Page 15

I stood outside Sean's apartment building, the clock on my phone reading 11:47 PM. The night air had a bite to it, winter creeping into late fall, and I stamped my feet to keep warm as I debated whether to text him again.

I couldn't get the image of Sean in that locker room out of my mind—the pain in his eyes, the defeat in his posture, the vulnerability he'd finally let me see. I'd texted twice to check on him, receiving only brief responses that he was "fine, just tired."

Fine. The same lie he'd been telling for weeks.

Before I could overthink it any further, I pulled out my phone and typed: Hey. I know it's late, but I'd really like to see you. How are you feeling, really?

The response came more quickly than I expected: Been better. Not at my apartment. Staying at my grandma's house. It's close to the sports medicine clinic.

Then a second text with an address, followed by: If you still want to come by.

My heart skipped. He was inviting me over, actually letting me in when he was at his most vulnerable. It felt significant in a way I couldn't quite articulate.

On my way. Be there in 10.

The address led me to a small bungalow on a quiet residential street about a mile from campus. Porch lights glowed warmly against the darkness, and carefully tended flower beds lined the short walkway to the front door.

I remembered Sean mentioning his grandmother once—Grandma Rose, whose frozen backyard pond had been his first skating rink. The woman who had taught him to skate before he could properly walk.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked softly, conscious of the late hour.

The door opened to reveal a petite woman with silver hair. She was wearing a cardigan over pajamas, her feet in cozy slippers, but she didn't look like I'd woken her.

"Hello," I said, suddenly nervous. "I'm Lucas. Sean said I could stop by?"

Recognition sparked in her eyes, followed by a warm smile that immediately put me at ease.

"Lucas! Yes, of course. Sean mentioned you might be coming." She stepped back, gesturing me inside. "I'm Rose, Sean's grandmother. Come in, come in. He's in the living room."

I followed her through a short hallway decorated with framed photos—many featuring a younger Sean in various hockey uniforms, from peewee to high school to college—and into a cozy living room. The space was small but comfortable, with worn furniture and crocheted throws adding homey touches.

Sean was reclined on a sofa, his right arm properly immobilized in a sling, a fleece blanket draped over his legs. He looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes, his normally vibrant presence dimmed by pain and medication. But his face brightened slightly when he saw me, and something in my chest unclenched at the sight.

"I'll leave you two to talk," Rose said, patting my shoulder. "There's tea in the kitchen if you'd like some, Lucas. Sean knows where everything is."

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs.—"

"Just Rose, dear," she corrected gently. "Any friend of Sean's is family here."

After she disappeared down the hallway, I moved to the sofa, my heart clenching at how vulnerable Sean looked without his usual armor of hockey pads or bravado.

"Hey," I said softly, perching on the edge of the cushion beside him. "How are you?"

"Been better," he admitted, his voice tired but more open than I'd ever heard it. "The pain's manageable with the meds they gave me, but..."

"But?" I prompted when he trailed off.

"But the real pain is here." He tapped his chest with his good hand. "Wondering what happens next. To my season, my future... to us."

The last two words hung in the air between us, fragile and tentative.

"I'm so sorry," I blurted out, guilt washing over me. "I should have done more, said something sooner. I knew you were hurt, I could have—"

"Lucas, stop." Sean reached out, his left hand finding mine. "This isn't on you. Not even a little bit. I was the one being stubborn, hiding it from everyone, pushing away help."

"Still, I—"

"You tried," he said firmly. "More than once. You were the only one who really saw what was happening, who cared enough to push past all my bullshit. If I'd listened to you weeks ago, maybe it wouldn't have gotten this bad."

His hand was warm around mine, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin. The simple contact grounded me, calmed the storm of guilt and worry that had been building since I'd seen him collapse on the ice.

"What did the doctor say?" I asked.

Sean sighed, his head falling back against the cushions. "Full diagnosis tomorrow after the MRI, but preliminary exam shows a Grade 2 sprain with possible partial tearing. Dr. Shaw thinks I've been aggravating it for weeks, making a minor injury worse every time I played through it."

"And recovery time?"

"Best case, four weeks of rest and physical therapy. Worst case, a minor surgery and three months minimum." His voice wavered slightly. "Either way, I'm out for most of the season. Might make it back for tournament play if I'm lucky and follow the protocol exactly."

"What about the scouts?" I asked gently, knowing how much that had been weighing on him.

"Coach talked to them," Sean said, surprising me. "Told them the situation, that I'd been playing through an injury all season. Said my dedication was admirable but misguided." He laughed without humor. "That's coach-speak for 'the kid's an idiot but he's tough.'"

"And they were okay with that?"

"Apparently. One of them even said they'd be back to watch me when I'm healthy." Sean shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it. "Said playing through pain showed heart, but knowing when to step back showed maturity."

Relief flooded through me. "That's good, right? They're still interested."

"Yeah," Sean agreed, though his expression remained troubled. "But my dad..."

Of course. Robert Mitchell, the former hockey star with the shattered dreams, living vicariously through his son.

"You haven't told him yet," I guessed.

Sean shook his head. "Grandma Rose called him after the game. He's driving up tomorrow to 'assess the situation.'" His free hand made air quotes, his tone suggesting exactly what kind of assessment he was expecting.

"Do you want me to be there?" I offered impulsively. "When he comes, I mean."

Sean's eyes widened, and for a moment I thought I'd overstepped. Then his expression softened into something that made my heart skip.

"You'd do that?"

"Of course," I said without hesitation. "That's what..." I paused, suddenly unsure how to define what we were. Friends seemed inadequate, but we hadn't exactly established anything more.

"That's what people who care about each other do," I finished.

Sean's gaze held mine, something raw and honest in his eyes that he'd never allowed me to see before.

"I've been awful to you," he said quietly. "Pushing you away, snapping at you, making you feel like you were imagining things. And still, you're here. Why, Lucas?"

It was a simple question with a complicated answer. Why had I persisted when he'd given me every reason to walk away? Why had I kept coming back, kept caring, kept hoping?

"Because I see you," I said finally. "Not just the hockey star or the guy with the perfect record or the son with the famous father. I see you, Sean. And I like what I see, even the messy, stubborn, infuriating parts."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So many flattering adjectives."

"You forgot 'brave,'" I added. "And 'loyal.' And 'kind,' when you let yourself be."

"I've been fighting this from the start," Sean confessed. "Fighting my feelings for you, fighting anything that didn't fit with the life I thought I was supposed to want."

"And now?" I asked, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Now I know that life was killing me, literally breaking me apart," he said, glancing down at his injured shoulder. "I was so wrapped up in being perfect that I couldn't admit when something was wrong."

He took a shaky breath, his hand tightening around mine. "But then you barged into my life with your persistent questions and your genuine concern, and suddenly I had hope that maybe I didn't have to face everything alone."

"You don't," I assured him. "Whatever comes next—your dad, the recovery, all of it—you don't have to do it alone."

Sean's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and I realized with a start that this might be the first time in his adult life he'd allowed himself to be truly vulnerable with someone.

Carefully, mindful of his injured arm, I moved closer on the sofa, slipping my arm around his shoulders. Instead of stiffening or pulling away as I half-expected, Sean leaned into me, resting his head on my shoulder with a sigh that seemed to release years of tension.

We sat like that for a long moment, the quiet tick of a grandfather clock in the corner and the soft sound of our breathing the only noise in the room.

Finally, I lifted my free hand to his face, my thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. Sean's breath hitched, his gaze dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes, a question in them that I was more than ready to answer.

Slowly, giving him time to pull back if he wanted, I leaned in. Sean closed the remaining distance, and our lips met in a kiss that was achingly tender at first, a tentative exploration, before deepening into something more passionate, more desperate.

Sean kissed me like a man coming up for air after too long underwater, and I responded in kind, all the worry and longing of the past weeks pouring into the connection between us.

When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Sean winced as he shifted his position.

"Sorry," I said immediately. "I didn't mean to hurt—"

"Worth it," he interrupted with a small smile that made my heart flip. "Kissing you is pretty much all I can think about sometimes."

"Me too," I admitted. "Though I wish it hadn't taken a near-dislocation to get us here."

Sean laughed, a genuine sound that transformed his face, easing the lines of stress and pain. "Next time I'll try a less dramatic approach. Maybe just ask you out like a normal person."

"Next time?" I teased, though my heart was racing at the implication.

"Well, I was hoping there'd be lots of next times," Sean said, suddenly serious again. "If you want that too."

"I do," I said, the simple truth of it washing through me like a wave. "I really do."

We talked for another hour, the conversation flowing easily between serious topics—his fear of his father's reaction, my promise not to publish anything about his injury without his consent—and lighter moments, like his grandmother's apparent sixth sense for knowing when he needed her homemade chicken soup.

Eventually, I noticed Sean fighting to keep his eyes open, the pain medication clearly taking its toll.

"You should sleep," I said, though I was reluctant to leave him. "It's late, and you have the MRI tomorrow."

"Stay," Sean murmured drowsily. "Just till I fall asleep? Then you can go if you need to."

"Of course," I agreed, settling back against the cushions as Sean repositioned himself, careful of his injured arm.

Within minutes, his breathing had deepened, his body relaxing against mine as sleep claimed him. I sat there for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression that had replaced the tension and pain of earlier.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, I maneuvered myself off the sofa. Sean stirred slightly but didn't wake as I gently adjusted the blanket around him. Acting on impulse, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

"Sleep well," I whispered.

In the hallway, I ran into Rose, who was bringing a fresh glass of water for her grandson.

"He's asleep," I told her quietly. "I didn't want to wake him to move to a bed."

"That's alright, dear. Not the first time he's slept on that couch, and it won't be the last." She set the water on a side table, then turned to me with a warm smile. "Thank you for coming tonight. It means more to him than he'll probably ever say."

"I wanted to be here," I said simply. "I care about him a lot."

"I can see that," Rose nodded, her eyes twinkling knowingly. "And he cares about you too. More than he's cared about anyone in a long time, I'd wager."

I felt heat creep up my neck, but Rose's expression held nothing but acceptance and warmth.

"Thank you for making him feel safe enough to be himself," she continued, reaching out to pat my hand. "Sean's always carried the weight of everyone's expectations. It's good to see him let someone else help shoulder the burden for a change."

"I'll do my best," I promised.

"I know you will, dear." She walked me to the door, surprising me with a warm hug before I left. "You're family now, as far as I'm concerned. Don't be a stranger."