Page 304 of Cross Check

I can’t believe I get to go through life with such incredible friends.

“Hey,” Emmy calls out.

The younger campers squeal when they spot the redhead. The teenagers gawk at the guys, and one bursts into tears when Liam gives her goalie stick a tap with his foot.

“You’re late, Hartwell. But I’ll let it slide.” I tip my head when she smirks. “We’re about to start our first round of drills. Are you all planning to join?”

“We’re here for something else.”

“You are?” I turn to my assistants who don’t look fazed by the interruption. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”

“Hi, Lia,” Grant says. He walks my way and holds up a gift bag. “I come bearing a present that’s time sensitive.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“You. It’s always a good day to celebrate you.”

I don’t know what he means, but I do know it’s not a proposal.

We’ve talked about our future countless times, and we’re happy exactly how we are. No children, no rings. The two of us work to be the best in our careers while loving each other fiercely, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Still, anticipation pulses through me as I pluck a piece of tissue paper from the bag. I pull out a USA jersey that matches the one Grant is wearing, and I frown.

“Are you giving me your jersey?” I ask. “I have two at home.”

“Turn it around,” he says.

I hold it up so I can look at the back. My college number sits in the middle, but that’s not what catches me by surprise. Green is stitched across the shoulders, and my breath tangles in my chest.

“I haven’t worn a jersey with my name on it in years,” I say.

“I know, and this one is even more special. The Olympic roster was announced an hour ago,” Grant says. “Congratulations on being named the head coach of the men’s team, Lia.”

One minute, my feet are on the ground. The next, he’s scooping me in his arms. Spinning me around while a choked sob escapes my lungs. I melt into him, his arms warm and steady while a swarm of emotions hit me square in the chest.

Olympics.

Coach.

A gold medal.

I’m proud of everything I’ve accomplished in my career—the Frozen Four wins, multiple Stanley Cups, the groundwork for more women to enter the league in coaching roles—but this is the most special. The milestone I never knew was obtainable is now mine.

“This can’t be real life,” I say into the crook of Grant’s neck. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“I’d never do that.” Grant sets me down. He brushes a tear away from my cheek and lets out a strangled breath. My bottom lip quivers when I see his own watery eyes. “There’s one more thing.”

“What else could there possibly be?”

He squeezes my hand then spins, showing off the jersey he’s wearing.

It doesn’t say Everett on the back like I thought it would. Instead, Mr. Green is embroidered across his shoulders, and my fingers tremble when I trace each letter.

“I declined my roster invitation,” Grant says.

“Why would you ever do that?” I ask, and he faces me again.

“This is your moment. The media coverage at the Games should be on the glass ceilings you’re breaking, not our relationship. I don’t want people to call you Grant Everett’s girlfriend. I want them to call you Amelia Green, the first woman to coach the men’s team and take them to the gold medal game. And win.”