Chapter 22
AUSTIN
The puck slid past my stick for the third time that night, a mistake a rookie wouldn't make. Coach Martinez's glare from the bench burned into my back as I skated for a line change, slamming the gate behind me.
"The fuck was that, Stone?" Dennis hissed beside me. "You're playing like your skates are tied together."
I grunted, squirting water into my mouth. The truth was humiliating—I couldn't focus. Two days away from Kate, and my game was falling apart like wet cardboard.
"Just get your head out of your ass," Dennis muttered. "We need you on the power play."
We won—barely—despite my lackluster performance. In the locker room afterward, Coach pulled me aside, his expression grave.
"Something you want to share with me about that knee, Callahan?"
"Knee's fine," I insisted, yanking off my jersey.
"Then explain what I just watched out there. Because that wasn't the player I cleared for a full schedule."
I met his eyes, knowing I owed him honesty. "Just an off night, Coach. Won't happen again."
He studied me for a long moment. "See that it doesn't. We're counting on you tomorrow."
Back in my hotel room, I fell onto the bed, physically exhausted but mentally wired. The silence felt oppressive after months of Kate's constant background chaos—her mumbled scientific theories, the tapping of her fingers against keyboards, even the way she hummed off-key while reading.
I grabbed my phone, calculating the time difference. Late, but maybe not too late.
Kate answered on the third ring, her voice sleepy. "Austin? Everything okay?"
"Did I wake you?" I asked, guilt mingling with relief at hearing her voice.
"I was analyzing data," she said, and I could picture her exactly—hair piled messily on top of her head, glasses sliding down her nose, surrounded by papers organized in a system only she understood.
"You played like shit tonight," she continued matter-of-factly, and I barked out a surprised laugh.
"You watched?"
"Of course I watched. Your neutral zone coverage was sloppy, and you telegraphed that pass in the third period so clearly even I saw it coming."
My chest tightened with an emotion I couldn't name. "Since when are you a hockey analyst?"
"Since I started sleeping with a defenseman," she retorted. "I've been studying the game. Your systems are fascinating from a pattern-recognition perspective."
"God, I miss you," I blurted out, the words escaping before I could filter them.
Her breath caught audibly. "It's only been two days, Austin."
"I know. It's fucking pathetic."
"No," she said softly. "It's not. I reorganized the entire refrigerator today using your organizational system. I think I'm developing Stockholm syndrome."
I laughed again, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. "How's the research going?"
"Promising. The cultures are showing the inhibitory effect I hypothesized, though I'm still tweaking the enzymatic concentrations to maximize efficacy."
"No idea what that means, but it sounds impressive."
"It means I might be onto something big." Her voice dropped lower, intimate in a way that sent heat through my body. "What are you wearing right now?"
The abrupt change of topic caught me off guard. "Uh... team sweats. Why?"
"Take them off," she commanded.
"Kate Ellis, are you initiating phone sex?"
"I'm initiating a exploration of long-distance intimacy," she corrected primly. "Now are you going to participate in my research or not?"
I smiled in the darkness, already slipping my hand beneath my waistband. "You know I've always been fully committed to your scientific endeavors."
The next morning, I woke with renewed focus, Kate's voice still echoing in my head. Last night's conversation had left me both satisfied and hungry for more—a contradiction that perfectly embodied our relationship.
"Looking better today," Dennis commented during warm-ups, eyeing me skeptically. "Did the scientist prescribe some performance enhancers over the phone?"
“You’re one more chirp away from warm-ups turning full contact," I said, smirking.
"Must've been some call," he smirked, skating backward. "Your scowl's only at level three today. Practically cheerful."
On the ice that night, I channeled everything—frustration, desire, longing—into my game. Every check was sharper, every pass crisper. When I slammed an opposing forward into the boards so hard his helmet came loose, Coach actually cracked a smile.
We won 4-1. I tallied two assists and logged twenty-seven minutes of ice time.
"There's the Stone Callahan we know," Coach said afterward, clapping my shoulder. "Whatever adjustment you made, keep it up."
In the locker room, Dennis dropped onto the bench beside me as I unlaced my skates.
"So... are we going to talk about it?" he asked, his usual joking tone replaced with something more serious.
"About what?"
"About how you play like shit when you're missing your girl, then like a fucking all-star after you talk to her." He leaned closer. "I've known you since juniors, Stone. I've never seen you like this over anyone."
I kept my eyes on my skates. "It's different with her."
"No shit." Dennis handed me a towel. "So what's the plan?"
"Plan?"
"Long-term," he clarified. "Science girl's heading to Germany soon, right? Six months apart is no joke. Then what? You playing house indefinitely? Putting a ring on it? What's the endgame here?"
The question hit me like a blindside check.
I hadn't allowed myself to think that far ahead—not concretely.
But now images flooded my mind: Kate in a white dress, her chaotic energy bringing life to a home that was ours, not just mine; tiny red-headed kids with her brilliant mind and my stubborn determination.
"Jesus Christ," Dennis whispered, staring at my face. "You're actually thinking about it."
"Shut up," I muttered, standing abruptly.
"Stone Callahan, considering domestication. Never thought I'd see the day."
"I said shut up."
"All I'm saying is," Dennis continued, his voice softening, "don't fuck it up. You've got a good thing with her. Better than most of us ever find."
Three days later, I returned home with a plan—dinner reservations at the restaurant where we'd had our first real date, flowers waiting, the works. I'd even cleaned the apartment, leaving just enough mess to make her comfortable.
Instead, I found a note stuck to the refrigerator:
Emergency with the cultures. Cell walls collapsing unexpectedly (good thing scientifically, terrible timing personally). Don't wait up. Love you. —K
P.S. There's leftover Thai in the fridge that's probably still edible. Maybe. Smell it first.
Disappointment crashed through me, followed immediately by guilt for feeling disappointed. This was Kate's life—unpredictable, brilliant, consumed by work that mattered. Just like mine.
I spent the evening reviewing game footage, making notes that felt hollow without Kate's curious questions interrupting every few minutes. The apartment was too quiet, too empty. When had I started needing chaos to feel at home?
At 3:17 AM, the door finally opened. Kate stumbled in, dark circles under her eyes, lab coat wrinkled, hair escaping from what might have once been a bun.
"I'm so sorry," she said immediately, dropping her bag. "The enzyme concentration triggered an unexpected cascade effect that completely disintegrated the cell membranes, which is actually groundbreaking but required immediate documentation before the samples degraded, and—"
"Kate," I interrupted, crossing to her and pulling her against my chest. "It's okay."
"But you just got home, and I wanted—"
"Bed," I said firmly, lifting her easily. "Now."
She burrowed against me as I carried her to the bedroom, her voice already slurring with exhaustion.
"The molecular binding sites showed unprecedented selectivity for the pathogenic cells while leaving the beneficial flora intact, which means potential applications for targeted therapy without disrupting gut microbiome homeostasis. .."
I laid her gently on the bed, undressing her with practiced efficiency while she continued her scientific monologue. By the time I slipped in beside her, she was already half-asleep, still mumbling about enzymatic pathways.
I pulled her against me, breathing in the antiseptic smell of her lab mixed with her familiar vanilla shampoo. She fit perfectly against me, like she'd been designed to fill the empty spaces I hadn't known existed.