Page 100 of The Girlfriend Goal
"I love you," he said simply. "None of this matters without you."
"It matters," I corrected. "Your dreams matter. But I love you too."
The kiss goodbye lingered until security gave us pointed looks. I watched him disappear through the checkpoint, then sat in my car crying happy tears.
Jared: Did you ugly cry at the airport?
Me: No.
Jared: Liar. Matt says Lance texted that you definitely ugly cried.
Me: I'm blocking both of you.
Jared: Sure. BTW, Operation Christmas Proposal is officially on. Act surprised.
I laughed despite myself, driving back to Seattle with pride swelling in my chest. My boyfriend was about to play in the NHL. My brother was healing. My career was growing. Life wasn't perfect, but it was ours.
The night of Lance's NHL debut, I hosted a watch party in my tiny apartment. Storm players, Tacoma friends, and various adopted Seattle friends crammed in to witness the moment.
When they announced his name in the starting lineup, we erupted. When he made his first professional save, blocking a shot that would've been a sure goal, I screamed loud enough to get noise complaints.
"Your boyfriend's kind of incredible," Diana observed, watching him battle in the corners.
"Yeah," I agreed, not even trying to hide my grin. "He really is."
Lance played all three games, earning praise for his steady defensive presence. The organization was impressed enough to guarantee more opportunities after the new year. He flew back exhausted but exhilarated, eyes bright with achievement.
"How did it feel?" I asked, driving him home from the airport.
"Unreal. Everything I dreamed, but better." He took my hand. "Kept thinking about you watching. Made me play harder."
"Sap."
"Your sap," he corrected. "Forever, if you'll have me."
"Forever's a long time," I teased, but my heart was already screaming yes.
Christmas in Tahoe exceeded expectations. Lance's aunt welcomed me like a daughter, sharing embarrassing childhood stories that had him groaning into his nog. The small gathering felt intimate without being overwhelming, a stark contrast to his father's performative holidays.
"I like her," his aunt declared after I'd beaten everyone at Scrabble. "She keeps you humble."
"Someone has to," I said, dodging Lance's retaliatory cushion throw.
On Christmas morning, exchanging gifts by the fire, Lance handed me a small box that made my heart stop.
"Relax," he said quickly. "Just open it."
Inside sat a delicate necklace – a small hockey stick crossed with a soccer ball, both rendered in silver.
"I had it custom made," he explained. "Figured we needed something that was both of us."
"It's perfect," I whispered, throat tight. "Put it on me?"
His fingers were gentle on my neck, fastening the clasp with practiced ease. The pendant settled against my chest, a tangible reminder of everything we'd built.
The week passed in a blur of family meals, tourist activities, and quiet moments that felt like glimpses of our future. By the time we returned to Seattle, something had shifted. We'd crossed some invisible threshold from dating to building a life.
"Jared's moving here," I announced over New Year's dinner. "Got into UW's theater program for grad school."
