Page 27

LIAM

T he Boston winter has gone full nuclear by mid-November, nearly six months after graduation.

Wind whips across UB's campus—vindictive and sharp, turning the frozen quad into an arctic tundra that has students scurrying between buildings like terrified penguins.

Only the truly devoted—or certifiably insane—brave the outdoors longer than absolutely necessary.

Which explains why I'm currently stuffed into the overcrowded stands of UB's hockey arena on a Friday night, with one mission on my mind…

To record the perfect intro for our podcast's holiday special without revealing that I'm planning to ask Piper to move in together after her fellowship year ends.

"Testing, one, two," I murmur into my phone's recording app, trying to sound professional despite the chaos around me.

Some things never change at UB hockey games.

The slightly sticky floors.

The scent of stale beer poorly concealed in "water bottles.” And the crowd's bloodthirsty enthusiasm.

But some things are wildly different.

Like me. Sitting in the stands instead of on the bench, and the fact that I'm now recording relationship advice instead of dodging Coach Murphy's verbal grenades.

"Testing what?" Ryan asks, dropping into the seat beside me and immediately spilling half his nachos onto my recording setup. "Oops. My bad."

"Just the audio levels for the podcast intro," I sigh, brushing cheese off my notes—actual written notes, which still feels foreign to my spontaneity-loving soul. "Piper wanted us to capture the 'authentic hockey ambiance' for our holiday special."

"Ah, 'Love & Logic After Hours,'" Ryan nods sagely. "The show where Liam Sullivan admits he was wrong about everything and Piper Thompson smugly accepts his surrender to the dark side of relationship planning."

"That is not what our show is about.” I elbow my old teammate. "It's about balancing structure and spontaneity in relationships. Finding the middle ground."

"Sure, sure," Ryan smirks. "Which is why you now color-code your calendar, and she occasionally leaves dirty dishes in the sink during her weekend visits. Very balanced."

Before I can defend myself, my phone lights up with Piper's face—her nose scrunched, hair windblown, caught mid-laugh during our apple-picking trip last month.

My favorite kind of Piper…

Genuinely happy.

"Hey, Thompson," I answer, pressing the phone close to my ear to hear her over the pre-game noise.

"Is it as freezing there as everyone says?" she asks immediately. "Derek texted that they had to defrost the Zamboni this morning."

"It's Boston in November, so yes, we're basically living in an ice cube," I confirm, a familiar warmth spreading through me just hearing her voice. "But the arena's packed anyway. Your brother's fan club has tripled since he started as captain."

"Speaking of my brother," she says, voice dropping, "has he mentioned anything about... you know."

"You mean his secret relationship with Coach Murphy's daughter that isn't actually secret to anyone except Coach Murphy?

" I lower my voice, eyeing the ice where Derek is running warm-up drills.

"They're still in the sneaking-around phase, though Kellan says one of the freshmen caught them making out in the equipment room last week. "

Piper laughs, the sound traveling the two hundred miles between us with ease. "Poor Derek. Always enforcing rules until he's the one breaking them."

"Like podcast hosts who swore they'd never date hockey players?"

"Touché, Sullivan. How's the recording setup going?"

"It would be perfect if Ryan wasn't determined to sabotage it with nacho cheese," I reply, shooting a glare at my former roommate, who responds by deliberately crunching a chip next to my phone. "Did you send the outline for the intro?"

"Just emailed it. But remember?—"

"I know, I know. It's just a guideline, not a script. I’m allowed to improvise as long as I hit the main talking points."

"Look at you, finding the middle ground," she teases, and I can picture her proud smile.

"I learned from the best.”

The conversation shifts to her fellowship—the investigative piece she's researching, the mentor who's become her biggest advocate, the possibility of a permanent position next year.

Her voice lights up as she describes interviewing sources and crafting narratives, and I find myself grinning like an idiot in the middle of a hockey arena.

"I'm keeping you from your recording," she says finally. "Call me after the game? I have exciting news about the podcast downloads."

"Will do," I promise. "Love you, Thompson."

"Love you too, Sullivan. Don't freeze to death."

As I hang up, I catch Ryan pretending to gag. "Six months and you're still this nauseating? There should be a vaccine."

I tuck my phone away. “Real convincing coming from the guy who cried watching us reconcile during the podcast finale.”

"I had something in my eye! Multiple things! Very dusty studio!"

The crowd roars as the teams take the ice for introductions, and I spot Abigail weaving through the stands toward us, somehow managing to look fashionable despite being bundled in approximately eleven different winter layers.

"There you are!" she exclaims, wedging herself between Ryan and me. "Did I miss anything? Did you tell him the news?"

"What news?" I ask, immediately suspicious.

Abigail's eyes widen. "The, uh, podcast news? About the downloads?" She fiddles with her scarf, avoiding eye contact in a way that screams she's hiding something.

Before I can interrogate further, the announcer's voice booms through the arena: "And team captain for your UB Bulldogs... number fourteen... DEREK THOMPSON!"

The crowd erupts as Derek skates out, acknowledging the cheers with a raised stick.

My eyes drift to the coaches' bench, where Coach Murphy stands stoically—completely unaware that his daughter is somewhere in these stands, likely wearing Derek's extra jersey under her coat.

"There she is," Ryan mutters, nodding toward the upper section where a petite blonde in oversized UB gear tries to look inconspicuous. "Ten bucks says Coach finds out before Christmas."

"Twenty says Derek tells him himself," Abigail counters. "Piper says he's tired of sneaking around."

"You're both wrong," I interject as the teams line up for the face-off. “Hundred bucks says Derek damn near dies of guilt and confesses to Murphy himself.”

"What?"

"Kellan told me. Apparently, Derek hit him up last week. Asked him what he thought about telling Coach Murphy about Ellie, and Kellan said—and I quote—'If you tell that red-faced hockey dictator anything, they'll never find your body. Now run drills.'"

Ryan's nacho-laden hand freezes halfway to his mouth. "That is... terrifying and weirdly wholesome."

"Speaking of terrifying," Abigail segues "how's apartment hunting going?"

“I—How did you?—"

“Look alive, Sullivan. I’ve known Piper since we were freshmen. You think I don't know when she's hiding something? She's been researching New York rental laws and bookmarking furniture websites for weeks."

"It was supposed to be a surprise," I sigh, deflating slightly. "I'm asking her at Christmas, when I visit for two weeks. I found a place in Brooklyn that's halfway between her fellowship and where I'd train."

Abigail's expression softens. "That's actually really sweet, Sullivan. And don't worry—Piper has no idea you're planning to ask. She thinks she's being subtle with her research."

"That woman has never been subtle a day in her life," Ryan laughs. "Remember when she tried to secretly record 'Love Lab' data at Hockey House? With a bright red notebook labeled 'Hockey Party Observational Study'?"

"Or when she wore Liam's sweatshirt to class and tried to convince Derek she bought it herself?" Abigail adds.

"To be fair," I defend, "neither of us was exactly masters of discretion. I once hid in her shower when Derek stopped by unannounced."

"With the water running?" Ryan asks.

"Hey, I panicked! I was in there for forty-five minutes. My fingers were pruned for days."

Our laughter is cut short by a deafening horn—Derek has scored the first goal of the game, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

As the celebration continues, I see a familiar figure entering our row, and my face breaks into a wide smile.

"Wren!" Abigail exclaims, jumping up to hug Kellan's now-fiancée. "I thought you had that gallery installation tonight?"

"Wrapped early," Wren explains, settling beside us. Her engagement ring catches the arena lights as she unwraps her scarf. "Couldn't miss Derek's big game. Plus, someone had to make sure this one actually showed up," she adds, nudging me.

"I'm wounded," I place a hand over my heart. "I've attended every home game I'm not playing or traveling for."

"Only because Piper would know if you didn't," Wren teases. "She has spies everywhere."

"Speaking of Piper," Abigail interjects, "did you hear about Professor Bennett using their podcast as required listening for his Digital Media course?"

"No way," Ryan laughs. "From accidental hijacking to academic curriculum. Classic Piper."

"Bennett says it's the perfect case study in authentic communication evolving in real time," Wren confirms. "Apparently there's a waiting list for his spring seminar."

A tendril of warmth wraps around my chest—woven with pride, maybe, or the satisfaction of knowing that what started as a desperate improvisation has become something lasting and meaningful.

The game progresses with UB maintaining a narrow lead.

During a timeout, I finally manage to record my podcast intro, the crowd's energy providing the perfect backdrop as I explain our theme: "Love, Lies, and Locker Room Secrets: A Holiday Special”

"That's definitely going to get Derek's attention," Abigail snorts, scrolling through her phone. "Oh! Piper just posted on our group chat. The fellowship director wants to feature your podcast in their media symposium next month."

"Seriously?" I grab her phone, reading Piper's message. "They want us to present a workshop on 'Authentic Digital Storytelling Through Personal Experience'? That's... I mean, that's Piper's territory. I just provide the charming anecdotes."

"False modesty doesn't suit you, Sullivan," Wren says, nudging my shoulder. "You've grown beyond the class clown hockey jock. Admit it."

She's right, though it still feels strange acknowledging how much I've changed since Piper ambushed me into that first recording.

I'm still spontaneous, still prefer action over analysis—but I've learned the value of reflection, of planning for things that matter, of articulating feelings rather than just acting on them.

The buzzer signals the end of the second period with UB leading 3-1.

As fans shuffle toward concessions, I check my phone to find a text from Piper:

PIPER

Weather update: Surprise snowstorm headed your way. All flights to NYC canceled tomorrow. Tragic, isn't it?

PIPER

Guess I'll have to wait until next weekend to see you.

My face falls.

We'd planned a rare mid-month visit since my team—last year’s minor league championship winner, the South End Vikings—has a bye week and her fellowship schedule cleared unexpectedly.

I'm typing my disappointed response when another message appears:

PIPER

Unless...

Unless what, Thompson?

PIPER

Unless I'm already in Boston. Turn around.

My head snaps up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.

And there she is, standing at the top of our section, bundled in her UB scarf and beanie, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.

I'm out of my seat and up the stairs before I fully register moving, narrowly avoiding a kid with a mountainous nacho platter in a karmic callback to Ryan's earlier mess.

"You're here," I state the obvious when I reach her, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and bright brown eyes. "How?—?"

"I took an earlier flight," she explains, her smile growing. "Totally spontaneous decision. No pro-con list. No three alternative scenarios. I just... wanted to surprise you."

"Consider me thoroughly surprised," I say, tugging her into my arms. "And thoroughly thrilled. How long can you stay?"

"That's the other surprise," she replies, eyes dancing. "The fellowship's adding a Boston component to our investigative piece. I'll be here for the next three weeks, working remotely and conducting interviews."

"Three weeks? My, my. Piper ‘Delectable-as-Ever’ Thompson…did you orchestrate a work assignment just to spend more time with me?"

"I would never leverage my professional connections for personal gain," she says primly, then breaks into a grin. "But I may have suggested that the Boston angle was essential to the story's integrity."

"And was it?"

"Absolutely." She loops her arms around my neck. "The story's about how digital communication is changing relationship dynamics. I'd say we're pretty much experts on that topic."

I laugh, suddenly not caring about the crowded arena or the game or anything beyond the woman in front of me. I feel a stirring in my pants, and pray that no kids or grandparents are anywhere near. “I was going to ask you at Christmas, but since you're here now and clearly embracing spontaneity..."

Her brows pull together. "Ask me what?"

"To move in together. When your fellowship year ends," I say in a rush. "I found a place in Brooklyn. Equidistant from your potential job offers and my training facility. With enough space for your color-coded filing system and my hockey gear. And a spare room for recording the podcast."

Her eyes widen, then fill, shimmering. "You've been planning this? With research and logistics and?—"

"Everything. I even made a spreadsheet. It was horrifying."

She laughs wetly, pressing her forehead to mine. "Liam Sullivan using spreadsheets. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Only for the things that really matter. So? What do you say, Thompson? Ready to turn our long-distance experiment into a cohabitation study?"

"The data supports it," she says, her voice warm with emotion. "And so does my heart."

As we rejoin our friends for the final period, I marvel at how far we've come.

From reluctant co-hosts to partners building a life together.

Our path hasn't been straightforward, and the future is full of surprises, but that's the beauty of our particular experiment.

Some hypotheses are worth testing. Some risks worth taking.

Some connections worth fighting for.

Even if they begin with an accidental podcast kidnapping and a hockey player who never saw it coming.