Page 37 of The Girlfriend Goal

May arrived in a blur of finals, NHL combine preparations, and stolen moments with Rachel between our increasingly hectic schedules. The reality of impending separation loomed, but we'd gotten better at acknowledging it without panic.

"Vancouver wants a second interview," I told her over breakfast, scrolling through emails. "And Seattle's scout mentioned their AHL affiliate needs defensive depth."

Rachel's head snapped up from her own laptop. "Seattle? As in my Seattle?"

"Same metropolitan area, yeah." I tried to sound casual despite my racing heart. "Tacoma's about forty minutes from the city. Would mean AHL salary and bus leagues, but—"

"But we'd be in the same state." She abandoned her laptop entirely. "Lance, that's amazing. The Thunderbirds have a great development program, and the Kraken are building something special."

"Don't get too excited," I warned. "It's just one option. Calgary and Nashville both seem interested too."

"Right, of course." She visibly reined in her enthusiasm. "Any option is good. This is about your career."

"Our careers," I corrected. "And our life, which matters too."

She kissed me soundly. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

"Not in the last hour."

"Slacking. I love you." Another kiss. "And I promise not to influence your decision. Even though Seattle has great coffee and no humidity and would mean waking up next to you sometimes."

"You're terrible at not influencing."

"I'm enthusiastic about possibilities."

Her excitement was infectious. I'd been trying not to get attached to any particular outcome, but the thought of being even relatively close to Rachel?

"The money would be tight," I said carefully. "AHL salary barely covers rent in a market like that."

"I'll be making intern wages, so we'll be broke together." She grinned. "Very romantic. We can eat ramen and complain about our bosses."

"Already planning our poverty?"

"Planning our adventure." She straddled my lap, breakfast forgotten. "Though I should mention – if you pick based solely on me and end up miserable, I'll feel guilty forever."

"Noted. Same goes for you turning down better opportunities to stay near me."

"Deal." She sealed it with a kiss that led to us being very late for class.

The week before graduation passed in a whirlwind. Parents descended on campus, mine thankfully not including Richard.

Rachel's family arrived en masse – parents, two brothers, and her sister, plus various aunts and cousins who'd made the drive. Their warm chaos enveloped me immediately.

"So you're the hockey boy," her father said, his handshake firm but not crushing. "Jared speaks highly of you."

"Jared's biased," I said. "But I try to live up to his praise."

"He mentioned you stood up to your father about Rachel." His expression shifted, becoming protective. "That takes courage."

"Rachel's worth standing up to anyone for."

"Smooth talker." But he smiled. "Good. She needs someone who can keep up with her mouth."

"Dad!" Rachel protested, mortified.

"What? You talk faster than anyone I know. Poor boy probably gets dizzy."

The graduation ceremony itself felt surreal. Four years of struggle and growth, ending with a walk across a stage. When they called my name, the cheers from my section were deafening.

Matt and Jared had somehow procured air horns, which they used liberally despite repeated warnings from security. Rachel whistled sharp enough to pierce eardrums, her pride visible even from the stage.

When they called her name, I returned the favor, standing and cheering until the dean shot me a look. Worth it to see her smile, to watch her accept the diploma she'd worked so hard for.

The photos afterward took forever – every possible combination of friends, family, teammates. My favorite showed the four of us – Matt and Jared wrapped around each other, Rachel tucked against my side, all of us laughing at something off-camera.

"We're really doing this," Rachel said that night, looking at our collection of apartment listings. "Adult life, careers and long distance."

"Second thoughts?"

"No." She crawled into my lap, our laptops forgotten. "Just processing. In one week, everything changes."

"Not everything." I held her close. "This doesn't change."

We drove west together, our cars packed with everything we owned. The plan was simple – get Rachel settled in Seattle, spend a week together, then I'd continue to wherever the draft sent me. Jared and Matt had already said tearful goodbyes, promising to visit wherever we landed.

"Twenty hours," Rachel said as we crossed into Wyoming. "We could make it in one shot if we traded driving."

"Or we could enjoy the trip," I countered. "Stop at weird roadside attractions. Eat at questionable diners. I want to make memories everywhere with you."

She was quiet for a long moment. "Okay. But I draw the line at any museum involving taxidermy."

We compromised on dinosaur statues and the continental divide, taking pictures at every state line. Rachel documented everything, creating Instagram stories that had Jared commenting with increasing envy.

"Tell him about the motel with the vibrating beds," I suggested.

"Absolutely not. He'd never let us live it down."

"The fact that we actually used the vibrating function—"

"Will go to our graves," she said firmly. "Along with the gas station sushi incident."

"But that was your idea."

"You didn't have to agree."

Our bickering felt comfortable, worn in like favorite jeans. Even facing separation, we'd found our rhythm – the push and pull that kept things interesting without tipping into real conflict.

Seattle appeared through rain, because of course it did. The city sprawled before us, all water and bridges and possibility.

"Home," Rachel breathed, and I heard the longing in it.

Her studio apartment was tiny but perfect – walking distance from the Storm's arena, big windows overlooking the market. We spent three days making it hers, arguing about furniture placement and testing the weight capacity of her new bed.

"I should get kitchen stuff," she mused, staring at empty cabinets. "Pots and pans and whatever adults own."

"Bold of you to assume you'll cook."

"I might. New city, new me. Domestic goddess Rachel."

We explored the city together, playing tourist while pretending my departure wasn't looming. Pike Place Market, the Space Needle, endless coffee shops that Rachel rated on a complex scale I didn't understand.

"This is it," she announced at a tiny café near her apartment. "This is my place."

"You've decided that about six different cafés."

"This one's different. Look – they have a reading nook and the barista already knows my name and they make their own lavender syrup."

Her excitement was infectious. I could picture her here, building routines and friendships, becoming the Seattle version of herself. The thought hurt and thrilled in equal measure.

Draft day arrived too quickly. We watched from her couch, laptops open to multiple streams, phones buzzing with updates. Nashville went first, their second-round pick not surprising anyone.

"That's good," Rachel said, squeezing my hand. "You said they wanted you as third pair, limited minutes."

Calgary selected me at fifty-five overall, their AHL team in need of defensive prospects. A good organization, great development program, and approximately seven hundred miles from Seattle.

"It's not so bad," Rachel said immediately. "Two-hour flight. We can do weekends—"

"Wait." I refreshed my email, heart stopping. "Seattle just sent something."

We read together, her hand gripping mine tightly.

Congratulations on your selection. While Calgary owns your rights, we've been in contact about a potential trade. Our AHL affiliate in Tacoma needs defensive depth. Would you be interested?

"Oh my God." Rachel's voice went high. "Oh my God, Lance—"

"Don't get excited. Trades fall through. Calgary might not want to deal—"

"Shut up and let me be excited." She tackled me backward on the couch. "You might be here. Actually here!"

The next twenty-four hours were torture. Calls with agents, negotiations I wasn't privy to, Rachel pacing her tiny apartment like a caged animal.

Finally, the call came.

"Welcome to the Seattle organization," the GM said. "We're excited to have you in Tacoma. Think you can handle the rain?"

I looked at Rachel, who was silently screaming and doing a dance that defied description.

"Yeah," I said, grinning. "I think I can handle it."

She was on me before I hung up, kissing me senseless while crying and laughing simultaneously.

"You're here," she kept saying. "You're actually going to be here."

"Thirty minutes away," I corrected. "Still distance."

"Shut up. Thirty minutes is nothing. That's like a long commute. We can see each other all the time!"

Her joy was contagious. We celebrated with champagne she'd been saving and terrible takeout, planning a future that suddenly felt possible.

"I love you," she said later, curled against me in her tiny bed. "And I know you didn't pick Seattle just for me."

"I picked Seattle for us," I interrupted. "For my career and our life and the chance to be stupidly happy with you. That matters too. Now stop overthinking and help me find an apartment in Tacoma."

"Already on it." She grabbed her laptop. "I made a spreadsheet. It's color-coded by distance from the arena and proximity to good coffee."

"I love you," I laughed. "My gorgeous, type-A, spreadsheet-making girlfriend."

"Damn right." She kissed me. "Now focus – we have a life to build."

We stayed up until dawn researching neighborhoods and making plans. Not perfect plans, not guaranteed plans, but our plans.