Page 56 of Gamechanger

A forest of hands shot up. I pointed to a familiar face in the front row, figuring I'd start with someone I knew.

"Jake,Portland Tribune," he said, though the introduction was unnecessary. "Finn, tough loss tonight. How are you and the team feeling about the way the season ended?"

I leaned into the microphone, my voice raspier than I expected. "Obviously, we're disappointed. We wanted to give our fans a playoff run. But I'm proud of how we battled tonight, how we've grown as a team this season. We've laid a foundation to build on."

More hands. I chose a woman in a bright green blazer.

"Melissa Holmes,Hockey Night in America. Finn, your speed was on full display tonight, especially on that breakaway goal. Can you walk us through that moment?"

I couldn't help but smile, the memory still fresh. "Honestly? It's all a blur. I saw their D-man telegraph the pass, and instinct just took over. Next thing I knew, it was just me and the goalie. I faked left, he bit, and... well, you saw the rest."

A chuckle rippled through the room. I was starting to relax, finding my rhythm.

"Over here, Finn," a voice called from the back. "Steve Kowalski,ESPN. You've had quite a journey this season, both on and off the ice. How do you feel you've grown as a player and as a person?"

I paused, considering my words carefully. "It's been a season of challenges and growth, for sure. I've learned a lot about myself, about what I'm capable of when I stop doubting and start believing. And I've learned the importance of having a support system, both on the ice and off."

I saw a few reporters exchange glances, and I knew what was coming.

"Speaking of off-ice support," a young reporter piped up, "any comment on your relationship with the team's marketing director?"

The room fell silent, all eyes on me. A few months ago, this question would have sent me into a panic. But now? I met the reporter's gaze steadily.

"Yeah, I've got a comment," I said, my voice calm and clear. "He makes me a better player, and a better person. Next question?"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a flurry of hands and voices. The PR rep stepped in, calling for order.

"Let's keep the questions focused on tonight's game and the season, please," she said firmly.

I fielded a few more questions about specific plays and my thoughts on next season before the PR rep called time.

As I stood to leave, Jake from theTribunecaught my eye. "Gutsy move, kid," he said quietly. "Respect."

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and pride. As I walked out of the press room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Moose:

You're amazing. Can't wait to see you.

Later, in the quiet of Moose's apartment, we lay tangled together on his bed, the soft cotton sheets cool against our skin. The room was bathed in the warm glow of a bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. Outside, the muted sounds of Portland's nightlife drifted up, a gentle reminder of the world beyond this moment.

I traced the lines of Moose's face with my fingertips, memorizing every detail. The strong curve of his jaw, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the softness of his lips. His skin was warm beneath my touch, alive with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"What are you thinking?" Moose murmured, his breath warm against my cheek. His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer.

I smiled, feeling a peace I'd never known before. "I'm thinking... I can't wait for next season."

Moose chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Hockey on the brain even now, huh?"

"Not just hockey," I said, meeting his eyes. In the soft light, they looked almost golden. "Us. This. Everything."

He reached up, running his fingers through my hair. The gentle touch sent shivers down my spine. "Yeah?"

I nodded, leaning into his hand. "Yeah. For the first time, I feel like... like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Who I'm supposed to be."

Moose's expression softened, his eyes glistening with emotion. "Finn," he whispered, voice thick. "You have no idea how amazing you are, do you?"

Before I could respond, he pulled me into a kiss. It was soft at first, tender, but quickly deepened. I lost myself in the sensation, in the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine. My hands roamed across the broad expanse of his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin.

When we pulled back from the kiss, I whispered, "I wanna ride."

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