Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Ididn’t go into the Boston office too often, but I felt like this was a pitch that had to be made in person. I sat across from Mark in his office, my right knee jumping erratically while I waited for him to finish reading over my story brief.
I heard his heavy exhale and anticipated the worst.
“Hockey is niche enough to be reporting on,” he started. “But this?” Mark removed his baseball cap and ran his fingers through thinning light brown hair. “I’m out of my depth, Reese. I don’t know anything about any of this.”
“Which is exactly why I need to do this story,” I insisted. “Most people don’t. Or if they do, it’s probably misinformation.”
Mark continued to hesitate.
“This is why you hired me,” I declared. “Anyone can regurgitate stats and scores. This story is different. This story could mean a lot for a lot of people.”
Mark leaned back in his chair and regarded me. “Don’t make me regret this,” he frowned.
My body clenched all over. “So is that a yes?”
He paused before curtly nodding. “You have my blessing.”
I resisted the urge to pump my fist in victory. I was a professional, after all.
“Thank you,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I won’t let you down.”
Mark gave me a distracted wave, already reaching for the next thing on his desk.
I couldn’t count on randomly running into Erin and Charlotte at another community event, so I reached out to the team staff who’d organized the hockey camp. It took a few calls, some persistence, and a little charm, but eventually I got a list of parent contacts.
From there, it was just a matter of working my way down the list.
Even after all this time, cold-calling still made my stomach twist. I stared at the number a second too long before pressing the call button.
It rang twice.
“Hello?”
Her voice was soft and a little cautious.
“Hi—is this Erin?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Hi, this is Reese. The reporter from the other day.”
I waited, suddenly aware of how this might sound—intrusive, abrupt.
“Oh. Hi,” she said, recognition clicking into place.
“What you said to me last week at the hockey camp—about there being an expiration date on Charlotte being able to play sports—that really stuck with me,” I said. “I’d like to write a story about Charlotte. Not her exactly, but about her situation.”
Charlotte’s mother was quiet on the other end of the call. I worried we’d been disconnected or that she’d hung up on me.
“Erin?” I pressed.
“Hi—yes, I’m still here,” she said. “I’m just processing.”
I suddenly worried that maybe an email request for an interview would have been better. Erin wouldn’t have been blindsided or put on the spot.
“I can keep you anonymous,” I added quickly. “No last names, no photos—whatever you’re comfortable with. I just think there’s a lot of misinformation out there about trans athletes, especially at the youth level. And your perspective could really help people understand.”
The line stayed quiet just long enough to make my pulse pick up.
“Charlotte’s having a birthday party next Saturday,” Erin said.
I blinked. “Oh—”
“Why don’t you come by the house?”
“Come in! I’m almost ready.”
I stepped inside Dani’s condo and stopped. The first thing I noticed wasn’t the scent of that morning’s breakfast or Dani’s laundry detergent lingering in the air. It was how small the apartment was.
My own rental wasn’t a palatial mansion, but I was surprised by Dani’s modest space.
It was a studio like mine, but with a proper bed instead of a fold-out couch.
The kitchen was no larger than my own, but it had been updated recently.
A small table was crammed in one corner.
A couch and coffee table faced a flatscreen TV hanging on the wall.
“Wow,” I said, looking around. “It’s cozy.”
“Cozy is good,” Dani called from across the room.
My eyes followed her voice and found her wrestling on the floor with wrapping paper and a very obvious hockey stick-shaped object.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Can’t go to a birthday party empty-handed,” she said, not looking up.
I bit back a laugh. “I don’t know if you really needed to wrap that.”
“You’re supposed to wrap presents,” she said, smoothing tape over an edge that wasn’t cooperating.
“Only if what’s inside is going to be a surprise.”
Dani lifted the half-wrapped stick and squinted critically. “You think it’s too obvious?”
She looked so earnest and concerned, I didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble.
“It’s perfect,” I said warmly. “Charlotte’s going to love it.”
Dani returned her attention to the wrapping paper while I took the liberty of giving myself a self-guided tour.
I wandered slowly, my fingers brushing over the little bits of her life on display: a stack of magazines with her on the cover, a few framed photos of teammates, her hockey gear carefully stashed against one wall.
No clutter, no real personal touches beyond the essentials.
It looked lived-in, but almost clinical in its efficiency.
“It’s minimalist,” I said, glancing toward the kitchen.
She shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I don’t need much.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a professional hockey player, and this is all you need?”
She shrugged again. “My salary’s not bad, but housing in Wellesley is expensive as hell. Endorsements help, but I’m squirreling that money away for old age. I figure it’s better to live small and save than to stretch for a fancy place I’ll barely see.”
I let my eyes roam again. There was nothing extravagant, nothing designed to impress anyone. Even the couch looked like it had been rescued from a thrift store.
I perched on the edge of it, testing the cushions. “I guess I expected something flashier,” I admitted.
Dani’s mouth tilted. “Disappointed?”
I shook my head. “No. Just surprised.”
“Good surprised or bad surprised?”
“Still deciding,” I said lightly.
“Wow,” she smirked. “Tough crowd.”
I huffed a small laugh and shook my head. “It’s just not what I expected.”
Dani didn’t join my laughter. Instead, she stood from the floor—slow and deliberate.
My attention caught on the movement before I could stop it. My gaze landed on the way she rolled her shoulders back, the easy confidence in the way she crossed the small space between us. I stayed where I was on the couch, suddenly very aware of the fact that there wasn’t much room to begin with.
And now there was even less.
She stopped in front of me, close but not touching. I had to tilt my head up to meet her eyes.
“Still deciding?” she asked.
Her voice dropped, quiet but steady, making my pulse tick up.
“Uh huh,” I said, aiming for casual.
Her mouth curved. “Take your time,” she drawled.
Still, she didn’t step back. Instead, her fingers closed around my wrist, warm and sure, and she gently pulled me to my feet in one smooth motion.
“Better,” she said, her voice still low.
I swallowed. “Better?”
Her eyes dipped to my mouth and then back up. “Yeah.”
The word had barely reached me before her lips were on mine—warm, urgent, and a little rougher than I expected.
It knocked the air out of me.
I made a small sound—half surprise, half something else—and then I was kissing her back, like I’d been waiting for it without realizing.
Her hand slid from my wrist to my side, a small adjustment that somehow pulled me closer.
I exhaled against her mouth, my lips parting against hers as my hand found the front of her shirt without thinking. My fingers curled into the fabric, holding there—not pulling, just needing something solid to keep me anchored as everything else tipped slightly off balance.
She leaned in just a fraction more, closing whatever space was left between us, and for a second, the kiss lost its careful edge—her mouth pressing harder, a little hungrier, a little less controlled.
It made my grip tighten on her shirt.
It made my whole body lean into hers.
It made it very, very hard to remember anything else.
“Birthday party,” I managed, the words barely making it out as I pulled back just enough to breathe, my lips brushing hers again on the last syllable.
Dani let out a quiet laugh, her forehead resting against mine, her breath still uneven. “Right.”
Neither of us moved.
“Wouldn’t want that expert wrap job to go to waste,” I added, even as my fingers stayed fisted in her shirt.
“Be a shame, yeah,” she murmured.
The hand that had been at my side raised up to my face. Dani brushed the back of her knuckles against my cheekbone so tenderly, I nearly melted on the spot.
“Come on,” I sighed, more determined now. “I’ve got a story to write, and you’re going to make an eight-year-old’s birthday unforgettable.”
The walkway curved slightly from the driveway to the front door, edged with patches of stubborn snow that hadn’t quite melted yet. The air still held that late-winter bite—sharp enough to wake you up, not quite ready to make way for spring.
Dani held her wrapped gift in one hand. The other swung loose at her side, easy and unguarded, brushing close to mine as we walked. Every few steps, our hands knocked together in the open space between us.
My stomach dipped at the prospect of being bold enough to firmly grab her empty hand in mine. It would have been easy. Too easy. But I forced myself to leave it alone. We were taking things slow, I reminded myself. I wasn’t about to blur that line just because it felt good in the moment.
Still, my hand hovered a second too long at my side after the last brush, like I hadn’t quite convinced myself to ignore the impulse.
The front steps came up faster than I expected. The door was suddenly right in front of me, and the space between us closed for a different reason. Instead of reaching to hold her hand, I lifted mine to knock on the front door.
The door swung open before I could knock a second time.
“Welcome!” Erin greeted, a little breathless.