Page 51 of Gamechanger

I moved closer, drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame. "I learned from the best," I murmured, letting myself lean into him. "Watching you face your fears... it made me want to face mine."

Moose's arm encircled me, solid and comforting. His hand found the small of my back, and I felt the slight tremor in his fingers. It struck me then how far we'd both come—Moose allowing himself this vulnerability, me no longer flinching at the reminder of our size difference.

"We make a pretty good team, huh?" Moose said, his voice rumbling through his chest.

I tilted my face up to meet his gaze, seeing my own strength reflected in his eyes. "Yeah," I whispered. "We really do."

A distant song drifted up from a neighboring apartment, the melody faint but sweet. Moose cocked his head, listening, then began to hum along softly. I recognized the tune—an old jazz standard my dad used to play.

Without a word, Moose stepped back, keeping one hand on my waist while the other gently clasped mine. His eyes asked a silent question. In response, I stepped closer, placing my free hand on his broad chest.

We began to sway, there on the balcony under the misted sky. Moose continued to hum, the vibrations traveling through his chest to my palm. Our movements were unhurried, a gentle give and take like waves lapping at the shore.

I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me. The solid warmth of Moose's body, the tender way he held me, the soft rumble of his humming—it all formed a cocoon of safety and affection I'd never known before.

As we turned slowly, I caught our reflection in the sliding glass door. The sight nearly took my breath away. Moose's large frame curved protectively around my smaller one, but there was nothing diminishing about it. We fit together perfectly, each complementing the other's shape.

The song came to an end, but we continued our slow dance, moving to a rhythm only we could hear. Moose's hummingfaded, replaced by the soft sound of his breathing and the distant city noises.

"Finn," he murmured, his lips close to my ear. "I'm so proud of you."

Those simple words, spoken with such sincerity, broke something open inside me. All the pent-up emotion from the game, from the weeks of supporting Moose through his struggles, from years of fighting to prove myself—it all came rushing out.

I buried my face in Moose's chest, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Moose held me tighter, one hand moving to cradle the back of my head.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I've got you. Let it out."

And I did. I cried for the scared kid I used to be, always picked last and told he was too small. I cried for the rookie fighting to prove he belonged. I cried for Moose and the battles he was facing. But mostly, I cried from relief—relief that I'd found someone who saw me, all of me, and thought I was enough.

When the storm passed, I lifted my head, expecting to feel embarrassed. But the look in Moose's eyes held no judgment, only understanding and something deeper, something that made my heart race.

"Feel better?" he asked, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear.

I nodded, managing a watery smile. "Yeah. Sorry for ruining your shirt."

Moose chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. "Pretty sure it's seen worse. Hockey players aren't exactly known for being delicate."

That startled a laugh out of me. "True enough."

We fell silent again, still swaying slightly. The city hummed around us, but on that balcony, we were in a world of our own.

"Moose?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I think... I know I've told you I love you, but now I think I'm fallingin lovewith you."

Moose's movements stilled. For a heart-stopping moment, I feared I'd said too much. Then he tilted my chin up, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Finn Novak," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I think I'm already there."

Chapter fifteen

Moose

Ipaced the length of my living room, each step a battle against the urge to retreat. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, a Greek chorus to my anxiety. Finn sat in my favorite armchair, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking.

"What if this ruins everything?" I blurted out, stopping to face him. "The team, my job, our careers... hell, even my knitting circle might kick me out."

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