Page 93 of The Hockey Contract

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.

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