Page 125 of Off-Limits as Puck

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. But Chelsea, if you take the Seattle job—”

“You’re not following me to Seattle, Reed. I won’t let you uproot your entire life because I can’t figure out mine.”

“What if I want to uproot my life?”

“What if you think you want to and then resent me for it later?”

“What if you stop making decisions for both of us and let me decide what I’m willing to risk?”

“Because your risk tolerance has always been so healthy.”

“Touché. But this isn’t about risk tolerance. This is about priorities.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning maybe the question isn’t whether we can make this work long-distance. Maybe the question is whether we want to keep trying to build something together or separately.”

Silence stretches between us, filled with the weight of everything we’re not saying. Both of us standing at crossroads, holding career opportunities that should feel like victories but insteadfeel like choices between safety and love.

“I should let you go,” she says finally. “You need time to think about the contract.”

“Will you think about Seattle?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“Good. And Chelsea?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you decide, decide for you. Not for me, not for us, not for anyone else. Just you.”

“You too. Promise me you won’t turn down a three-year contract because of geographic complications.”

“I promise I’ll make the choice that feels right. Even if it doesn’t look right on paper.”

After we hang up, I sit in my kitchen staring at the contract Jerry sent me. It should represent everything I’ve worked for. Financial security, professional respect, the chance to be part of something stable and successful.

But all I can think about is Chelsea’s voice when she said she didn’t want to have conversations in different time zones anymore. The way she sounded torn between the life she’s building and the possibility of building something together.

I set the phone down and look at the contract again. Three years in Boston. Stability. Security. The life I thought I wanted when I was busy destroying the life I actually wanted.

My laptop’s open before I fully realize what I’m doing. NHL team locations, salary caps, trade possibilities. The Seattle Icehawks—expansion team, building their identity, probably willing to take risks on players with complicated histories if the fit is right.

It’s insane. It’s impractical. It’s exactly the kind of dramatic gesture Chelsea would tell me not to make.

But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve both gotten so good at making practical choices that we’ve forgotten how to make brave ones.

My phone buzzes. Jerry again.

Jerry:Please tell me you’re not about to do something stupid for a woman.

Me:I’m about to do something smart for both of us.

Jerry:That’s the same thing.

Me:Set up a call with Seattle’s management. I want to explore options.

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