Page 94 of The Hockey Contract

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.

---