Page 36 of The Girlfriend Goal

The kiss played on every sports highlight reel in the country.

"Hockey's Hottest Couple," ESPN titled it, complete with slow-motion replay of me launching myself at Lance after his confession.

The jumbotron had captured every second – my hands in his hair, his arms lifting me off the ground, the way we looked at each other like the twenty thousand people around us had ceased to exist.

Jared had already saved seventeen different angles, creating what he called a "digital scrapbook of love conquering Rachel's commitment issues."

"I don't have commitment issues," I protested, but my voice lacked conviction.

We sat in Lance's apartment the morning after, surrounded by celebration debris and nursing mild hangovers. Matt and Jared occupied the opposite couch, practically melded into one person despite the available space.

"Sweetie, you literally ran away from this man's bed when he asked you to stay for cuddles." Jared's voice held gentle mockery. "That's textbook commitment phobia."

"That was different."

"Different how?" Lance asked, genuinely curious. His hand played with my hair, and I fought not to melt into the touch.

"I wasn't ready to be vulnerable." The admission felt raw. "Staying the night, waking up together, it felt too real."

"And now?"

I thought about the question seriously. "Now I'm tired of running from something that makes me happy because I'm scared it might end badly."

"Everything ends badly, that's why it ends," Matt quoted. "But that doesn't mean it's not worth doing."

"Did you just quote a rom-com at me?"

"Jared's been educating me." Matt looked unashamed. "Turns out they're actually pretty good once you get past the heteronormative assumptions."

"My boyfriend, the evolved hockey bro," Jared preened. "Next I'm introducing him to Jane Austen adaptations."

"I draw the line at bonnets."

"We'll see about that."

Their playful bickering felt comfortable, normal. Like we did this every morning – the four of us navigating relationships and hangovers together. The domesticity should have terrified me, but instead it felt right.

"So what happens now?" I asked, voicing the question we'd all been avoiding. "I leave for Seattle in six weeks. You'll get drafted somewhere. We just pretend those facts don't exist?"

"Or," Lance said slowly, "we acknowledge them and choose each other anyway."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" He turned to face me fully. "I love you. You love me. Everything else is just logistics."

"Logistics matter. Long distance is hard. Career demands are real. What if you get drafted to Florida or New York?"

"Then we figure it out."

"That's not a plan!"

"Sure it is." His calm in the face of my anxiety only heightened my panic. "The plan is we stay together and handle challenges as they come."

"That's how people end up resenting each other," I insisted. "Making sacrifices they didn't want, compromising dreams—"

"Or," Jared interrupted, "that's how people build lives together. By choosing to face obstacles as a team instead of running at the first sign of difficulty."

"When did you become the relationship expert?"

"Since I stopped letting fear dictate my choices." He looked at Matt with naked affection. "Turns out being vulnerable with someone who loves you back is actually pretty incredible."

"Gag," I said without heat.

"You're one to talk, Miss 'Let Me Wear Your Jersey and Make Out With You on National Television.'"

Heat flooded my cheeks. "That was impulsive."

"That was honest," Lance corrected. "For once, you did what you felt instead of what you thought you should do."

He was right. The moment I'd seen him take that shot to the ribs, protecting their lead with his body, something had crystallized.

All my carefully constructed walls, my logical arguments about career focus, my fear of vulnerability – none of it mattered compared to the terror of watching him in pain.

"I can't lose myself again," I said quietly. "I can't become someone who only exists in relation to their partner."

"I don't want that either." Lance took my hands with a smile. "I fell in love with the driven, ambitious, occasionally terrifying woman who runs soccer drills like military operations. Your dreams aren't competition for mine, Rachel. They're part of what I'm building toward."

"That's beautiful," Jared sniffled. "Matt, take notes."

"I literally said something identical last week!"

"You said 'your thing is cool too, babe.' Not quite the same impact."

I laughed despite the emotion clogging my throat. "You really want to try long distance?"

"I want to try everything with you," Lance said simply. "Distance, time zones, whatever. As long as we're trying together."

"It'll be hard. We'll have to communicate constantly."

He kissed me quiet, soft but thorough. "Rachel. I'd rather have you three thousand miles away than not have you at all. Stop looking for reasons this won't work and help me figure out how it will."

"Okay, let's try." The word felt huge, life-changing. "But if you trade me for a Florida beach bunny, I'll murder you with my cleats."

"Noted. Same goes for Seattle tech bros."

"Deal."

"Finally!" Matt exclaimed. "Can we go get hangover breakfast now? All this emotional resolution is making me hungry."

"Pancakes?" Jared perked up. "The place with the good syrup?"

"Obviously."

They bustled around, gathering wallets and arguing about proper hangover food. Lance pulled me closer, speaking low in my ear.

"For the record, the jersey thing? Incredibly hot. Might be my new kink."

"Just the jersey?" I teased.

"You declaring your love in front of twenty thousand people didn't hurt either."

"I'm never living that down, am I?"

"Nope." He kissed my temple. "I'm gonna remind you every time you try to run. 'Remember when you claimed me on national television?'"

"I did not claim you."

"The video evidence suggests otherwise."

"I hate you."

"You love me. You announced it on ESPN."

I did. God help me, I did.

That night, after pancakes and naps and more conversations about logistics, we made love. No rushing, no desperation, just the quiet certainty that we'd chosen each other.

Later, tangled together in the dark, I traced patterns on his chest while he played with my hair.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That I'm scared," I admitted. "But for the first time, being scared doesn't make me want to run. Also thinking about how your dad's going to react to that kiss being everywhere."

"Probably already spinning it as proof of his excellent parenting creating a son capable of love." Lance's voice held more amusement than bitterness. "Let him. I got the girl and the championship. He can't touch that."

"The girl, huh?"

"Woman. Love of my life. Destroyer of my defensive walls." He tilted my chin up. "Keeper of my jersey."

"It's pretty comfortable," I admitted. "Might keep it."

"It's yours. I'm yours." Simple statements that remade my world.