Page 85 of Cold Comeback
I braced myself for another explanation about chemistry versus connection.
Instead, he touched my stick, running his thumb over the blue and white striped tape wrapped around the blade.
"I gave you my luck," he said quietly. "Three seasons of superstition. Three seasons of that tape getting me through every game that mattered. And you know what you did with it?"
I waited.
"You made it better. Every goal you've scored, every pass you've made with my tape—it's not mine anymore. It's ours." He started shaking. "Dammit, Thatcher, Jordan wanted to carve something permanent in secret. You took what I gave you and made it into something we built together."
He looked up at me, eyes bright.
"Jordan carved our initials and hid them. You wear mine on your stick where everyone can see."
I didn't know what to say. All this time that I'd been worried about being his second choice, I'd been carrying proof of his faith in me into every game.
"I never thought about it like that."
"That's the point. You didn't have to think about it. You took what I offered and made it part of who you are." He stepped closer. "Jordan wanted me to be his secret. You made me part of your game."
We drove back home in silence, each lost in private thoughts.
I followed Gideon into the team house.
"Are we okay?" he asked.
"I think so," I said. "Eventually."
"Eventually?"
"I need some time to process all this. To figure out what it means."
He nodded, understanding but clearly not liking my hesitance. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready."
Inside, the house was quiet. Pluto and Linc were out somewhere, probably arguing about condiments while chugging overpriced craft beer. I climbed the stairs to my room, sat on the edge of my bed, and tried to make sense of the day.
Jordan's story wasn't only about regret but about choices and consequences and the courage required to build something real. He'd chosen safety over vulnerability, certainty over risk. The result was three years of wondering what might have been.
There was also an element of timing. Maybe Jordan and Gideon wouldn't have worked three years ago. Maybe Gideon needed those years to become someone who could choose love over fear. Perhaps I needed my own journey through failure and humiliation to become someone worth choosing.
My phone buzzed with a text from Gideon:
Gideon:For what it's worth, Jordan was right about one thing. I did stop fighting myself. Not because you made it safe—because you made it worth the risk
I stared at the message for a long time before responding:
Thatcher:Tomorrow?
Gideon:Tomorrow.
It wasn't the neat resolution I'd hoped for. Questions lingered. Doubts persisted. Maybe that's what happened in authentic relationships—messy, complicated, and worth fighting for anyway.
Tomorrow, I'd choose Gideon again. And the day after that. Until choosing him became as natural as breathing and as automatic as the rhythm of skates on ice.
It was enough. It was everything.
Chapter twenty
Gideon
