Page 85 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Lance, how has your dyslexia affected your hockey career?"
"It's made me more creative on the ice. I can't always process written plays quickly, so I've developed strong spatial intelligence and pattern recognition. Some of my best defensive reads come from thinking outside conventional strategies."
"What would you say to your father if he were here?"
I paused, finding Rachel again. Her small nod encouraged honesty.
"I'd say that using your child's struggles for personal gain is unconscionable. That real fathers protect their children's vulnerabilities, not exploit them. And that he's exactly the kind of person I strive every day not to become."
The conference wrapped with applause, something I hadn't expected. As reporters filed out, several shared their own stories of learning differences or thanked me for speaking up.
Rachel waited in the hallway, tears in her eyes. "You were incredible."
"I couldn't have done it without you." I wanted to pull her into my arms but respected the boundaries she'd set. "Thank you."
"Always," she said softly, then seemed to catch herself. "I mean, anytime. For things like this."
We stood there, charged silence stretching between us, until Matt appeared with Jared in tow.
"Dude, you killed it!" Matt pulled me into a hug. "Your dad's probably having a meltdown watching his narrative get torched."
"Good," I said viciously.
"The media response is already phenomenal," Jared added, scrolling through his phone. "You're trending on three platforms, and the takes are unanimously positive."
"Let's celebrate," Matt suggested. "Dinner at that place Jared's been wanting to try?"
"The one with the molecular gastronomy menu?" Jared's eyes lit up. "Yes! Rachel, you're coming too, right?"
She glanced at me, something unreadable in her expression. "I should probably—"
"Please?" I didn't care if I sounded desperate. "I could use my whole support system tonight."
Her resistance crumbled. "Okay. But I'm not eating anything that involves foam or 'deconstructed' in the description."
Dinner was surprisingly fun, despite the fancy restaurant making Matt visibly uncomfortable. Jared's running commentary on each course had us all laughing, especially when he tried to convince Matt that the beet carpaccio was actually delicious.
"It tastes like dirt," Matt insisted. "Fancy, expensive dirt."
"Your palate is unrefined," Jared sniffed. "I'm dating a culinary peasant."
"You’re crazy about this culinary peasant," Matt countered, stealing a kiss.
"Unfortunately true." Jared melted into him. "My standards have clearly deteriorated."
"Get a room," I threw a breadstick at them.
"We have one," Jared replied archly. "Several, actually, since someone finally decided to stop pretending he wasn't completely gone for me."
"I wasn't pretending—"
"You literally introduced me as your 'bro' to your sister last week."
"Because you'd just spent twenty minutes explaining that labels were heteronormative constructs designed to limit queer expression."
"I was testing you!"
Rachel laughed, the sound making my chest tight. This felt right – the four of us together, celebrating victories and bickering about nothing.
