Page 55 of Puck Me Thrice
"—but hear me out. I've been researching successful polyamorous relationships, and there are common factors that contribute to healthy dynamics."
Blake leaned forward with interest. Mira looked amused. Nolan looked resigned.
"First," I continued, clicking to my presentation, "clear communication. We need to establish regular check-ins where we can voice concerns without judgment."
"You made a presentation," Mira said.
"With graphs," Blake added.
"The graphs are important!" I protested. "They show statistical correlations between communication frequency and relationship satisfaction."
"Logan," Nolan said gently. "This is dating, not a thesis defense."
"Why can't it be both?"
Despite their teasing, they let me present my framework.
"This is actually helpful," Nolan admitted when I finished. "Structured but not rigid. Leaving room for spontaneity while providing clear expectations."
"The calendar thing is smart," Blake said. "Prevents accidental double-booking or anyone feeling left out."
Mira was quiet, reading through my notes with an expression I couldn't interpret.
"What do you think?" I asked, suddenly nervous.
She looked up at me, her eyes soft. "I think your need for structure might actually be exactly what we need. Left to our own devices, we'd probably just muddle through until something exploded. But this—" She gestured to my laptop. "This gives us tools to handle complications before they become disasters."
"So I'm not being ridiculous?"
"Oh, you're definitely being ridiculous," she said, smiling. "But it's helpful ridiculous. Which is the best kind."
We spent the next hour refining the framework together, each person adding their own needs and boundaries. By the end, we had something that felt less like a clinical document and more like a roadmap—flexible enough to accommodate our individual needs but structured enough to provide security.
Chapter 18: Mira
The championship game arrived with the weight of approximately seventeen different futures crushing down on my shoulders.
NHL scouts filled the stands specifically to watch Nolan, Logan, and Blake. I'd done my research—I knew their draft positions, their projected salaries, the teams interested in signing them. Their futures were almost guaranteed, bright and shining with possibility.
My future was decidedly less certain.
The ice show scouts were also here, having called me two days ago to make their "final offer." Accept now, leave immediately after the championship game, or lose the opportunity forever. No pressure.
And then—because the universe apparently decided I hadn't suffered enough—my parents showed up.
I was doing pre-game prep when I saw them in the crowd. My mom in her church clothes because apparently she thought a hockey game required formal wear. My dad wearing a Northbridge sweatshirt he must have bought that morning, looking uncomfortable in the sea of screaming fans.
"Mira!" My mom waved enthusiastically, as if I couldn't see her. "Surprise!"
I waved back, my brain short-circuiting with panic. My parents were here. At the championship game. Where I'd have to introduce them to my three housemates without explaining that they were, in fact, my three boyfriends.
"Your parents are here," Logan said beside me, his voice slightly strangled. "Does that mean—"
"We're about to have the most awkward introduction of my life? Yes. Yes, it does."
Blake materialized on my other side, his face pale. "We have to meet your parents, while pretending we're just your housemates."
"Correct."
