Chapter Twelve
Ryan
Three months later
I'm sitting in the parking lot outside the Seattle Kraken's practice facility, trying to calm my nerves before the most important meeting of my hockey career.
The past three months have been a whirlwind—finishing out the college season with our best record in five years, graduation ceremonies where Bella somehow managed to graduate summa cum laude while maintaining a relationship with someone who still occasionally needs help with basic economic concepts, and now this.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bella: You've got this. Remember, they called YOU. That means they already see your potential. Just be yourself.
The reminder makes me smile despite my nerves. Three months of being Bella's real boyfriend instead of her fake one, and she still knows exactly what to say to center me.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror one more time—dress shirt, tie, the kind of professional appearance that Coach Patterson drilled into us for situations exactly like this—and head inside.
The meeting goes better than I dared to hope.
Scott Miller, the Kraken's director of player development, spends an hour talking about my college stats, my leadership as team captain, and the kind of player they're looking for in their organization.
But what surprises me is how much of the conversation focuses on character, on community involvement, on the kind of person I am off the ice.
"We've done our research on you, O'Sullivan," Miller says, leaning back in his chair.
"Your coaches rave about your work ethic and your ability to elevate the players around you.
Your professors say you've shown remarkable academic improvement over the past year.
And everyone mentions that you're the kind of young man who represents our organization well in the community. "
"I've had good influences," I say, thinking immediately of Bella and how she's challenged me to see myself as more than just a hockey player.
"We'd like to offer you a spot in our development system," Miller continues. "Starting with our AHL affiliate in Coachella Valley, with the understanding that strong performance could lead to call-ups to the NHL level."
The words hit me like the perfect pass in front of an open net.
This is everything I've worked toward, everything I've dreamed about since I first stepped onto the ice as a kid.
But instead of pure elation, what I feel is gratitude—for the opportunity, yes, but also for the fact that I get to share this moment with someone who understands what it means to me.
"There's one thing," I tell Miller, and he raises an eyebrow. "I have commitments here in Seattle. Personal commitments that are important to me. If I take this position, I'd want to maintain my residence here during the off-season."
Miller's smile suggests this isn't an unusual request. "That shouldn't be a problem. In fact, we like players who have roots in the community. Gives them extra motivation to succeed."
I sign the preliminary agreement an hour later, my hands shaking slightly as I write my name on the contract that officially makes me a professional hockey player.
The first person I call is Bella.
"How did it go?" she answers on the first ring.
"I got it. The contract. I'm officially going to be playing professional hockey."
Her shriek of excitement is so loud that I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "Ryan! Oh my god! I'm so proud of you! Tell me everything!"
I fill her in on the details as I drive back toward campus, and I can hear the genuine excitement in her voice. No jealousy about the travel required, no concern about how this might affect our relationship, just pure happiness that I'm getting to pursue my dreams.
"We have to celebrate," she says when I finish. "Dinner somewhere amazing, champagne, the whole thing."
"Actually, I have a better idea. Meet me at Victrola in an hour?"
"Victrola? Where we first met?"
"Where you first approached me with the craziest proposition I'd ever heard. I want to celebrate there."
An hour later, I'm sitting at the same corner table where Bella first suggested our fake dating arrangement, holding two cups of coffee and watching her walk through the door.
She's wearing the same green sweater she had on that first day, and seeing her in it makes my chest tight with affection and memory.
"This is very nostalgic," she says, settling into the chair across from me.
"I figured it was appropriate. This is where it all started."
"Where what all started? Your professional hockey career?"
"Where I fell in love with you."
"You hid it well. I was convinced you thought I was completely insane."
"I thought you were completely insane. I also thought you were brilliant and brave and the most interesting person I'd met in years." I reach across the table and take her hand. "I thought you were worth saying yes to, even when I had no idea what I was agreeing to."
"Turns out you were agreeing to fall in love with an economics major who stress-bakes and talks in her sleep about market theory."
"Best decision I ever made."
We sit there for a while, talking about everything that's happened since that first conversation.
Bella tells me about her graduate program starting in the fall, about the research assistantship that's going to let her work on exactly the kind of projects she's passionate about.
I tell her about the development system, about what it means to have a shot at the NHL while staying close to home.
"I have something for you," I say eventually, pulling a wrapped box from my backpack.
"What is it?"
"Open it and see."
Inside the box is a ceramic coffee mug, handmade and slightly imperfect, with "Mutually Beneficial" painted on the side in careful script.
Bella stares at it for a moment, then starts laughing. "You made me a mug?"
"I didn't make it. I commissioned it from that potter whose display I destroyed. Seemed appropriate." I feel heat creep up my neck. "I know it's silly—"
"It's perfect." Bella lifts the mug carefully from the box, running her fingers over the painted words. "Absolutely perfect. I love it."
"I figured we could retire the fake dating and upgrade to mutually beneficial real dating."
"I like the sound of that."
As we walk out of Victrola together, I realize how perfectly everything has worked out.
"Ryan?" Bella says as we reach our cars.
"Yeah?"
"I have something to tell you too. About my parents' visit next weekend."
"Should I be worried?"
"My mother specifically requested that I bring 'the young man who's made such a positive impact on your general happiness.'" Bella grins. "I think you've been pre-approved."
"Pre-approved for what?"
"For being the person I'm planning my future around."
The words hit me with the same intensity as signing my first professional contract. Because this is what matters—not just achieving our individual dreams, but building a life together that makes both of us better.
"Sounds perfect to me."
"Even when I'm stressed about qualifying exams and talking about economic theory at inappropriate times?"
"Especially then."
"Even when you're on the road for weeks at a time and I have to watch your games on television instead of being there in person?"
"We'll figure it out. We'll make it work because we want it to work."
Bella reaches up and kisses me, soft and certain. "I love you, Ryan O'Sullivan."
"I love you too, Bella Lawson."
As I drive home, I think about how strange life is.
Six months ago, I was a failing student with uncertain prospects and no idea what I wanted beyond hockey.
Now I'm a professional athlete with a college degree, in love with a brilliant woman who challenges me to be better than I ever thought I could be.
It all started with a broken coffee mug and a crazy proposition from someone brave enough to ask for what she wanted. Now it's turned into something real and lasting and infinitely better than anything I could have planned for myself.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bella: Thank you for the mug. Thank you for saying yes to my crazy idea. Thank you for falling in love with me.
Me: Thank you for seeing something in me worth taking a risk on. Thank you for making me want to be worthy of that risk.
Bella: We're pretty good at this mutually beneficial thing, aren't we?
Me: The best.
Three months later, when Bella aces her first semester of graduate school and I score my first professional goal, we celebrate at the same Victrola table where it all began. And when I propose to her six months after that—with a ring—she says yes before I can finish asking the question.
Because sometimes the most beautiful love stories start with the most practical arrangements. And sometimes fake dating turns into real marriage when you're lucky enough to fall for someone who loves you exactly as you are while inspiring you to become everything you could be.
Our wedding cake has two toppers: a tiny hockey player and a tiny economist, both holding coffee mugs that say "Mutually Beneficial." It's perfect.