I believed in myself."

Lucas turned in my arms to face me, his expression serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'd say 'you're welcome,' but it feels wrong since I've gotten as much out of this as you have. More, probably."

"Doubtful," I argued lightly. "I'm clearly the lucky one in this relationship."

"We could debate that all night," Lucas yawned, the long day of moving and unpacking clearly catching up with him. "Or we could go christen our new bed with a solid eight hours of uninterrupted sleep."

"Such a romantic," I laughed, standing and pulling him up with me. "But sleep does sound pretty appealing right now. We’ll finish unpacking tomorrow."

As we prepared for bed in our new bathroom—navigating the unfamiliar space with only minor elbow bumping—I found myself repeatedly catching Lucas's eye in the mirror, both of us smiling like we shared some wonderful secret.

And maybe we did. The secret of how unexpected roads could lead to perfect destinations, of how the most important journeys weren't about places but about people. Of how a chance assignment to cover the hockey team had somehow resulted in this—a home, a partnership, a future unfolding with all its uncertainties and possibilities.

Chapter 31: Sean

"That's the last one," I announced, setting down a box labeled 'Kitchen - Fragile' in Lucas's neat handwriting. "Unless you've got more hidden somewhere that I don't know about."

"No more boxes," Lucas confirmed, using a pair of scissors to cut open the one I'd just placed on the counter. "Though I make no promises about not acquiring more stuff now that we actually have space for it."

Our apartment was gradually taking shape, transforming from a collection of walls and floors into something that felt like home. I'd hung my college jersey on the wall. Lucas had initially protested—"It's your jersey, it should be in your closet or something"—but I'd insisted.

"It's not just about hockey," I'd explained. "It's about what happened during that season. About us."

Understanding had dawned in his eyes, and he'd relented without further argument. Now, my blue and white number 28 hung on the wall, and beside it, Lucas had placed a framed photo of himself with his press pass and notebook—a simple but perfect visual representation of how our separate paths had converged.

"What's in that one?" I asked, nodding toward the box he was unpacking.

"Just some kitchen stuff," Lucas replied, carefully extracting a set of glasses wrapped in newspaper. "Nothing exciting. Though I think my mom snuck in some dish towels she thought we needed. She doesn't trust our ability to maintain a functional kitchen."

"Smart woman," I commented, moving to help him unwrap the various items. "Given that neither of us could cook anything more complicated than pasta until a few months ago."

"Speak for yourself," Lucas protested. "I made a very serviceable stir-fry last week."

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