Page 25

The locker room before Senior Night had a different energy than usual—a strange mix of pre-game focus and nostalgic reflection. For the seniors on the team, myself included, this was one of our last times playing on home ice, possibly the very last if we didn't advance far enough in the tournament to host playoff games.

"Nervous?" Tristan asked, noticing me staring contemplatively at my helmet.

"A little," I admitted. "Not about the game. Just... all of it. The ceremony, the symbolism. The what-comes-next part."

Tristan nodded in understanding. "Yeah, it hits different. Four years gone in a blink."

Around us, the other seniors were unusually quiet, each processing the milestone in their own way. The underclassmen, sensing the mood, kept their usual pre-game antics more subdued out of respect.

"Your grandmother made it in?" Tristan asked as he laced up his skates.

"Yeah, she's here. My dad too, flew in this morning." I still found it hard to believe that my father had rearranged his busy schedule to be here today. Our relationship had shifted subtly but significantly since our dinner conversation—not perfect by any means, but more honest, more balanced.

"And Lucas?"

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face at the mention of his name. "He's sitting with them. First time they're all meeting in person, actually."

"Bold move," Tristan whistled. "Introducing the boyfriend to the family on Senior Night. No pressure or anything."

"Lucas can handle it," I said with more confidence than I felt. "He's good with people. And Grandma Rose already loves him from our video calls."

"And your dad?"

I shrugged, focusing intently on taping my stick. "He's trying. That's something, at least."

Before Tristan could respond, Coach Barnett entered the locker room, signaling the start of our pre-game routine. Time compressed, as it always did on game days, into a series of familiar rituals—the warm-up drills, the strategic reminders, the growing anticipation as we prepared to take the ice.

The Senior Night ceremony itself was a blur of emotion. Standing on the ice with Grandma Rose and my father, receiving the framed jersey and bouquet as my name was announced, hearing the genuine cheers from the crowd—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Rose milked her moment in the spotlight, of course, blowing theatrical kisses to the crowd and making everyone laugh. My father was more reserved, but the hand he placed briefly on my shoulder spoke volumes. And from his seat just behind them, Lucas beamed with undisguised pride, holding up a homemade sign that read "We love you Sean!" in what I recognized as Nate's artistic handwriting.

As the national anthem played and we lined up for the face-off, I took a moment to truly absorb it all—the packed arena, the familiar ice beneath my skates, the teammates who had become family over the past four years.

The game itself was electric, both teams fighting fiercely for a crucial playoff position. I felt locked in from the first shift, my body responding without hesitation, the months of rehabilitation and careful return to play culminating in what might have been my best performance of the season.

In the second period, I found myself with a perfect opportunity to contribute offensively—a clear lane to the net opening up unexpectedly. Instead of taking the shot, I saw Zach positioned even better at the far post and sent him a stretch pass that he buried with clinical precision. The crowd erupted, and as we celebrated, Zach grabbed me in a headlock, shouting "That's what I'm talking about!" loud enough for the first three rows to hear.

But the true test came in the final minute of the game. We were up by one, the opposing team had pulled their goalie, and everyone on the ice knew they would throw everything they had at us for an equalizer. During a chaotic scramble in front of our net, I saw an opponent winding up for what would surely be a game-tying shot.

Without hesitation, I dove in front of it, feeling the puck impact painfully against my previously injured shoulder. The immediate sting was worth it as the puck deflected harmlessly to the corner. I crashed to the ice, momentarily dazed by both the impact and the flash of pain.

Through watering eyes, I caught a glimpse of Lucas's face in the crowd, his expression shifting from excitement to concern as he realized where the puck had hit me. But before he could truly worry, I pushed myself up, grimacing but grinning as my teammates surrounded me, thumping my back and shouting congratulations as the final horn sounded.

We'd won, 4-3, and my blocked shot had sealed it. The pain in my shoulder was already fading to a dull throb—just a bruise, nothing serious. The rehabilitation had done its job; the joint was strong again, capable of withstanding even unexpected impacts.

As we celebrated on the ice, Tristan and Zach suddenly hoisted me onto their shoulders, carrying me around the rink in a victory lap typically reserved for players who had scored hat tricks or game-winning goals.

"Put me down, you idiots," I laughed, though I made no real effort to escape. "I didn't even score!"

"Shut up and enjoy it, Sean," Tristan called up to me. "Senior privilege."

From my elevated position, I could see Lucas standing and applauding, his face alight with a mixture of pride and amusement. Beside him, my grandmother was practically jumping up and down with excitement, while my father smiled broadly, nodding his approval in a way that meant more than any verbal praise ever could.

In the locker room afterwards, the celebration continued as we toasted the win and the seniors' final regular season home game. When it was my turn to say something, I found myself unexpectedly emotional.

"I thought I'd let you all down," I said, my voice rougher than usual. "When I got hurt. I thought I'd failed the team, failed myself. But you never let me quit. You kept a place for me, kept me involved even when I couldn't play. That means more than any win ever could."

The team responded with a rousing cheer, some pounding their sticks against the floor in the traditional hockey sign of respect. It was chaotic and loud and perfect, a fitting tribute to four years of brotherhood on and off the ice.

After most of the crowd had dispersed, I found Lucas waiting just outside the locker room, his reporter's notebook tucked away, present now only as himself rather than as media.

"Hey," he greeted me with open arms. "You were amazing out there."

I pulled him into a tight hug, drinking in the familiar scent of his shampoo and the comforting solidity of his presence. "Thanks for being here," I murmured against his hair.

The moment was interrupted by Rose bustling toward us, her arms outstretched. "There's my champion!" she declared, enveloping me in a hug that belied her small stature with its fierceness. "That block at the end! I nearly had a heart attack!"

"You and me both," Lucas muttered, though his proud smile never faltered.

My father approached more sedately, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable as he clasped my hand. "Well played, son. That was some game."

"Thanks, Dad," I replied, still slightly amazed by his presence, by the genuine pride in his expression. "Glad you could make it."

As we made our way toward the reception in the student union ballroom, I was conscious of the easy way Lucas interacted with my grandmother, the respectful but not intimidated manner he adopted with my father. They had met briefly before the game, but seeing them together now, chatting about the highlights of the match as if they'd known each other for years, filled me with a quiet contentment.

The ballroom was transformed for the occasion, with team banners and photographs from the season displayed prominently. A slideshow played on a projector at the front of the room, cycling through action shots from our games.

"Oh my god," Lucas laughed suddenly, pointing to the screen. "That's us."

I turned to see a photograph I hadn't known existed—Lucas and me embracing on the ice, his homemade sign somehow wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

"Who took that?" I wondered aloud.

"Ava, probably," Lucas guessed. "She's always lurking with that camera."

Throughout dinner, I found myself repeatedly drawn back to that photo whenever it cycled through the slideshow. It captured something essential about us—the way we fit together, the uncomplicated happiness in our expressions.

When Zach hijacked the microphone for an impromptu "roast," I was prepared for the worst.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, grinning wickedly, "I'd like to say a few words about our beloved seniors, especially my boy Sean Mitchell over there."

"Oh no," I groaned, while Lucas looked on with amused anticipation.

"Now, Sean here is secretly a drama queen," Zach declared to the laughing crowd. "Think about it. Gets injured, hides it for weeks, then stages this miraculous comeback just in time for the championship run? Talk about a flair for the dramatic! The man wanted a storyline worthy of a Hallmark movie!"

As the room erupted in laughter, I shook my head, unable to suppress my own smile. There was enough truth in his teasing to make it land, but enough affection behind it to take any sting out of the words.

"And let's not forget," Zach continued, "the man was so dedicated to winning that he went out and got himself a boyfriend just to improve team dynamics. Now that's commitment to the program!"

Lucas buried his face in his hands in mock embarrassment while I laughed along with everyone else. The ease with which Zach referenced our relationship, the casual acceptance of everyone in the room—these were gifts I couldn't have imagined possible a year ago.

As the formal program wound down and people began to mingle, I noticed my father deep in conversation with Lucas, both of them laughing at something. The sight would have terrified me months ago; now it filled me with a cautious hope.

"What are you two plotting?" I asked, joining them.

"Your father was just telling me I should handle all your celebrity press inquiries going forward," Lucas replied with a straight face. "Apparently I have more experience managing difficult athletes."

"That's not exactly how I phrased it," my father chuckled. "I simply said you seem to have a knack for getting through his stubborn defenses."

"A talent few possess," Lucas agreed solemnly, his eyes dancing with humor.

"I'm right here, you know," I pointed out, pretending to be offended.

"Oh, we know," my father assured me. "But it's much more fun to talk about you as if you aren't."

As my father moved off to speak with Coach, Lucas slipped his hand into mine. "Want to escape for a minute?" he murmured.

I nodded, allowing him to lead me toward the balcony doors, where we slipped outside into the cool evening air.

The moment we were alone, I pulled him close, my lips finding his in a kiss that conveyed everything I was feeling. Lucas responded with equal fervor, his hands coming up to frame my face as he pressed closer.

We stood there for a long moment, his head resting against my shoulder as we looked out over the campus where our story had begun.

"Hard to believe it's almost over," Lucas said quietly. "College, I mean."

"Yeah," I agreed, the reality of impending graduation both exciting and intimidating. "But some things are just beginning."

He looked up at me, a question in his eyes. "You heard back from the development camp?"

I nodded. "Got the official invitation yesterday. And the grad assistant position is still on the table if I want to come back next year instead."

"And the internship?" I asked, knowing he'd been anxiously checking his email every day for news.

A slow smile spread across Lucas's face. "I got it. Start date is two weeks after graduation."

"That's amazing," I said, genuinely thrilled for him. The prestigious journalism opportunity was exactly what he deserved after all his hard work.

"We both have options," Lucas acknowledged. "Good ones."

"Are you scared?" I asked, voicing the question that had been nagging at me. "About leaving here, I mean. We've had this bubble, you know? Where everyone's on our side, where things make sense."

Lucas seemed to understand what I was really asking—if he was nervous about heading into the wider world as a couple, about facing new challenges without the supportive cocoon of our campus life.

"A little," he admitted. "But we've handled scarier things, haven't we?"

As if on cue, music began playing inside, a nostalgic playlist of songs from our freshman year. Through the glass doors, I could see Zach dramatically twirling a laughing Nate on the impromptu dance floor, our friends gathering for one last celebration before we all scattered to our various post-graduation paths.

"Shall we?" I asked, offering him my hand with an exaggerated bow.

Lucas laughed, taking my hand. "Such a gentleman. How could I refuse?"

We rejoined the party, slipping seamlessly back into the circle of friends who had become our chosen family. We swayed together to a slow song, Lucas in my arms where he fit so perfectly.