Page 389 of Faking the Goal

Those eyes are getting shiny again.

"But," I continue, "wherever hockey takes me, I'm going to want you there whenever you want to be there. And wherever photography takes you, I'll be the asshole bragging to everyone that my girlfriend took that picture."

A watery laugh slips out of her.

"And someday," I say, quieter now, "when we're tired of living out of suitcases, we'll figure out where home is."

"What if home keeps changing?"

I don't even have to think about that one.

"Then it changes."

Her eyes search mine.

I slide my hand behind her neck and bring her forehead against mine.

"Home doesn't have to be a city, Trouble."

Her breath catches.

"As long as I keep coming back to you, I'll know where mine is."

She stares at me.

Ah, fuck.

There go the tears.

"Kentaro Azuma," she whispers accusingly.

"What?"

"You cannot say shit like that while I'm lying underneath the magical cherry blossom date you made for me and expect me to remain emotionally stable."

I laugh as she buries her wet face against my chest.

"You're the one who wanted sappy."

"I didn't realize you were going to weaponize it against me."

I wrap both arms around her and pull her closer.

And lying there beneath all those glowing pink blossoms, surrounded by photographs of everything we've already been through together, I realize I don't need to know exactly what happens after graduation.

A year ago, every plan I made ended with hockey.

Graduate.

Go pro.

Make the NHL.

Everything beyond that was blank.

Now when I picture Vegas, she's there somewhere.

When I picture five years from now, she's there.