Page 119 of What We Knew Then
CORA
SevenMonthsLater
I'm not used to seeing Lane in my house. Per my dad's rules, he wasn't allowed here until we both graduated and he was no longer a Great Lakes U student-athlete.
Now we've both walked across that stage.
Lane graduated like it was just another step forward, even though I knew how much it meant to him. I walked too, despite the failed class. Exactly as I’d feared, the missed exam had been too much to overcome. For a while, I thought it meant everything was falling apart. It didn't. I'll finish the class online this summer, and somehow the world kept turning. I still graduated with my friends. I still crossed the stage. Life didn't collapse beneath the weight of one mistake.
When I walk into the house, I find my parents practically glowing from the kitchen doorway as Lane kisses my cheek. “What’s going on?” I ask.
He shrugs. "No idea. Coach called and told me to come over. Since then, I've apparently been under strict orders to stay put."
My suspicion grows. "What have they been doing?"
"Laughing. Whispering. Being weird." He glances toward the kitchen. "Mostly hiding in there."
I try to peek around him but can't see anything.
Lane leans closer. "Do you think they're on something?"
Before I can answer, my dad sticks his head around the corner. "Hey. I heard that."
Lane doesn't even look embarrassed.
"And no, we’re not," my dad adds.
There's a flurry of movement behind him. He glances over his shoulder before looking back at us, a smile spreading across his face.
It's the same one he wore after the Frozen Four championship—the one from that unforgettable night when the team crowded around the trophy, shouting and laughing beneath the championship banner.
A look which says something very, very good is about to happen.
My dad rubs his hands together and waves us in. “Okay, we’re ready for you.”
Lane reaches for my hand, his thumb brushing over the inside of my wrist, pausing over the small peach inked there. I turn my hand slightly so his thumb rests against it fully, showcasing the matching one on his hand. We got them a few weeks ago and it’s still hard to believe it was his idea.
The moment the kitchen comes into view, my stomach drops. Gathered around the table and leaning against the bar are some very important people—Oliver, Coach Knight and his wife, Lane’s agent, and my mom. For a second, I can only stare. The room feels charged with something I can’t quite name.
My gaze shifts from face to face, and my heart squeezes. They’re all looking at Lane with the same expression—pride shining in their eyes, smiles tugging at their mouths—as if they’ve been waiting for this moment. The vibe sends a rush of nerves through me. It feels significant, like I’ve walked into the middle of a scene that will divide life into before and after.
Oliver is the first to move. He crosses the room without a word and pulls Lane into a fierce hug, clapping him hard on the back. The gesture is so full of affection and care that it makes my throat ache. When he finally lets go, he gives me a quick hug before stepping aside.
Lane glances around the room, his brow furrowing as he takes in the unexpected gathering. “What are you guys doing here?” he asks, a hint of confusion in his voice.
No one answers, but the smiles spreading across their faces tell me they won’t be keeping the secret much longer. And whatever they're about to say, I have a feeling it's going to change everything.
Then two more people step out from the hallway.
For a second, I’m convinced I have to be mistaken. That my brain is filling in details which can’t possibly be real. But when I blink, they’re still there.
Standing in my kitchen are the head coach and general manager of the Chicago Frost.
An NHL team.
My pulse roars in my ears as I look from one face to the other. These aren't scouts stopping by a game or recruiters evaluating talent from a distance. These are the men responsible for building a professional roster; for deciding which players are given a chance to make the jump to the highest level of hockey in the world.
Beside me, Lane has gone completely still. His eyes are locked on them, disbelief written across every inch of his face. I know exactly what he's seeing in this moment. Not just two executives standing in the kitchen, but every early morning practice, every bus ride, every injury, every sacrifice. The years he spent working toward a dream he thought had slipped through his fingers.
