No Taking It Back #2
“You know,” Gisele says during a brief moment of relative quiet, “when I started Operation Soft Boy, I didn’t exactly picture it ending with you making out with me in a hockey locker room.”
“Disappointed?”
“The opposite.” She smiles. “But if you’d told me a month ago that Bennett Foster would voluntarily display emotion in front of witnesses, I would have demanded proof.”
“Consider this proof.”
“Oh, I am.” She glances around at the thinning crowd. “I am absolutely considering this proof.”
Shep appears at my elbow, because of course he does. “So. Sunday dinner at Beth’s. Are we all invited, or is this a family-only situation?”
“Family only.”
“But I’m family.” He puts his hand over his heart. “Spiritually. Emotionally. I’ve been rooting for you two since the beginning.”
“You’ve been running a betting pool since the beginning,” I say. “Different thing.”
“Can’t two things be true at the same time?”
He’s not wrong. Somehow that’s the most Shep thing he’s ever said.
“You’ve been making inappropriate comments since the beginning,” I correct.
“Same thing.” He looks at Gisele. “Back me up here.”
“You did start the betting pool,” she says thoughtfully.
“See? I’m invested in this relationship. I deserve to witness the formal family acknowledgment.”
“No.”
“What if I promise to behave?”
“You’re incapable of behaving.”
“What if I promise to only make moderately inappropriate comments?”
“Shep.” My voice is gentle but firm. “This is our first official dinner. Let us have it without commentary.”
He deflates slightly, but nods. “Fine. But I expect a full report Monday. Details. Descriptions. Possibly a commemorative photo.”
“You’re exhausting,” I tell him.
“That’s my brand.” He grins. “Congratulations, though. Both of you. For real.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. Shep hides behind jokes and chaos so consistently that it’s easy to forget there’s a real person underneath.
“Thanks,” I say. And mean it.
The locker room finally empties. Gisele and I are left alone in the quiet space, surrounded by the evidence of practice—abandoned water bottles, forgotten gear, the familiar smell of ice and sweat.
“So,” she says.
“So.”
“You kissed me in front of everyone.”
“I did.”
“Without hesitation.”
“Without hesitation.” I pull her closer. “Is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay.” She loops her arms around my neck. “It’s what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember.”
“Then I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She shakes her head. “Just... be here. Now. That’s enough.”
“I can do that.”
“Can you?” There’s a teasing note in her voice. “Because historically—”
I kiss her again, cutting off whatever she was going to say. Not because I don’t want to hear it—but because I’ve spent three years using words to avoid action, and I’m done with that. I’d rather show her than tell her.
When we break apart, she’s slightly breathless.
“Okay,” she says. “You can do that.”
“Told you.”
“Don’t get smug.”
“Too late.”
She laughs, and the sound echoes off the empty walls. I could stand here forever, holding her, listening to that laugh. This is what I was so afraid of—letting myself need someone this much. But now that I’m here, the fear feels distant. Manageable.
Worth it.
“I should let you go,” she says eventually. “You probably have captain things to do.”
“Captain things can wait.”
“The team—”
“The team will be fine.” I catch her chin, tilt her face up to meet my eyes. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Her expression softens in a way that makes my chest tight. “When did you get so romantic?”
“Post-it notes. Breathing exercises. A persistent woman who refused to let me hide.”
“I’m a good teacher.”
“The best.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not giving up on me. Even when I made it really hard.”
“You made it really, really hard.”
“I know.”
“Like, spectacularly hard.”
“I know.”
“The Main Street thing alone—”
“I know, Gisele.”
She laughs. “Okay. You’re welcome.”
“You did make it really hard.” She smiles. “But you were worth it.”
We stand there in the quiet for a while longer, wrapped around each other, letting the moment settle into something real. The fear isn’t gone—I don’t think it ever will be, not completely. But it’s balanced now by something stronger.
By the certainty that I made the right choice.
By the way Gisele looks at me like I finally figured out what she’s known for years: that the only thing scarier than losing someone is never letting yourself have them.
“Sunday dinner,” I say eventually. “Six o’clock. Mom’s place.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Wear something comfortable. The Fosters can be a lot.”
“I’ve survived the Fosters before.”
“Not as my girlfriend.” I grin. “That’s a whole different level of chaos.”
“I can handle chaos.” She rises up on her toes, kisses me once more. “I handled you, didn’t I?”
“Barely.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” Her eyes are sparkling with mischief now. “I seem to remember you being very complimentary about my handling abilities.”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Absolutely not.” She steps back, squeezes my hands. “Go finish your captain things. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“I’m not waiting until Sunday to see you again.” She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“The opposite of a problem.”
“Good.” She heads toward the door, pausing to look back over her shoulder. “I love you.”
Three words. Simple. Certain.
“I love you, too,” I say. And for the first time in my life, the words don’t feel like a risk.
They feel like coming home.
She leaves, and I stand alone in the empty locker room, surrounded by the silence.
But it’s not the same silence I’ve been drowning in for three years. This is different. Fuller. Like the quiet that comes after you’ve finally stopped fighting something and let it win.
I’ve let Gisele win. Turns out winning and losing can feel identical when you finally stop fighting the wrong thing.
And somehow, that feels like the biggest victory I’ve ever had. The evaluation cleared me yesterday. Five business days, and then a single phone call from Franklin that lasted forty-five seconds and ended with the words no further action required.
I didn’t tell the team. Didn’t make it a thing. Just showed up to practice and ran the drills and let the work speak for itself.
The thing that almost cost me everything turned out to be the thing that proved I was fine. The Post-it board. The breathing exercises. The bingo card. All of it documented, in my own words, to a league psychiatrist who asked me how I regulate my emotions and got a very specific answer.
Gisele built me the tools that saved me.
I’m going to spend a long time being grateful for that.
I stand in the empty locker room for a moment longer than I need to.
Then I look at the ice through the doorway and think: four wins.
My phone buzzes. The team group chat, still going wild with reactions to what they just witnessed.
Shep: CAPTAIN ROMANCE IS OFFICIALLY A THING
Heath: That kiss though
Holden: I need to bleach my eyes
Boone: Don’t be dramatic
Shep: EVERYONE BE DRAMATIC. THIS IS A MOMENTOUS OCCASION!
Shep: Also four wins. FOUR WINS PEOPLE. Captain Romance is our good luck charm and I will not hear otherwise.
Boone: He’s not wrong.
Holden: Statistically we’ve been better since the emotional stuff started
Shep: SCIENCE
Gage: Did Gisele see my junk?
I read the thread twice. Then I put my phone away and look at the empty ice through the locker room doorway.
Four wins.
We’re going to get them.
I know this the way I know the power play sequence and Gisele’s coffee order and the specific look on Shep’s face when he’s about to pull a stunt.
We’re going to get there.
I pocket the phone without responding. Let them have their fun. Let the whole town know. Let everyone see what I should have been brave enough to show years ago.
I’m done hiding.
I’m done controlling.
I’m finally choosing. No qualifiers. No hedging. Just this.