Page 98 of The Hockey Contract

As I carefully placed a fresh ice pack on Jax's bruised ribs, his hand caught mine, eyes opening slightly.

"Thank you," he murmured, voice thick with sleep. "For taking care of me."

"Always," I promised.

His fingers tightened around mine momentarily before sleep reclaimed him. I remained beside him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, marveling at how my life had transformed since a coffee-stained first encounter.

Chapter 35: Jax

Game 7. The two most exciting words in sports. One game to determine a champion, legacies defined in sixty minutes of play. The culmination of a lifetime of training, sacrifices, and dreams.

I'd visualized this moment countless times throughout my career – standing in a locker room before the decisive game of the Finals. In those visualizations, my focus had been singular, my mind empty of everything except hockey.

The reality proved different.

As I dressed methodically in my gear – the routine unchanged for over a decade – my thoughts weren't solely on forechecking systems or defensive zone coverage. They drifted repeatedly to Sienna, to the life we were building together, to the bakery expansion plans spread across our dining room table.

"Harrison." Coach Miller's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Package for you."

He handed me a small, carefully wrapped parcel. Inside, I found individually packaged protein bites – Sienna's special pregame recipe, developed specifically for my nutritional needs. The accompanying note read simply:For energy and luck. I'll be cheering louder than anyone. All my love – S

The signature –All my love– created a warmth in my chest that spread outward, settling my pregame nerves more effectively than any visualization technique.

"Do they taste good?" Coach asked, nodding toward the protein bites.

"Yes." I couldn't help the pride that colored my voice. "She's been perfecting the recipe for weeks."

Coach's expression softened slightly. "She made breakfast for the entire team this morning, you know. Personalized pastries for everyone – cartoon characters for guys with kids, hometown landmarks for the rookies. Never seen anything like it."

"That's Sienna," I said simply. "She pays attention to what matters to people."

"You're a lucky man, Harrison." He clapped my shoulder before moving on to check on other players. "Don't forget it."

I hadn't forgotten – not for a moment.

Before final preparations began, I slipped into the hallway to present Sienna with a gift of my own – a key to a storage unit where I'd been collecting baking equipment from around the world. Japanese precision knives, French copper pots, Italian marble slabs, German scales – tools gathered from cities visited during matches, each representing places we might explore together throughout my hockey career.

When I handed her the key, explaining what it unlocked, her eyes widened with emotion. "You did this during playoffs? With everything else going on?"

"It gave me something positive to focus on during travel," I explained. "Thinking about your reaction kept me grounded."

Her embrace – fierce and immediate – conveyed everything words couldn't. When she finally pulled back, determination shone in her eyes. "Go win that Cup, Jax Harrison. Then come home to me."

As game time approached, unexpected messages of support flooded my phone:

From my father, still recovering but watching from home:Proud of you, son. Not just for the hockey, but for the man you've become.

From Mr. Henderson, Sienna's elderly bakery regular whom I'd befriended:Wearing my jersey and lucky socks. That check you threw in Game 6 reminded me of the match in 1942!

From Sienna's Aunt Carol:She's happier than I've ever seen her. That's worth more than any trophy.

And most surprisingly, a joint text from Chloe and Leo:We're stress-eating bakery leftovers and terrifying the delivery guys with our screaming. Bring home that silver cup!

The breadth of the support network that had developed around us struck me profoundly. However I'd defined success before this season, the definition had expanded to include relationships I'd never anticipated valuing.

In the locker room, Coach Miller's final words didn't focus on tactics or opponent weaknesses as usual. Instead, he spoke about family – the one we'd formed as a team and the ones supporting us from home.

"Look around this room," he said, his normally gruff voice softening. "Brothers in everything but blood. Then think about who's sitting in those stands, watching at home, waiting for your call afterward. That's who you're playing for tonight. Not just yourselves, not just each other, but everyone who's sacrificed alongside you to reach this moment."

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