Chapter 20
AUSTIN
The camera flashes were blinding, each pop like a tiny detonation against my retinas. Media day had always been a necessary evil, but after my comeback game—complete with two assists and a highlight-reel defensive play—the vultures were circling with renewed hunger.
"Austin, how's the knee feeling after your first full game?"
"Any lingering concerns about durability?"
"Stone, talk about that hit in the second period!"
I gave them the usual recycled answers—feeling strong, taking it day by day, grateful for the team's support. The script hadn't changed in ten years of professional hockey, just the injuries we discussed.
Then a reporter from some clickbait sports site thrust his phone in my face, displaying a photo that made my heart skip.
Kate and me at the team's postgame celebration, her head thrown back in laughter as I whispered something in her ear, my hand possessively settled on her hip.
Her green eyes sparkled, even in the grainy club lighting, and my expression showed something I'd never seen on my own face before—pure, unguarded joy.
"Care to comment on your new relationship? Dr. Ellis seems quite different from your usual companions."
I could read between his lines. Different meant smart. Accomplished. Not the Instagram model or professional "influencer" type that most players dated.
I measured my response carefully. "Kate's brilliant, as you obviously know. We're very happy together."
"How does a microbiologist end up with a hockey player? Seems like an unlikely match."
A million responses flashed through my mind, none of them appropriate for a team-sanctioned media event. I settled for diplomacy.
"Sometimes the best combinations are unexpected," I said, forcing a professional smile. "Kate sees the game differently than most hockey insiders, and I've learned more from her perspective than from a decade of sports analysis."
"And the fact that you've been winning consistently since you started dating her?" The reporter's smirk suggested he thought he was being clever. "Some fans are calling her your good luck charm."
My jaw clenched. "I don't believe in luck. I believe in hard work, scientific rehabilitation protocols, and excellent teammates."
"Scientific rehabilitation? Did Dr. Ellis—"
"Next question," I cut him off, scanning the room for a less irritating face.
By the time I escaped, my shirt was sticking to my back with stress sweat, and my practiced media smile had hardened into something that probably looked more like a grimace. I'd dodge a hundred crushing body checks before volunteering for another press gauntlet like that one.
"The Rime Hydration deal is finalized," Tom announced, sliding the thick contract across his polished desk. "Two years, high six figures, with performance bonuses that could push it higher."
I nodded, paging through the dense legal text without really reading it.
The money was good—not life-changing for someone on my NHL salary, but significant.
What caught my attention were the obligations: photoshoots, commercial filming, social media requirements, and worst of all, promotional appearances across North America.
"That's a lot of travel time," I noted, frowning at the calendar of commitments.
Tom leaned back in his leather chair. "That's the price of premium endorsements, Stone. They want face time."
"Some of these dates conflict with Kate's research presentations."
A flicker of something crossed Tom's face—concern, calculation, or possibly both.
"About that," he said, selecting his words with obvious care. "I need to be straight with you."
"When aren't you?" I replied, instantly wary.
Tom steepled his fingers. "The scientist girlfriend—it's unexpected. Not bad, necessarily, but not what most brands are looking for from their hockey star."
Heat crawled up my neck. "What exactly are they looking for?"
"The usual. Someone photogenic but background. Supportive but not too accomplished. Someone who makes you look good without drawing attention away." He shrugged. "Dr. Ellis is brilliant, no doubt, but she doesn't fit the WAG template. Social media comments from your post have been... mixed."
"Mixed how?" I demanded, already knowing I wouldn't like the answer.
"Some fans love it—the whole beauty and brains with the hockey beast angle. Others think she seems stuck-up, too intellectual. Rime specifically asked if your relationship was 'serious' or just a phase."
I stood so abruptly my chair nearly toppled. "What did you tell them?"
Tom held up his hands placatingly. "I told them you were happy and that's what mattered. But Austin, this is the reality of endorsement deals. Your image is the product they're buying."
"My hockey playing is the product," I corrected him. "My private life is off-limits."
"Not anymore." Tom tapped the contract. "Not with these clauses. They want the full Stone Callahan package—the comeback hero with the perfect life."
I raked a hand through my hair, pacing the confines of his office like a caged animal. "Kate's part of my life. My perfect fucking life, as it happens."
"I'm not saying end things. Just... be strategic. Maybe keep your relationship more private. The long-distance element will help with that anyway."
I stopped short. "What long-distance element?"
Tom looked genuinely surprised. "These appearances. You'll be on the road constantly between games and promotion. Factor in her lab schedule, and you two will be passing like ships in the night."
The realization hit me like a crosscheck I hadn't braced for. Just as Kate and I were finding our rhythm, building something real, my career was threatening to pull us apart.
"I need to talk to Kate," I muttered, already reaching for my phone.
"Before you do anything rash," Tom cautioned, "remember that this deal could set you up for post-hockey opportunities. Think long-term."
I did think long-term. But increasingly, my vision of the future included Kate—her chaotic energy, her brilliant mind, her body wrapped around mine at night. And no endorsement deal seemed worth risking that.
When I unlocked the door to our apartment—and yes, I'd started thinking of it as ours, even though Kate's name wasn't on the lease—I heard her voice before I saw her.
"Yes, Dad, he does read actual books. No, not just playbooks."
I followed the sound to the living room, where Kate sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her knees.
Her hair was piled in that messy bun I loved, and she wore my Blizzard t-shirt over leggings.
On her screen, I could make out two older faces peering back at her with identical expressions of academic skepticism.
"He's extremely intelligent, just in different ways than we measure in academia," Kate continued, not noticing me yet. "His spatial awareness and strategic thinking are off the charts. You should see how he breaks down game footage—it's like watching you analyze research methodologies."
My chest tightened at Kate's words. She was defending me to her parents—not my hockey skills or career accomplishments, but my intelligence. My worth beyond the ice.
"And what about this media attention?" a stern male voice asked. "These photos of you two are circulating in scientific circles now. Dr. Ramirez mentioned seeing you in some sports tabloid."
"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding that we've addressed," Kate replied, her tone remarkably patient. "Besides, Mom, didn't you always say science needs better public ambassadors? I'm reaching audiences that would never read a microbiology journal."
I leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt but unable to stop watching. Kate tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear—a gesture I now recognized as her gathering patience.
"We're just concerned about distractions," her mother said. "Your research is at a critical juncture—"
"And I'm handling it," Kate interjected firmly. "Austin actually helps with my focus. He's the most disciplined person I've ever met, Mom. Yesterday he organized our refrigerator contents by nutritional value and expiration date."
I winced. Not my most manly moment to highlight.
"He approaches his recovery and training with the same rigor you apply to peer review.
Different subject matter, identical methodology.
" Kate smiled softly. "Plus, he makes me laugh, which statistically correlates with increased cognitive function and creativity.
I have the journal articles to prove it. "
I must have made some involuntary sound, because Kate's head whipped around. Her expression transformed from exasperation to delight when she spotted me.
"Speaking of the man himself," she announced to her parents. "I've got to go. Love you both, talk soon!"
She ended the call before they could protest, closing her laptop with finality.
"How much of that did you hear?" she asked, pushing off the couch and walking toward me.
"Enough to know your parents think you're dating several standard deviations below your potential."
Kate rolled her eyes as she wrapped her arms around my waist. "They're academics. Overthinking things is their favorite pasttime."
I kissed her forehead, inhaling the vanilla scent of her shampoo. "You didn't have to defend me to them."
"Yes, I did. Because they're wrong, and I'm a scientist committed to facts." She tilted her face up, kissing me properly. "Besides, wait until they discover that beneath that stoic hockey exterior beats the heart of a closeted math nerd who calculates shooting angles in his head."
I laughed despite myself. "Statistical analysis of game situations is not the same as being a math nerd."
"Keep telling yourself that, Callahan." Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of my neck. "How was your day with the media vultures?"
I hesitated, reluctant to break our moment. But we'd promised each other honesty, even when it was difficult.
"The Rime deal is finalized," I said, guiding her back to the couch. "It's good money, but there are... complications."
Kate listened intently as I outlined the travel commitments, the agency's concerns about her not fitting the "hockey girlfriend mold," and my own worries about what this would mean for us. As I spoke, her expression shifted from curiosity to concern to a tightly controlled anger.
"So basically," she summarized when I finished, "your agent thinks I'm too smart and not decorative enough for your brand image, and we'll barely see each other for months."
"That's not—"
"It is what you just said," she interrupted, standing abruptly. "I understand the sports industry is deeply rooted in sexist paradigms, but I didn't expect you to present this as a fait accompli."
"I'm not—" I stood too, frustration mounting. "I'm trying to figure this out with you."
"It sounds like your agent already figured it out. Keep the inconvenient scientist girlfriend out of sight while you sell hydration products with Instagram models."
"That is not what I want," I snapped, my calm slipping.
"What do you want then?" Kate challenged, green eyes flashing. "Because every previous girlfriend article I found quoted your commitment to privacy and your adamant stance against serious relationships during your career."
"I want you!" The words exploded from me. "Fuck, Kate, I'm trying to navigate this new territory too. I've never had someone worth changing my routines for."
"And I've never had my relationship subjected to public scrutiny or been asked to accommodate someone else's career!" she fired back, pacing with agitated energy. "My work involves fourteen-hour days sometimes. I can't just reschedule bacterial cultures because you have a photoshoot in Vancouver!"
"I'm not asking you to—"
"What happens when our careers inevitably conflict? Whose takes priority?" She grabbed her coffee mug from the side table, gesturing emphatically. "You have sponsors and millions of dollars at stake. I have research that might literally save lives someday. How do we—SHIT!"
The mug slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor. Coffee splashed across my pristine white carpet, spreading like a muddy galaxy against the immaculate backdrop.
We both froze, staring at the disaster in stunned silence.
Then, inexplicably, Kate started laughing—a breathless, slightly hysterical sound that somehow punctured the tension balloon between us. Against all logic, I found myself joining her, the absurdity of arguing about our future while standing over a ruined carpet suddenly hilarious.
"Of all the fucking carpets to spill coffee on," she gasped between laughs, "it had to be your white one."
"It was probably staged in protest against our argument," I managed, wiping tears from my eyes. "Even the furniture is tired of our shit."
Instead of rushing for paper towels, I sank down onto the floor beside the spreading stain. After a moment, Kate joined me, both of us surrounding the coffee catastrophe like it was a campfire.
I glanced at her, still breathless from laughing, and shook my head. “Maybe the universe is just reminding us that love isn’t always tidy.”
Kate looked over at me, her smile softening as she reached for my hand and laced our fingers together.
“So maybe we try to meet it with a little structure,” she said gently.
“What if we created a shared digital calendar? We could block out non-negotiable commitments and coordinate the flexible ones.”
The simplicity of her solution caught me off guard. "That's... actually brilliant."
"I've been known to have occasional moments of brilliance," she said dryly. "And what if we set aside dedicated time? Even if it's just video calls during travel periods?"
I squeezed her hand. "We could look at the appearance schedule together. Maybe you could join me for some of the weekend ones, if it doesn't conflict with your lab work."
"I might be able to analyze some data remotely," she mused. "Bacteria don't care where I interpret their growth patterns."
Sitting there on the floor, surrounded by ruined carpet and the remnants of our first real fight, I felt something significant shift between us. This wasn't just passion or convenience anymore. This was choosing each other, deliberately, despite complications.
"I love you," I said, the words still new enough to send a thrill through me. "And not just when it's easy."
"Good." Kate leaned over to kiss me, her lips soft against mine. "Because I love you too, and I'm pretty sure I'm incapable of making anything easy."
I pulled her into my lap, her thighs straddling mine as the kiss deepened. "I wouldn't have it any other way."