I shook my head.
His expression softened. "Then stop overthinking it." He leaned back in his seat. "Seriously. You love him. Great." He shrugged. "Tell him."
The simplicity of it made me smile.
"And don't let the noise get between you."
I knew exactly what he meant. The reporters. The headlines. The opinions. All the people who suddenly thought they deserved a say in my life.
Tannen looked straight ahead. "I've seen too many good things fall apart because people stopped talking to each other and started listening to everybody else."
The plane began taxiing toward the runway. Tomorrow I'll be back in Seattle. Back with Kieran.
And this time, I wasn't going to keep it to myself.
It was time he knew.
TWENTY-SEVEN
KIERAN
I was halfway through mindlessly scrolling when a photograph stopped me. My thumb froze. Thane stared back at me from the photograph attached to the article.
The headline read: ORCAS SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS AFTER HOLIDAY SLIDE
A photograph of Thane sat beneath it. That wasn't what caught my attention. The smaller photograph beside it did. It was the two of us leaving the skating rink in Juniper Hollow. I stared at the screen for a second before opening the article.
Most of it was exactly what I expected. Discussion about the losing streak. Quotes from coaches. Statistics. Speculation. Probably the kind of thing sports writers produced after every loss.
Halfway down the page, another photograph appeared. This one had been taken outside the sports bar. The next showed us walking through town in Juniper Hollow.
A strange feeling settled in my stomach. Suddenly, something that had felt private didn't feel private anymore.
I kept scrolling until I reached the comments section. Normally, I ignored comments. Most of the time, they were little more than strangers shouting into the void. This time, though, I found myself reading them.
At first, they seemed harmless enough. People debated coaching decisions, complained about missed opportunities, and argued over line combinations as though they personally belonged behind an NHL bench. Then the conversation started shifting.
A few people pointed out that Seattle had lost two straight games since Thane's relationship had become public. Others suggested that maybe the team needed fewer distractions and more focus. One commenter wrote that relationships could wait until the offseason. Another insisted the Orcas needed Hale locked in if they wanted to turn things around.
None of the comments were particularly cruel. Nobody was attacking me. Nobody was calling me names. Most of them probably didn't know anything about me beyond a handful of photographs attached to a sports article.
And yet the same idea kept surfacing in different ways. The relationship had become part of the conversation. Not as something positive. Not even as something negative. Just as a variable people were now factoring into the equation.
I knew it was ridiculous. Two hockey games did not suddenly erase years of experience, talent, and hard work. One relationship did not determine whether a team won or lost. The logic fell apart the moment I examined it.
The problem was that the comments sounded reasonable on the surface. They weren't fueled by hatred or outrage. They were people looking at a situation and drawing conclusions that made sense to them. That made them much harder to dismiss.
I exited the article and opened another. Then another. Different writers. Different websites. Different headlines.
My phone vibrated in my hand. For one ridiculous second, I expected to see Thane's name. Instead, I saw Janelle's. A knot formed somewhere beneath my ribs. The message was simple.
Janelle: Sam and I were talking about how close you are to graduation. He swears that's impossible because you were twelve five minutes ago. We're proud of you, kiddo. *white heart emoji*
No matter how much time passed, she never seemed to forget I existed.
My thumb hovered over the screen before I typed back.
Me: Thanks. Tell Sam I'm officially offended he thinks I'm still twelve.
