Page 95 of Cold Comeback
By the time I returned to the locker room, most of the guys had already changed and headed out. I sat in my stall, phone in my hands, staring at the dark screen.
No messages.
My father hadn't watched and hadn't called. Hadn't sent even a perfunctory congratulations text about the game-winner.
Six months ago, that silence would have destroyed me. I would have spent hours crafting the perfect message to send him, fishing for acknowledgment of my accomplishments.
I finally realized I didn't need it.
"Ready?" Gideon appeared beside me, gear bag over his shoulder.
"Yeah." I stood, shouldering my own bag. "More than ready."
We walked toward the exit together, our footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Through the walls, I heard the distant sounds of the arena settling—chairs being stacked, and the Zamboni preparing for its final run.
"Gideon?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For what you said out there."
He paused at the door, turning to face me. "I meant it. Every word."
"I know you did. That's what made it perfect."
"How does it feel to be ours?"
"Like coming home."
Epilogue - Gideon
Iparked in the same spot I'd used since arriving in Richmond, but it didn't feel the same.
Thatcher's hand rested on my knee as we sat in my idling truck, both of us staring at the Richmond Reapers practice facility. Late August heat shimmered off the asphalt, and the familiar building looked the same—concrete walls, faded team logo, stubborn patch of grass that refused to grow properly.
Nine months ago, I would have calculated the optics of arriving together. I'd worry about who might see us. Next, I'd strategize the safest way to maintain professional distance while my heart ached over wanting him.
Now, he rubbed my jeans with his thumb, and I didn't check the parking lot for witnesses.
"Ready for this?" he asked.
"Yes." I covered his hand with mine. "You?"
"A little nervous about the new guys. I hope they fit."
I studied his profile—the strong line of his jaw, and the scar at his chin I'd memorized with my tongue. "They will. Knox'll make sure of it."
We'd picked up three new players over the summer. A defenseman from Wheeling, a center from Norfolk who'd requested the trade specifically to play in Richmond, and a rookie winger fresh out of juniors who'd apparently watched our documentary and decided we were the team he wanted to join.
The documentary. Fuck.
"Think anyone's seen the show?" Thatcher asked, reading my thoughts.
"Probably. Wren said it's been streaming steadily since June."
We climbed out of the truck, and I grabbed both our gear bags without thinking about it.
"Gideon!" Wren appeared before we'd made it ten feet, clipboard in one hand, coffee in the other. She'd been lying in wait. "Perfect timing. We need to discuss media requests."
