Page 97 of The Girlfriend Goal
We explored the city together, playing tourist while pretending my departure wasn't looming. Pike Place Market, the Space Needle, endless coffee shops that Rachel rated on a complex scale I didn't understand.
"This is it," she announced at a tiny café near her apartment. "This is my place."
"You've decided that about six different cafés."
"This one's different. Look – they have a reading nook and the barista already knows my name and they make their own lavender syrup."
Her excitement was infectious. I could picture her here, building routines and friendships, becoming the Seattle version of herself. The thought hurt and thrilled in equal measure.
Draft day arrived too quickly. We watched from her couch, laptops open to multiple streams, phones buzzing with updates. Nashville went first, their second-round pick not surprising anyone.
"That's good," Rachel said, squeezing my hand. "You said they wanted you as third pair, limited minutes."
Calgary selected me at fifty-five overall, their AHL team in need of defensive prospects. A good organization, great development program, and approximately seven hundred miles from Seattle.
"It's not so bad," Rachel said immediately. "Two-hour flight. We can do weekends—"
"Wait." I refreshed my email, heart stopping. "Seattle just sent something."
We read together, her hand gripping mine tightly.
Congratulations on your selection. While Calgary owns your rights, we've been in contact about a potential trade. Our AHL affiliate in Tacoma needs defensive depth. Would you be interested?
"Oh my God." Rachel's voice went high. "Oh my God, Lance—"
"Don't get excited. Trades fall through. Calgary might not want to deal—"
"Shut up and let me be excited." She tackled me backward on the couch. "You might be here. Actually here!"
The next twenty-four hours were torture. Calls with agents, negotiations I wasn't privy to, Rachel pacing her tiny apartment like a caged animal.
Finally, the call came.
"Welcome to the Seattle organization," the GM said. "We're excited to have you in Tacoma. Think you can handle the rain?"
I looked at Rachel, who was silently screaming and doing a dance that defied description.
"Yeah," I said, grinning. "I think I can handle it."
She was on me before I hung up, kissing me senseless while crying and laughing simultaneously.
"You're here," she kept saying. "You're actually going to be here."
"Thirty minutes away," I corrected. "Still distance."
"Shut up. Thirty minutes is nothing. That's like a long commute. We can see each other all the time!"
Her joy was contagious. We celebrated with champagne she'd been saving and terrible takeout, planning a future that suddenly felt possible.
"I love you," she said later, curled against me in her tiny bed. "And I know you didn't pick Seattle just for me."
"I picked Seattle for us," I interrupted. "For my career and our life and the chance to be stupidly happy with you. That matters too. Now stop overthinking and help me find an apartment in Tacoma."
"Already on it." She grabbed her laptop. "I made a spreadsheet. It's color-coded by distance from the arena and proximity to good coffee."
"I love you," I laughed. "My gorgeous, type-A, spreadsheet-making girlfriend."
"Damn right." She kissed me. "Now focus – we have a life to build."
