Page 97 of The Hockey Contract

"Different?" I attempted nonchalance. "Just busy with the playoffs and—"

"Not busy-different. You're glowing." She leaned forward, voice lowering. "Are you pregnant?"

"What? No!" The question startled a laugh from me. "Definitely not."

"Hm." She took a sip of coffee, eyes never leaving my face. "Then it's something else. Something with that husband of yours."

I busied myself straightening napkins, avoiding her piercing gaze. "We're doing well."

"Are you in love with him?" The directness of her question caught me off guard. "For real, not the whirlwind romance you initially claimed."

The perfect opening presented itself – a chance to begin the honest conversation Jax and I had planned. Taking a deep breath, I met her eyes directly.

"Aunt Carol, I need to tell you something about how Jax and I really got together."

Over the next half hour, I explained the truth – our arrangement, its financial motivations, and how genuine feelings had developed unexpectedly along the way. I braced for disappointment or judgment, but instead found myself facing understanding and what appeared to be... amusement?

"Oh, honey," she chuckled when I'd finished. "Did you think I believed that love-at-first-sight story from the beginning? I've known you your entire life. You research coffee makers for months before purchasing. The idea you'd marry someone after a few weeks never rang true."

"You knew?" I gaped at her.

"I suspected," she corrected. "But what matters isn't how you began, but where you are now." She patted my hand gently. "And now, unless I'm completely mistaken, you're truly in love with your husband."

"I am," I admitted, the simple truth feeling liberating. "Completely."

"You know," she mused, "your grandparents had an arranged marriage."

This revelation startled me completely. "What? Grandma Rose and Grandpa Joe? But they were so in love!"

"Indeed they were," she agreed with a soft smile. "But it didn't start that way. Their parents arranged the match – practical, sensible, good farming families. The love came later, growing naturally from respect and shared purpose."

I sat back, processing this new information about the grandparents whose passionate love had been my relationship ideal growing up.

"Sometimes," Aunt Carol continued, "the relationships with the most unusual beginnings develop the strongest foundations. You build deliberately, consciously, rather than being carried away by initial passion that might not sustain."

Her wisdom lingered with me throughout the day and into the evening of Game 6 – the potential elimination game that would either extend the Finals to a deciding Game 7 or end the Kraken's championship dreams.

Watching from the family section alongside Willow and Chloe, I felt a new level of anxiety with each shift, each scoring chance, each hit. When Jax took a brutal check in the third period and remained down on the ice for several terrifying seconds, I nearly stopped breathing until he finally struggled to his feet and skated slowly to the bench.

"He'll be okay," Willow assured me, gripping my hand tightly. "They're tougher than they look."

"I know, but..." I couldn't articulate the fear – not just for his physical wellbeing but for his dreams, knowing how devastated he'd be if injury prevented him from contributing in this crucial moment.

When he returned to the ice minutes later, determination evident even from a distance, pride surged through me so powerfully I had to blink back tears.

The Kraken forced Game 7 with a dramatic overtime victory, tying the series 3-3 and setting up a winner-take-all final game. The arena exploded with celebration, twenty thousand voices united in joyous disbelief at the historic comeback.

Afterward, in the family meeting area where players greeted loved ones before boarding the team bus, I examined Jax's bruised face with concern.

"You're going to have quite a black eye tomorrow," I noted, fingers hovering near the darkening skin around his right eye.

"Battle scars," he shrugged, though he couldn't completely hide his wince. "Worth it."

Coach Miller passed by, pausing briefly beside us. "Good game, Harrison," he said gruffly, then added with a knowing glance toward me, "Whatever she's doing for you, it's working. Never seen you play with such heart."

As Coach continued down the hallway, Jax's arm tightened around my waist. "He's right, you know," he murmured against my hair. "You've changed everything."

That night, tending to Jax's injuries while he slept – ice for the bruises, arnica for the swelling – I found myself reflecting on how completely I'd integrated into his world. Six months ago, I couldn't have named a single hockey penalty; now I understood power plays, penalty kills, forechecking strategies. I'd formed genuine friendships with teammates' wives and girlfriends, learned the unwritten rules of playoff superstitions, and developed my own game-day routines.

---