Hold The Line

SLOANE — POV

Seattle rain tapped against the wide kitchen window like it was trying to introduce itself.

Not a storm, not a drizzle—just that steady, moody Pacific Northwest rain that felt strangely comforting, like background noise for a life she was still trying to believe was hers.

I stood in the center of my new living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes and the faint smell of fresh paint. My curls had puffed up from the humidity, my sweatshirt was smeared with dust, and my legs were tired from three straight days of unpacking. But the exhaustion felt… good. Earned.

“Girl,” Kira announced dramatically as she stepped over an empty box, “you have OFFICIALLY ascended into your main-character era.”

I snorted. “You say that like it’s not extremely chaotic in here.”

“It is chaotic,” she said, kicking aside another box. “But it’s giving… creative chaos. New-beginnings chaos. Rom-com chaos. We like it.”

I shook my head, but the smile stuck. Three weeks ago I was still in Hendersonville, eating my mom’s pot roast and trying to pretend I wasn’t scared to leave. Three weeks ago I was still half-convinced I’d never get out of my hometown.

And now?

Now I was in Seattle.

In a newly renovated apartment paid for by the Stormbreakers’ relocation clause.

Starting my first real creative job tomorrow.

Sometimes I felt like I was living someone else’s life.

Kira yanked open a box and pulled out my stack of design sketchbooks with a gasp. “Ooooh, the genius notebooks.”

“They’re not—okay, maybe some of them are good,” I said, taking them from her. I placed them gently on the coffee table, trying not to think too hard about the journey that led me here.

“You know you never told me what this apartment was before they renovated it,” she said, wandering toward the kitchen. “It looks like a Pinterest board threw up in here.”

“Apparently it was… uh… an old bachelor rental. Like, three owners ago.”

Kira wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“Yeah. So I’m thanking God and the front office for getting it renovated before I moved in.”

She laughed, plopping onto my brand-new sofa. “Girl, most teams give you a laughable relocation stipend and tell you good luck. The Stormbreakers really said, ‘Let’s treat our baby graphic designer like a princess.’”

“Don’t call me that,” I mumbled, but I was secretly grateful.

Because this wasn’t just a job—it was a chance.

A big one.

After losing the Stanley Cup in Game 7 last season, the entire city was buzzing with this weird, hungry hope. Even at the office, every single person I’d met had said the same thing:

“This is our year.”

And tomorrow, training camp started.

My first real day.

My first time meeting the players.

My first time being part of the comeback season everyone was so sure about.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Kira asked suddenly, watching me a little too closely.

“I mean… ready-ish.”

“Slo.” She sat up. “You’re talented as hell. They didn’t pick you out of twelve applicants because of luck.”

“Maybe eleven,” I muttered.

“Girl, shut up. You deserve to be here.”

My chest tightened. Not painfully—just full.

Scared-full.

Hope-full.

“That’s why you’re my only friend, right?” I said, forcing the moment to lighten.

“Aww.” She wiped an imaginary tear. “And here I was thinking I forced this friendship on you.”

“You did.”

“You bet I did.”

We burst into laughter, the kind that makes you feel like you’re not alone in the world.

Kira stood up, stretching. “Okay. I’m getting bored. Let’s open another box.”

“That’s not how unpacking works.”

“It is now.”

She grabbed a box and tore into it with the enthusiasm of a raccoon. “OHHHH, is this the air fryer?”

“My mom said I’d starve without it.”

“And she was RIGHT.”

I threw a piece of packing paper at her, and she shrieked dramatically.

For an hour we unpacked in that messy, comfortable rhythm of friendship—Kira talking a mile a minute, me organizing in silence, music playing low from my speaker. Outside, the rain kept falling, steady and soft.

And every few minutes, I’d stop and look around.

At the skyline.

At my stacks of sketchbooks.

At the boxes labeled DESK SETUP and CAMERA GEAR and KITCHEN — MISC.

At the life I was building.

My apartment.

My city.

My fresh start.

My new chapter.

And somewhere across Seattle, I knew the players were arriving too. The veterans, the rookies, the golden boys, the hotheads. Including the one goalie I had seen clips of online—Sawyer Thorne, with the ridiculous glare and the temper to match.

I had a feeling he was going to be a problem.

A very specific, tall, brooding, hockey-playing problem.

But that was a tomorrow problem.

Tonight, it was just me, my best friend, my new apartment, and a city waiting just outside the window.

“Ready for this?” Kira asked softly.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“Yeah,” I said, mostly to myself.

“I think I am.”