Page 38 of The Girlfriend Goal

"I'm telling you, the analytics support increasing our TikTok presence by thirty percent," I argued, gesturing at my presentation while the Storm's senior staff looked on. "Our engagement rates triple when we feature behind-the-scenes content."

"Kids doing dances?" Mr. Patterson, the old-school general manager, looked skeptical. "That's what'll sell tickets?"

"Humanizing our players sells tickets," I corrected. "Fans want connection, not just highlights. Emotional investment translates to merchandise sales, ticket purchases, and long-term loyalty."

"The numbers support her proposal," Diana, my supervisor, added. "Rachel's social media strategies have increased our Instagram following by forty-two percent since June."

I tried not to preen at the praise. Six months in, I'd moved from fetching coffee to actually contributing to the Storm's marketing strategy.

My twice-weekly posts had become daily content calendars.

The players trusted me with their stories, and I'd learned to balance authenticity with professionalism.

"Fine," Patterson conceded. "But I want approval on all content. No embarrassing the organization."

"Absolutely," I agreed, already mentally planning a series where players tried to explain basketball rules using only emojis.

The meeting adjourned with approved budgets and expanded responsibilities. Diana caught me in the hallway, grinning.

"Nice work in there. You handled Patterson perfectly."

"I translated everything into old-school sports metaphors in my head," I admitted. "Helped me speak his language."

"Smart. Keep that up and you'll be running this department in five years."

The compliment warmed me through my afternoon tasks. I edited video content, responded to fan comments, and coordinated with players for upcoming shoots. My phone buzzed with texts from Lance between his practice sessions.

The thirty-minute drive to Tacoma had become routine.

Three times a week, sometimes four, depending on our schedules.

Lance's apartment was bigger than mine, with actual furniture and a kitchen he'd learned to use.

Domestic Lance was a revelation – the man who'd survived on protein shakes and takeout now made actual meals.

"I'm stress-cooking," he announced when I arrived that evening, the apartment smelling like garlic and possibility. "Coach mentioned potential call-ups next month."

"That's amazing." I dropped my bag to hug him. "Which games?"

"December road trip. Three games to see how I handle the pace." He stirred something that looked impressively edible. "It's not permanent, just injury replacement, but—"

"But it's NHL ice time." I squeezed tighter. "Everything you've worked for."

"Everything we've worked for," he corrected, kissing my temple. "Couldn't have managed this season without you."

"Please, you were always going to succeed."

"Maybe. but succeeding while happy? That's all you."

We'd gotten good at this – celebrating each other's victories, supporting through challenges. The distance that had terrified me in May felt manageable now, reduced to singing along to playlists on I-5.

My phone rang, displaying Jared's face mid-dramatic expression.

"Put me on speaker," he demanded without preamble. "Matt's being unreasonable about Thanksgiving."

"Hi to you too," I said, complying. "What's the crisis?"

"He wants to do both family dinners. His parents and mine. In the same day! The logistics alone—"

"Are completely manageable," Matt's voice came through, suggesting they were also on speaker. "It's a forty-minute drive between houses."

"Twenty minutes of digestion time. We'll explode from turkey overdose."

Lance and I exchanged amused looks. Our friends' long-distance relationship had survived surprisingly well, with Matt visiting Boston monthly and Jared planning to move after graduation.

"You could always come here," I suggested. "We're doing Friendsgiving with some of the team."

"Tempting," Jared mused. "But Matt's mom already bought a turkey the size of a small car. Rain check for Christmas?"

"Deal, though Lance might be traveling."

"About that." Lance cleared his throat. "I've been thinking about Christmas."

Something in his tone made me look up from setting the table. "Yeah?"

"My aunt wants to do Tahoe. Small gathering, just family." He paused. "You are family. Will you come?"

The invitation shouldn't have surprised me – we'd been together officially for months. But family Christmas felt significant in a way that made my chest tight.

"I'd love to," I said softly.

"Thank God," Jared's voice cut through the moment. "Because I already told his aunt you were coming and she's planned accordingly."

"You told his aunt? When?"

"We text. She sends me recipes and I send her photos of you being domestic. It's a whole thing."

"I'm hanging up now," Lance announced, reaching for my phone.

"Wait! Rachel, check your email. I sent wedding—"

Lance ended the call, tossing my phone aside. "Wedding what?"

"He's gotten worse since Matt proposed."

"Matt didn't propose."

"He's going to. Jared found the ring." I grinned at Lance's shocked expression. "Apparently Matt's been carrying it around for weeks, waiting for the 'perfect moment.'"

"That's actually really sweet."

"Right? Jared's pretending he doesn't know, but he's already planned their entire wedding. Twice."

"Of course he has." Lance pulled me against him. "What about you? Ever think about it? Marriage, future, all that?"

My heart rate spiked. "Sometimes."

His kiss tasted like promise. We ate dinner trading stories about our days, comfortable in ways I'd never imagined being with another person.

Later, curled on his couch watching film from his last game, I let myself imagine this as permanent.

Not the apartment or the city, but the us of it all.

Lance rewinding plays to explain defensive positioning, me half-listening while playing with his hair.

Building something together, one day at a time.

"I saved enough this month to send extra home," I mentioned during a commercial break. "Mom cried. Happy tears, but still. She said Ryan's doing better. The new therapist is helping, and he's talking about community college."

"That's great news."

"Yeah." I snuggled closer. "Everything's kind of working out, isn't it?"

"Don't jinx it," he laughed. "But yeah. It really is."

Three weeks later, the call-up came through. Calgary had two defensemen injured, creating Lance's opportunity. I drove him to the airport, both of us vibrating with nervous energy.

"It's just three games," he said for the tenth time. "Might not even play."

"You'll play." I fixed his collar, unnecessarily fussing. "And you'll be brilliant. And I'll watch every second online."

"I love you," he said simply. "None of this matters without you."

"It matters," I corrected. "Your dreams matter. But I love you too."

The kiss goodbye lingered until security gave us pointed looks. I watched him disappear through the checkpoint, then sat in my car crying happy tears.

Jared: Did you ugly cry at the airport?

Me: No.

Jared: Liar. Matt says Lance texted that you definitely ugly cried.

Me: I'm blocking both of you.

Jared: Sure. BTW, Operation Christmas Proposal is officially on. Act surprised.

I laughed despite myself, driving back to Seattle with pride swelling in my chest. My boyfriend was about to play in the NHL. My brother was healing. My career was growing. Life wasn't perfect, but it was ours.

The night of Lance's NHL debut, I hosted a watch party in my tiny apartment. Storm players, Tacoma friends, and various adopted Seattle friends crammed in to witness the moment.

When they announced his name in the starting lineup, we erupted. When he made his first professional save, blocking a shot that would've been a sure goal, I screamed loud enough to get noise complaints.

"Your boyfriend's kind of incredible," Diana observed, watching him battle in the corners.

"Yeah," I agreed, not even trying to hide my grin. "He really is."

Lance played all three games, earning praise for his steady defensive presence. The organization was impressed enough to guarantee more opportunities after the new year. He flew back exhausted but exhilarated, eyes bright with achievement.

"How did it feel?" I asked, driving him home from the airport.

"Unreal. Everything I dreamed, but better." He took my hand. "Kept thinking about you watching. Made me play harder."

"Sap."

"Your sap," he corrected. "Forever, if you'll have me."

"Forever's a long time," I teased, but my heart was already screaming yes.

Christmas in Tahoe exceeded expectations. Lance's aunt welcomed me like a daughter, sharing embarrassing childhood stories that had him groaning into his nog. The small gathering felt intimate without being overwhelming, a stark contrast to his father's performative holidays.

"I like her," his aunt declared after I'd beaten everyone at Scrabble. "She keeps you humble."

"Someone has to," I said, dodging Lance's retaliatory cushion throw.

On Christmas morning, exchanging gifts by the fire, Lance handed me a small box that made my heart stop.

"Relax," he said quickly. "Just open it."

Inside sat a delicate necklace – a small hockey stick crossed with a soccer ball, both rendered in silver.

"I had it custom made," he explained. "Figured we needed something that was both of us."

"It's perfect," I whispered, throat tight. "Put it on me?"

His fingers were gentle on my neck, fastening the clasp with practiced ease. The pendant settled against my chest, a tangible reminder of everything we'd built.

The week passed in a blur of family meals, tourist activities, and quiet moments that felt like glimpses of our future. By the time we returned to Seattle, something had shifted. We'd crossed some invisible threshold from dating to building a life.

"Jared's moving here," I announced over New Year's dinner. "Got into UW's theater program for grad school."