Updated Feb 24, 2026 • ~7 min read
POV: Blair
Friday afternoon, Cal was driving to Vancouver. Four-hour drive. Weekend visit. No games. No obligations. Just them. Blair was nervous-excited. They needed this. After weeks of fighting, they needed to remember the good parts. The reasons they were doing this.
He arrived at 6 PM with flowers in hand and grinning. “Missed you.”
“It’s been four days.”
“Four days too long.”
He kissed her. Sweet. Unhurried. They had time. Whole weekend stretching ahead. Perfect.
Dinner was simple. Pasta. Wine. Her tiny kitchen. They cooked together, Cal chopping vegetables badly while Blair laughed at his technique.
“You’re a professional athlete. How are you this uncoordinated with a knife?”
“Different skill set. I hit pucks. Not tomatoes.”
“Clearly.”
She took over chopping. Cal stirred sauce. Domestic. Normal. Wonderful. This was what she wanted. Not the drama. Not the distance. This. Quiet moments. Shared space. Together.
After dinner, they curled up on the couch. No TV. Just talking. About everything. About nothing. Cal told her about playoffs—team dynamics, Preston’s intensity, pressure mounting. Blair told him about her players—a young rookie recovering from shoulder surgery, a veteran dealing with chronic pain. Work talk. But comfortable. Like they used to. Before everything got complicated.
“I miss this,” Cal said.
“This?”
“Just existing together. No fighting. No jealousy. Just us.”
“Me too.”
“We should do this more often.”
“Kind of hard with four hours between us.”
“Not if I move here.”
Blair sat up. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking. If Seattle won’t trade me, maybe I retire early. Move here. Find something else to do.”
“Cal, you love hockey—”
“I love you more. And I’m tired of being apart. Tired of fighting. If retiring means we’re together, I’ll retire.”
“You’d really do that?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Blair was crying. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears.
“Don’t cry—”
“I’m not sad. I’m just… you’d really give up hockey for me?”
“I’d give up anything for you. Haven’t I proven that by now?”
He had. Repeatedly.
“I don’t want you to resent me. For taking your career.”
“You’re not taking anything. I’m choosing. There’s a difference.”
Blair kissed him. “Don’t retire. Not yet. Let’s see what happens after playoffs. Maybe something changes.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll decide together. But I don’t want you making sacrifices without exploring every option first.”
“Okay. But the offer stands. I’m done being apart.”
“Me too.”
Saturday morning, Blair woke to the smell of coffee. Cal was in her kitchen. Shirtless. Making breakfast. Perfect view.
“You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it. You’re distracting.”
“You’re welcome to come distract me back.”
She did. Breakfast got cold. They didn’t care.
Later, they explored Vancouver. Touristy stuff Cal hadn’t done. Stanley Park. Granville Island. Gastown. Hand in hand. Laughing. Normal. People recognized Cal occasionally, asked for photos and autographs. He was gracious. Friendly. But kept Blair close. Introducing her as his girlfriend. Proudly. Publicly. She loved it.
They grabbed lunch at a food truck. Fish tacos. Ocean view. Perfect spring day.
“I could live here,” Cal said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. City’s beautiful. Good hockey market. Close to home.”
“Seattle’s your home.”
“You’re my home. Wherever you are.”
God. How was he real?
“Stop saying perfect things. I’m trying to eat.”
“Can’t help it. You inspire perfect things.”
Blair threw a napkin at him. He caught it. Grinning. Idiot. Her idiot.
That night, they met Blair’s friends. Dinner at a local restaurant. Amanda from work. Some Vipers players. Sienna visiting from Seattle. Cal was nervous.
“What if they hate me?”
“They won’t.”
“I’m the reason you got fired. Lost your dream job. Uprooted your life.”
“You’re also the reason I’m happy. They’ll see that.”
Dinner went perfectly. Cal was charming. Funny. Genuine. He fit right in, telling hockey stories, asking about their lives, engaging. Blair watched him. Her boyfriend. Integrating into her world. Making effort. Making friends. Because she mattered.
Amanda leaned close. “He’s perfect for you.”
“He’s pretty great.”
“Worth all the trouble?”
“Every second.”
Later, walking home, Cal said: “Your friends are cool.”
“They liked you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Amanda texted me while you were in the bathroom. Said you’re a keeper.”
Cal grinned. “I am a keeper.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident. There’s a difference.”
Blair laughed. This weekend had been perfect. Exactly what they needed. Reminder of why they were fighting. Why the distance and drama were worth it.
Sunday morning came too soon. Cal had to leave. Back to Seattle. Back to reality. They were quiet. Packing his stuff. Avoiding goodbyes.
“I hate this part,” Cal said.
“Leaving?”
“Leaving you. Every single time.”
“Six more weeks. Then playoffs end. Then maybe things change.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then we keep doing this. Weekends. Visits. Whatever we can.”
“For two years?”
“If necessary. We’ve made it this far.”
Cal pulled her close. “I love you. This weekend reminded me why.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re good together. Really good. When we’re not fighting about distance and Sage.”
“So let’s stop fighting about that stuff.”
“Deal.”
They shook on it. Laughing. Sealing the promise.
He kissed her goodbye. Long. Sweet. Reluctant.
“See you next weekend?”
“I have an away game in Arizona. But the weekend after?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Good. I’ll count the days.”
He left. And Blair watched him go. Heart full instead of breaking. This weekend changed something. Reminded them who they were. Not just the drama and distance. But the love. The connection. The rightness. That was worth protecting. Worth fighting for. No matter how hard it got.
Monday at work, Blair was smiling. Couldn’t help it. Weekend glow still radiating. Amanda noticed.
“Good visit?”
“Perfect visit.”
“He’s really committed, huh?”
“Yeah. He is.”
“Think you guys will make it?”
Blair didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. We will.”
For the first time in months, she actually believed it.
Cal texted throughout the day. Missing you already. Best weekend in months. Can’t wait for next one. Love you.
Blair responded to each one. Same energy. Same enthusiasm. They were good. Finally. Solidly. Good.
The week passed smoothly. No Sage drama. No fights. No jealousy. Just daily texts and nightly calls. Talking about nothing important. Sharing their days. Being together even apart. It was nice. Really nice.
Cal’s away game in Arizona. Blair watched online. He played phenomenally. Two goals. Game-winner. Post-game interview mentioned her. “Special someone watching from Vancouver. This one’s for her.”
Public. Sweet. Perfect. Comments flooded in: Relationship goals! He’s so in love. Blair’s lucky.
She was lucky. Despite everything. She was incredibly lucky.
Friday night, Cal called.
“How was the game?”
“Did you watch?”
“Obviously. Two goals? Show-off.”
“Had to impress my girlfriend.”
“Consider me impressed.”
“Good. Because I have news.”
Blair’s heart raced. “Good or bad?”
“Good. Seattle’s reconsidering the trade. Not guaranteeing anything. But they’re talking to Vancouver again.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. My agent says there’s a real chance. After playoffs.”
“Cal—”
“Don’t get too excited yet. It’s not done. But it’s possible.”
Possible. That was more than they had yesterday.
“I’ll take possible.”
“Me too. It’s a start.”
They talked for hours. Planning hypothetically. What if he moved here? Apartment together. Daily life. Normal couple stuff.
“I’d cook breakfast every morning,” Cal said.
“You’d burn breakfast every morning.”
“You’d teach me not to.”
“True. I’m very patient.”
“You’re very bossy.”
“Same thing.”
They were laughing. Easy. Light. Happy. This was what love should feel like. Not constant crisis. But this. Comfort. Joy. Partnership. Finally.
Blair went to bed content. This weekend proved something. They worked. When they were together, they worked. Distance was the enemy. Not each other. And maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. Distance’s days were numbered.
Six weeks until playoffs ended. Six weeks until potential trade. Six weeks until maybe everything changed. She could wait six weeks. After everything they’d survived? Six weeks was nothing.
Cal texted before bed. Thank you for this weekend. I needed it.
Me too. Let’s do it again soon.
Next weekend. Your place. I’ll bring wine.
Deal. Can’t wait.
Love you. Sweet dreams.
Love you too. Always.
Blair fell asleep smiling. For the first time in months, the future looked bright. Uncertain still. But bright. And that was enough. For now.
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