Page 85 of The Hockey Contract

"I had it specially made," she explained. "Thought it might bring good luck. Or at least make you smile before the game."

"It's perfect," I told her, meaning it completely. The thoughtful gift broke through the awkwardness between us, leading to shared laughter and tacit acknowledgment of feelings we hadn't yet fully articulated.

I played that night with unprecedented focus, as if the clarity I'd found off ice had translated to sharper instincts on it. When I scored our first goal—a point shot through traffic that found the top corner—the arena erupted. My second goal, the eventual game-winner, came on a perfectly executed power play, giving us a commanding 3-1 series lead.

In post-game interviews, surrounded by microphones and cameras, a reporter asked what had contributed to my elevated playoff performance.

"You're playing the best hockey of your career," he observed. "What's changed this season?"

I looked directly into the camera, hoping Sienna would be watching the postgame coverage as she often did.

"I've found something more important than hockey," I said simply, the honesty feeling right despite the public forum. "It gives me perspective. Makes the pressure feel different."

The statement created an immediate buzz among the gathered media, but I offered no further explanation, leaving the personal details private despite their professional curiosity.

In the locker room afterward, as I finished changing, Anders appeared beside me, his expression thoughtful.

"Good game," he said, uncharacteristically initiating conversation.

"Thanks. You too. That save in the third was incredible."

He nodded acknowledgment but seemed focused on something else. "Before Sienna," he said finally, "you never played with your heart."

The observation caught me off guard with its perceptiveness. "What do you mean?"

"You played with your head. With precision. With discipline." His eyes met mine directly. "Now you play with both. It makes you better."

Chapter 30: Sienna

The scent of butter, sugar, and vanilla filled the bakery as I piped blue and white icing onto playoff-themed cookies. Outside, a line had already formed despite the early hour — hockey fever had gripped Seattle completely, and Grandma Rose's Bakehouse had become an unexpected hub for Kraken fans seeking good-luck treats.

"We're going to need another batch of those Kraken tentacle Danish," I called to an employee, sliding a tray of cookies into the display case. "They're selling faster than I can make them."

The bakery's newfound popularity should have filled me with uncomplicated joy. After all, just months ago I'd been facing foreclosure. Now, thanks to Jax and our arrangement, the bakery was not only secure but thriving. The loan was paid off, we had new equipment, and our social media following had quadrupled.

But the financial security had been replaced by emotional uncertainty. Jax's words from the other night —I love you— replayed constantly in my mind, followed immediately by the memory of Coach Miller's ill-timed phone call that had interrupted what should have been the most important conversation of my life.

We'd barely had a moment alone since then, between playoff preparations and my bakery commitments. The unfinished declaration hung between us like a partially completed recipe — all the essential ingredients measured out but never quite baked.

The bakery's front door chimed, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting the usual morning rush, but instead found Chloe slinking in through the side entrance, twenty minutes late and looking decidedly... rumpled.

Her typically immaculate hair was hastily gathered in a messy bun, her blouse misbuttoned, and was that... a faint mark on her neck? My eyes widened as I took in the guilty flush spreading across her cheeks.

"You're late," I said, fighting to keep my expression neutral.

"Traffic," she mumbled, avoiding eye contact as she tied on her apron.

"Uh-huh. Traffic gave you that hickey too?"

Chloe's hand flew to her neck, her eyes wide. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's known you for a decade." I grinned, leaning against the counter. "So... are we finally going to discuss what's been happening between you and a certain sports agent?"

She busied herself with arranging pastries, but the blush deepened. "There's nothing to discuss."

"The hickey on your neck suggests otherwise."

Chloe glanced around to ensure no other staff were within earshot before sighing deeply. "Fine. I spent the night with Leo."

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