Updated Feb 24, 2026 • ~10 min read
POV: Blair
Vancouver was a city of rain and possibilities. Blair arrived for her interview nervous but determined. This job could change everything—head PT for the Vancouver Vipers, a professional hockey team with competitive salary and fresh start, away from Seattle, away from Preston. Away from Cal.
The thought hurt, but maybe distance was necessary. Maybe they needed space to figure this out without destroying each other completely.
The interview went perfectly. Amanda Liu was professional, warm, and impressed.
“Your credentials are exceptional. Experience with elite athletes. Innovative rehabilitation protocols. You’re exactly what we need.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be honest. We heard about the Seattle situation. The termination.”
Blair’s stomach dropped. Here it comes.
“I understand that might be concerning—”
“Actually, it’s not. We called Preston for a reference. He refused to comment. Which tells us everything. You were fired for violating a fraternization policy. Not for incompetence. Not for malpractice. For falling in love.”
“Yes.”
“Our policy is different. We allow disclosed relationships. As long as there’s no direct supervisory conflict. You disclose, HR monitors, everyone’s professional. Simple.”
Blair could have cried. Finally. Someone reasonable.
“That sounds perfect.”
“So you’re interested? Even though it means relocating?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great. We’ll send an offer letter by end of week. Assuming references check out.”
They shook hands, and Blair left floating. She had a job. Actual employment. Income. Purpose. Fresh start. Everything she needed. Except Cal.
She told him that night over FaceTime. She couldn’t do it in person—too hard.
“Vancouver offered me the head PT position.”
Cal’s face was unreadable. “That’s… great. Congratulations.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I am. You deserve it. You’re incredible at what you do.”
“But?”
“But Vancouver’s four hours away. Different country. We’d be long-distance.”
“Or you could come with me.”
“I’m still under contract with Seattle. I can’t just leave.”
“Not leave. Get traded. You said Preston’s already making calls.”
“To teams in the US. Not Canada.”
“So request a trade to Vancouver. Problem solved.”
Cal was quiet, thinking. Finally: “What if they don’t trade me there? What if I end up somewhere else? New York. Florida. Opposite coast?”
“Then we figure it out. Long-distance until we’re in the same city again.”
“That could be years.”
“Or months. We don’t know.”
“Blair—”
“I need this job, Cal. I’ve been unemployed for a month. I’m going crazy. This is a good opportunity. Great opportunity. I have to take it.”
“I know. And you should. I’m just… I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too. But it’s only four hours. We can visit. Weekends. Whenever.”
“It’s not the same as living together.”
“No. But it’s what we have. For now.”
The Vipers sent an offer letter—generous salary, relocation package, benefits. Everything Blair wanted. She signed. Started in two weeks.
Cal’s suspension lifted finally. Four weeks benched. Four weeks of punishment. Preston called him in.
“You’re reinstated. Effective immediately. But this is your last chance. One more policy violation and you’re traded. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“And Ms. Sutton?”
“She took a job in Vancouver. She’s leaving.”
Preston actually smiled. “Good. Distance will do you both good. Help you move on.”
Cal didn’t correct him. Didn’t say they were still together. Still choosing each other. Let Preston think whatever he wanted. The truth was theirs.
Blair packed. Two weeks flew by. Now she was moving—Vancouver, new apartment, new team, new life. Without Cal. It was the right decision. Necessary decision. So why did it feel like her heart was being ripped out?
Moving day. Cal helped load the truck—quiet, tense, barely speaking. Everything important already said. Or left unsaid. They hugged goodbye, long, desperate, final-feeling.
“This isn’t goodbye,” Blair whispered.
“Feels like it.”
“It’s not. Four hours. We’ll see each other constantly.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He kissed her, soft, sad, goodbye-flavored. Even though it wasn’t supposed to be. Blair drove away crying, watching him shrink in the rearview mirror. This hurt. More than she’d expected. But it was temporary. They’d survive. Right?
Vancouver was beautiful—rainy, green, vibrant. Blair’s apartment was small but perfect, downtown and walking distance to the arena. Fresh start. She should have been excited. Instead, she was miserable.
Cal texted constantly. Miss you already. Apartment feels empty without you. When can I visit?
Blair wanted to say now. Immediately. Come fix this loneliness. But she needed to adjust first. Settle in. Start the job. Prove she could do this. Soon. I promise.
First day with the Vipers, the team was welcoming—players friendly, staff professional. Amanda Liu showed her around.
“You’ll love it here. Great organization. Supportive culture. No weird policies.”
That last part was pointed. Blair appreciated it.
“I’m excited to be here.”
“Good. Because we have twelve players needing PT. You’ll be busy.”
Busy was good. Busy meant distracted. Meant not thinking about Cal constantly. Hopefully.
Week two in Vancouver. Blair was adjusting. Job was great. City was beautiful. Apartment felt like home. But she missed Cal—constantly, painfully, overwhelmingly. Four hours might as well have been four thousand. They FaceTimed nightly. It wasn’t enough. She needed to touch him. Hold him. Feel him. Virtual wasn’t the same.
Then Cal texted: Serpents have away game in Vancouver next week. I’ll be there. Can I see you?
Blair’s heart soared. Yes. Absolutely. When?
Game’s Friday night. We arrive Thursday. Leave Saturday morning.
Stay with me. Thursday and Friday night.
What about your team? They’ll know.
I’ll get a separate room. Sneak out after curfew. No one will know.
Risky. Stupid. Exactly what they needed.
Okay. I’ll text you my address.
Can’t wait.
Neither could Blair.
Thursday night, Cal texted from the team hotel. Room check in thirty. Then I’m coming over.
Be safe. Don’t get caught.
Worth the risk.
Blair paced her apartment, cleaning, straightening, nervous. It had been two weeks. Why was she nervous? This was Cal. Her Cal. Nothing to be nervous about. Except everything.
He showed up at 11 PM, hood up, incognito. Blair let him in fast, not wanting neighbors to see. The door barely closed before they were kissing—desperate, hungry, two weeks of missing each other exploding into contact. Clothes came off. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Couch. Frantic. Reconnecting.
“I missed you,” Cal gasped.
“I missed you too.”
“Don’t leave again.”
“I live here now.”
“Then I’m visiting constantly.”
After, tangled together on her too-small couch, Cal said: “I talked to my agent. About requesting a trade.”
Blair’s heart stopped. “To Vancouver?”
“Anywhere you are. If you’re here, I want to be here.”
“Cal, you can’t uproot your career for me—”
“Watch me.”
“The Vipers might not want you. Might not have cap space—”
“Then I’ll go to whatever team does. And you’ll come with me. We’ll keep moving until we’re together.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s love.”
God. How did he make it sound so simple?
“What if it doesn’t work? What if we keep chasing each other and never catch up?”
“Then we keep chasing. Until we do.”
He was impossible. Romantic. Stubborn. Impossible. And she loved him for it.
Friday morning, Cal sneaked out early, back to the hotel before teammates woke. Blair went to work, pretending last night hadn’t happened. Professional. Focused. Except she was smiling. Couldn’t help it. Cal was here, in her city. Tonight they’d play against the Vipers. She’d be there, watching from the PT box, watching him. Dangerous. Thrilling. Worth it.
Game night. The arena was packed. Serpents versus Vipers. Divisional rivals. High stakes. Cal was on the ice, first game back after suspension. He was phenomenal—fast, aggressive, scoring. Like he’d never left. Blair watched from the PT box, couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was in his element. Where he belonged. Beautiful.
Third period. Serpents winning 4-2. Cal had two goals, one assist. Dominant performance. Then he got checked—hard hit into the boards. Went down. Slow to get up. Blair’s heart stopped. Please not the knee. Please not another injury.
He stood. Skated gingerly. Favoring the knee. Shit.
Blair’s instincts kicked in. She was moving before thinking, down from the box, toward the tunnel. The Vipers’ head coach saw her.
“Sutton, where are you going?”
“That player. Number seventeen. He’s injured.”
“He’s not our player.”
“I know. But I need to check on him.”
“You can’t go to the opposing locker room—”
“Watch me.”
She was already running. Down the tunnel. Past security. Seattle’s locker room. Their PT—her replacement—was there, examining Cal’s knee. Blair barged in.
“I need to see him.”
The PT looked up, confused. “Who are you?”
“Blair Sutton. Former PT for Seattle. I know his injury history. Let me look.”
Cal’s face lit up. “Blair—”
“Shut up. Let me check your knee.”
She dropped down. Palpated the joint. Checked stability. Range of motion. Swelling. Everything looked okay. Minor strain. Nothing serious.
“You’re fine. Ice it tonight. Rest tomorrow. You’ll be okay.”
Relief flooded his face. “You sure?”
“Positive. But no more stupid hits. Protect yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Their eyes locked. So much said without words. I miss you. I love you. I need you.
The Seattle PT cleared his throat. “Thanks for the consult. But we’ve got it from here.”
Blair stood. Professional distance restored. “Right. Sorry. I’ll go.”
She left, heart pounding. That was stupid. Risky. Totally worth it.
Cal texted later. Thank you. For checking on me.
Just doing my job. Former job.
You scared me. When you went down.
Sorry. Hit came from nowhere. But I’m fine. Because of you.
Always.
Can I see you tonight? After team stuff?
Isn’t there curfew?
I’ll sneak out again.
Cal—
Please. I need to see you. Touch you. Make sure you’re real.
How could she say no?
Okay. Come over when you can.
He showed up at midnight, exhausted but smiling. “Two goals. Pretty good, huh?”
“Not bad for someone who was benched a month ago.”
“I had excellent PT. Best in the league.”
“Damn right you did.”
They were grinning. Idiots in love.
They made love again, slower this time. Savoring. Reconnecting. This was what Blair needed. Not FaceTime. Not texts. This. Physical. Real. Together.
“I can’t do long-distance,” Cal said after.
“You have to. For now.”
“I hate it.”
“Me too. But it’s temporary. You’ll request a trade. I’ll be patient. We’ll figure it out.”
“What if it takes years?”
“Then it takes years. I’ll wait.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Morning came too soon. Cal had to leave. Team bus at 9 AM. Back to Seattle. Back to separation. They said goodbye at her door. Long kiss. Tight hug.
“Four hours is nothing,” Blair said. “We can do this.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it easier.”
“No. But we’re worth it.”
“Yeah. We are.”
He left. And Blair was alone again. But different this time. Because she knew. This distance was temporary. They’d find their way back. Together. Always together. No matter how long it took.
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