Page 32

The arena vibrated with anxious energy, twenty thousand fans collectively holding their breath as Game 3 of the Finals hung in the balance. Down two games to none in the series, the Kraken needed this win desperately. From my seat in the family section, I clutched the blue and white rally towel so tightly my knuckles whitened, my throat raw from cheering.

This was the first game I'd attended without Jax physically present before the matchup – no pre-game coffee together, no quiet moment of connection before he headed to the arena. He'd flown back just hours before puck drop, coming directly from the hospital in Minnesota where his father was recovering.

"Breathe, honey," a voice said beside me. "You'll pass out if you keep holding your breath on every shot."

I turned to find Willow sliding into the empty seat next to mine, her warm smile immediately easing some of my tension. Behind her came Sarah, Anders' girlfriend, greeting me with genuine warmth.

"We figured you could use some company," Willow explained, linking her arm through mine. "Finals game is nerve-wracking enough without your man being distracted by family medical drama."

The casual inclusion – the assumption that I belonged in their circle, that they should look out for me – caught me off guard. These women had welcomed me completely, incorporating me into their tight-knit hockey family without reservation.

The contrast between their acceptance and my awareness of our arrangement's temporary nature created a sudden, unexpected surge of emotion. To my horror, tears welled in my eyes.

"Oh sweetheart," Willow murmured, immediately wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Is it Jax's dad? Did you get bad news?"

I shook my head, quickly wiping away the moisture before it could fall. "No, he's stable. The doctors are optimistic." I struggled to explain the complex emotions without revealing our secret. "It's just... overwhelming sometimes. All of this."

Willow nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Hockey playoffs are emotional terrorism, especially for newcomers. The first year Finn and I were together, I lost five pounds during Round 1 from stress alone."

"How did you handle it?" I asked, grateful for the distraction as the teams returned to the ice for the second period.

"Poorly," she admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. "I was convinced I didn't belong in this world – that I wasn't cut out to be with someone whose career involved constant public scrutiny, physical danger, and absurd travel schedules."

Her words resonated uncomfortably with my own insecurities. "What changed?"

"I realized I was seeing all the challenges without appreciating the privileges," she said thoughtfully. "Yes, hockey is demanding and public and sometimes heartbreaking. But it also brings extraordinary people into your life, creates unforgettable moments, and shows you the purest form of passion and dedication."

She gestured around the arena, where thousands of strangers were unified in a common hope. "How many people get to be part of something that matters this much to so many? That's not a burden, Sienna. It's a gift."

The wisdom in her perspective struck me deeply. I'd been so focused on the temporary nature of my arrangement with Jax that I'd nearly missed the beauty of what we'd found within it.

The game itself ended in crushing disappointment – a 4-2 loss that put the Kraken in a 3-0 series deficit, a hole only four teams in history had ever overcome. I felt the defeat personally, watching Jax's frustrated expression during the post-game interviews streamed on the arena jumbotron.

At home, I found myself unable to settle in my own bed as Jax was at the hospital visiting his dad. After an hour of restless tossing, I slipped down the hall to Jax's room, sliding between his sheets and burying my face in his pillow. The lingering scent of his shampoo and the subtle, indefinable essence that was uniquely him provided comfort I couldn't find elsewhere.

My phone rang just after 2 AM, startling me from the light doze I'd finally managed to achieve.

"Sienna?" Jax's voice came through, heavy with exhaustion but warming as he said my name.

"Hey," I replied softly. "How are you holding up?"

"Tired. Frustrated." He sighed deeply. "Dad's doing better, though. They're talking about releasing him in a couple days if his tests continue improving."

"That's wonderful news."

"Yeah." A pause stretched between us. "I'm sorry about the game. I wasn't as focused as I should have been."

"Don't apologize," I said firmly. "Your father had a heart attack, Jax. Hockey is just a game."

"Try telling that to Seattle sports radio tomorrow," he said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Three-zero deficit in the Finals. Historic disappointment."

"You're not done yet."

"Statistically—"

"Screw statistics," I interrupted. "I've seen what you and the team are capable of. This series isn't over until someone wins four games."

His low chuckle warmed me through the phone. "When did you become such a hockey expert?"

"I've been studying," I admitted. "I wanted to understand your world better."

Another pause, this one weighted with something I couldn't define. "I miss you," he said finally, the simple declaration more intimate than any flowery speech.

"I miss you too." I hesitated, then added, "I'm actually in your bed right now."

"Are you?" His voice dropped lower.

"I couldn't sleep in mine. It felt... empty."

"I know exactly what you mean." The vulnerability in his admission made my heart ache. "What are you wearing?"

The question, so unexpected from typically reserved Jax, startled a laugh from me. "Are you trying to have phone sex with me, Mr. Harrison?"

"No," he replied, though a smile was evident in his voice. "Maybe. I don't know. I just want to imagine you there."

"Your old Kraken t-shirt," I told him softly. "The faded one with the hole near the collar. It smells like you."

His inhale was audible. "When I get back—"

"When you get back, we'll talk," I finished for him. "About everything."

"Everything," he agreed, and somehow the word contained multitudes – all our unfinished conversations, unspoken desires, and unresolved questions.

We talked for hours despite the time difference and his exhaustion, the conversation flowing from serious to playful and back again. He shared childhood memories of his father – the man's dedication to Jax's hockey dreams, the pressure that sometimes felt suffocating, the complicated love that had shaped him. I told him about my own parents' frequent absences for photography assignments, how my grandmother had become my emotional anchor, the way baking had given me stability when everything else felt transient.

By the time we reluctantly said goodbye, dawn was breaking in Seattle, and I felt closer to Jax. The irony wasn't lost on me – that physical distance had somehow facilitated emotional intimacy we might have continued dancing around in person.

After a few hours of proper sleep, I woke with sudden clarity and purpose. Before I could second-guess myself, I booked a flight to Minnesota, arranged for Chloe to handle the bakery, and packed a small overnight bag.

The decision felt right in a way few things had in my life – impulsive yet inevitable, like the perfect adjustment to a cherished recipe. Jax needed support, even if he was too stoic to ask for it directly. And perhaps more importantly, I needed to be with him, to show him through actions what words alone couldn't fully express.

I arrived at the hospital unannounced, navigating antiseptic hallways until I found the cardiac care unit. Through the window of Room 412, I spotted Jax sitting beside his father's bed, his broad shoulders hunched with fatigue, his usually perfect hair mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly.

When he glanced up and saw me standing in the doorway, his expression transformed from exhaustion to disbelief to such naked relief that my throat tightened with emotion.

"Sienna?" He was on his feet immediately, crossing the room in three long strides to envelop me in an embrace that lifted me slightly off the ground. "What are you doing here?"

"You needed me," I said simply. "So I came."

Over his shoulder, I caught sight of his mother's surprised but pleased expression, and his father's more measuring gaze from the hospital bed. When Jax finally released me, keeping one arm firmly around my waist as if afraid I might disappear, I approached his parents with a mixture of determination and nervousness.

"Mrs. Harrison," I greeted his mother, who immediately pulled me into a warm hug.

"Nancy, please, dear. And I can't tell you how happy I am you're here. Jax has been alone by his dad’s side with worry."

"You must have been exhausted from the long flight," Jax's voice was carefully modulated as he guided me to the bedside. "Sit down."

Robert Harrison looked paler and somehow smaller than I remembered from their visit to Seattle, the hospital gown and monitoring equipment diminishing his usually imposing presence. But his eyes were sharp as they assessed me, some of the skepticism I recalled from our first meeting still evident.

"You flew all this way?" Robert asked, his voice raspy but strong.

"Of course," I replied simply. "Family supports family."

Something in his expression shifted – not quite approval, but perhaps reassessment. "Tell me about your bakery, how’s it running?"

The next few hours passed in surprisingly comfortable conversation with Robert and Nancy. Nancy insisted on taking me to the cafeteria for coffee, using the opportunity to share stories about Jax's childhood – his determination, his sensitivity that he'd gradually learned to conceal, the depth of caring he typically hid beneath a stoic exterior.

"He's different with you," she observed as we returned to the room. "More himself than I've seen in years."

That evening, in Jax's childhood bedroom where I'd be staying, surrounded by his hockey trophies, tournament medals, and faded posters, Jax and I finally had the conversation that had been building since his interrupted declaration in our living room.

"You didn't have to come," he said softly, sitting beside me on the twin bed that was comically small for his adult frame. "But I'm incredibly glad you did."

"I wanted to be here," I replied, reaching for his hand. "With you."

His fingers intertwined with mine, the simple connection grounding us both. "Before I left, I was going to ask you something important."

My heart accelerated. "What was that?"

"If you'd consider..." he paused, gathering his thoughts. "If our marriage could be real. Not just on paper or for publicity. Real in every way that matters."

Despite having anticipated this question – hoped for it, even – hearing it spoken aloud sent a wave of emotion through me so powerful I momentarily couldn't speak.

"I understand if you need time to think about it," he continued, misinterpreting my silence. "It's a big decision, and we started this whole thing as a temporary arrangement. If you'd rather wait until after playoffs to discuss—"

"Yes," I interrupted, finding my voice at last. "My answer is yes, Jax. I want our marriage to be real."

The transformation of his expression – from careful hope to unguarded joy – was the most beautiful thing I'd ever witnessed. He cupped my face in his hands with such tenderness I felt my eyes filling with tears.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, thumbs brushing my cheeks. "Really sure?"

"I've never been more certain of anything," I replied, and meant it completely.

His kiss was gentle at first, a seal on the promise we'd just made to each other. But it quickly deepened into something more heated, months of restrained desire finally finding expression. My hands slid into his hair as his arms encircled me, pulling me closer until I was practically in his lap.

When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against mine. "We should probably stop," he murmured regretfully. "My parents are just down the hall, and I have a reputation for quiet self-control to maintain."

I laughed softly, pressing one more quick kiss to his lips before reluctantly creating space between us. "To be continued in Seattle?"

"Definitely," he promised, the intensity in his gaze sending a shiver down my spine. "After we win the Cup."