Say It Again
Gisele
Around here, we don’t make a big fuss when something finally works out.
No parades. No announcements over a loudspeaker.
Just a shift. Subtle, but unmistakable. The way people look at each other.
The way they stop bracing for the worst. And if you’re paying attention…
You can tell the difference between something that might last… and something that already has.
Playlist: “You Are the Best Thing” by Ray LaMontagne
His arms are around me, his forehead pressed to mine, and I want so badly to just let this be simple. But I’ve been burned before. Not by him—by the hope that kept me waiting, the belief that patience would eventually be rewarded.
He’s been through the evaluation. He came back. He walked into my salon and nodded once across the room, and I exhaled for the first time in days. But exhaling isn’t the same as believing. Not yet.
I pull back. Not far—just enough to see his face clearly. I need to see the tells. The places where he’s still holding back. The micro-expressions that say this is a performance instead of the real thing.
He walked through that evaluation. He came back. He nodded at me across my own salon like a man who had just done something hard and survived it. That’s not nothing.
But surviving something alone isn’t the same as choosing me out loud.
“Bennett.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m done retreating.” His hands find mine again. “I know you have no reason to trust that. I know I’ve given you every reason not to. But something cracked open during this ordeal with the league, and I finally understand what I’ve been doing wrong.”
“Which is?”
“I’ve been treating love like something I could manage.
Like if I just controlled the variables—kept enough distance, hedged enough statements, protected myself enough—I could have you without actually risking anything.
” He shakes his head. “That’s not love. That’s just.. . cowardice dressed up as caution.”
The observation lands harder because it’s so accurate. That’s exactly what he’s been doing. What we’ve both been doing, in different ways.
“And now?”
“Now I’m choosing the risk.” His eyes hold mine. “Fully. Publicly. Whatever you need to believe it.”
Here’s the thing about being the person who’s always patient, always understanding, always willing to wait: you develop excellent instincts for detecting bullshit. You learn to read the micro-expressions, the tells, the places where someone’s words don’t match their body language.
I’m reading Bennett right now, and I’m not finding any of the usual signs.
No darting eyes. No tension in his jaw. No hand creeping toward the scar over his eyebrow.
Just... presence. Openness. The raw vulnerability of a man who’s finally stopped hiding. I’ve been waiting to see this version of him for twelve years. Now that he’s here, I don’t know what to do with him.
It should make this easier. Instead, it makes it terrifying.
“Say it again,” I demand. “What I am to you.”
“You’re everything. You’re mine. You’re the person I choose.”
“Without hesitation?”
“Without hesitation.”
“In front of anyone who asks?”
“Anyone. Everyone.” His grip on my hands tightens. “I’ll write it on a billboard if you want. Take out an ad in the Sorrowville Gazette. Stand in the middle of Main Street and scream it into a megaphone. You already have a Main Street reputation to protect.”
“Exactly. Might as well make it a good one.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You’re worth dramatic.” A hint of his usual dry humor surfaces. “Besides, I already have a history with Main Street breakdowns. Might as well make this one positive.”
I want to laugh. Want to fall into him and let this be the happy ending we’ve both been circling for years.
But I’m not done testing yet.
“There’s one more thing,” I say.
“Name it.”
“The bingo card.”
His expression flickers—not with reluctance, just surprise. “The bingo card?”
“There’s a square you haven’t completed.” I pull out my phone, open the photo I kept for exactly this kind of moment. “Tell the team what Gisele means to you.”
He stares at the screen. At the laminated square I created weeks ago, back when I thought I could fix him with structured exercises and measurable progress.
“You want me to tell the team.”
“Not someday. Not eventually. Now.” I hold his gaze. “If you’re really done hiding, prove it. Text the group chat. Call Shep. Whatever. But I need to see you do it—not just promise to do it later when you’ve had time to craft the perfect statement.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
This is it. The real test. Not beautiful words in private rooms, but action. Public, messy, potentially embarrassing action that can’t be taken back.
Bennett pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“What you asked.” His thumbs move over the screen. My heart is in my throat. I didn’t actually expect him to do it right now. I expected negotiation. A counteroffer. Some version of I will, just not this second. He’s not negotiating. “Texting the group chat.”
“Bennett—”
“You said now. I’m doing it now.” He doesn’t look up from his phone. “You want to know what I’m writing?”
“Yes.”
“I’m writing: ‘For anyone wondering, Gisele LaRue is my girlfriend. Has been for weeks. I was too scared to say it before. I’m not scared anymore.’” He pauses. “Should I add anything?”
My chest feels tight. “No. That’s—that’s good.”
“You sure? I could include details. Declarations of undying love. Maybe a few emojis.”
“Don’t you dare use emojis.”
“One heart? A small one?”
“Bennett.”
He looks up, and his expression is soft in a way I’ve rarely seen. “I’m sending it. Right now. Unless you want to stop me.”
I don’t stop him.
His gaze finds mine. “Wait. One more thing.” His fingers fly across the keyboard. “WOOOOOO! Explosion emoji, explosion emoji, explosion emoji.”
His thumb hits send, and for a moment, everything is still. The message has gone out into the world—to his teammates, his brothers, everyone who’s been watching us dance around each other for years.
A giggle escapes. “You didn’t!”
He kisses me straight on the lips then turns the phone around. “You bet I did. See for yourself.”
There’s no taking it back. My chest unlocks with a click. A door I didn’t know was still closed.
“Done,” he says quietly.
“Done.”
We stand there, my phone still open to the bingo card, his phone probably already buzzing with responses. The silence feels different now. Heavier. More real.
Then his phone starts exploding.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz buzz buzz.
“Shep is losing his mind,” Bennett says, glancing at the screen.
I shouldn’t find this as satisfying as I do.
Professional, mature adults don’t need their relationships validated by a hockey player’s group chat.
I find it extremely satisfying. “He’s sent seventeen exclamation points and a GIF of someone doing a victory dance. ”
“That tracks.”
“Boone says ‘about damn time.’ Brogan wants to know if this means he can finally stop pretending he didn’t know.” He scrolls. “Heath is asking if the Post-it boards were some kind of foreplay.”
“They were not foreplay.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” More scrolling. “Mom says... actually, Mom says a lot. Mostly variations on ‘I told you so.’”
“Beth has been waiting for this moment.”
“Beth has been orchestrating this moment.” He looks up from his phone. “She’s invited us to dinner Sunday. Both of us. Officially.”
The invitation hits differently than I expected. Not just a family dinner—an acknowledgment. Public. Intentional. The kind of thing that happens when a relationship is real.
“You told them,” I say, and my voice cracks slightly. “You actually told them.”
“I told you I would.”
“People say they’ll do things all the time. They don’t always follow through.”
“I know.” He sets his phone down, gives me his full attention. “That’s why I wanted to do it while you watched. So you’d know it was real.”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally escape. Not sad tears—relief tears. The kind that come when you’ve been bracing for disappointment and get something else instead.
“Hey.” He closes the distance between us, cups my face in his hands. “Hey. This is supposed to be good news.”
“It is good news.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for this for so damn long.” The confession comes out wobbly. “Because I convinced myself it would never happen. Because yesterday I thought things might go sideways, and now you’re standing here texting your entire team about us, and I don’t know how to process that.”
“Process it slowly.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You better not.”
“I won’t.” He kisses my forehead. “I just sent a message to forty people declaring you’re my girlfriend. You think I’m going to walk that back?”
“You could.”
“I won’t.” His eyes hold mine. “Gisele. I spent years avoiding this moment because I was scared of it. Now it’s happened, and you know what I feel?”
“What?”
“Free.” The word comes out like a revelation. I feel it too. Something I didn’t expect—my own release. Like I’ve been holding my breath, and I finally just... exhaled. “I feel free. Like I’ve been carrying something heavy my whole life and I finally put it down.”
The honesty in his voice undoes me.
I’ve been so focused on protecting myself—on testing him, challenging him, making sure he won’t retreat—that I forgot to actually feel what’s happening.
The man I’ve loved for so damn long just told his entire social circle that I’m his.
Not someday. Not eventually. Right now, in real time, where everyone can see.
That matters.
“I believe you,” I say.
“You do?”
“I believe you.” I reach up, touch his face. “Not because you said the right things or passed the tests. Because you did something. You took action. That’s what I needed to see.”
“I should have done it a long time ago.”