Updated Feb 24, 2026 • ~9 min read
POV: Blair
New rules. That’s what Cal called them. “Relationship Rules: Version 2.0.” Blair laughed. But she was taking notes. They were serious about this. Making it work. Actually work.
Rule One: Weekly Visits. Alternating cities. No excuses. If Cal couldn’t come to Blair, she went to him. Every single week. Minimum one night together.
“That’s a lot of driving,” Blair said.
“Worth it. We need face time. Real face time.”
“Agreed.”
Rule Two: Daily Communication. Not just texts. Actual conversation. Phone calls. Video chats. Real connection.
“Even when we’re tired?” Blair asked.
“Especially when we’re tired. That’s when we used to shut down. Not anymore.”
“Okay. Daily calls. Got it.”
Rule Three: Honesty. Radical honesty. If something bothered you, say it. Don’t let it fester. Don’t assume the other knew. Speak up.
“This is going to be hard for me,” Blair admitted. “I hate confrontation.”
“Same. But necessary. We can’t fix problems we don’t acknowledge.”
“True.”
Rule Four: Therapy. Both doing individual therapy. Blair for her anxiety and fear of abandonment. Cal for his tendency to prioritize hockey over health.
“I started last week,” Cal said. “It’s… weird. But helpful.”
“I have my first session tomorrow.”
“We’ve got this. We’re doing the work.”
Rule Five: No Breaking Up. No matter how hard it got. No “this isn’t working” conversations. No running. They fought through it. Together.
“What if it really isn’t working?” Blair asked.
“Then we adjust. Find new solutions. But we don’t quit. Not again.”
“Okay. No quitting.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They shook on it. Sealed the rules. Committed completely. This was different. Intentional. Mature. Real. Blair was hopeful. Maybe this time they’d make it.
First week of New Rules. Cal came to Vancouver. Friday through Sunday. They cooked dinner together. Actual cooking. Trying new recipes. Cal burned the chicken. Blair salvaged it. Laughing. This was nice. Domestic. Normal. What she wanted.
Saturday, they went hiking. Grouse Mountain. Beautiful views. Holding hands. Talking about everything. Work. Friends. Future.
“My lease is up in December,” Blair mentioned.
“What are you thinking? Renew?”
“I don’t know. It’s a good apartment. But expensive.”
“You could move somewhere cheaper. Save money.”
“Or…” Blair hesitated.
“Or what?”
“Or move to Seattle when your contract’s up. Get a place together.”
Cal stopped walking. “You’d do that? Leave Vancouver?”
“If it means we’re together? Yes.”
“But your job—”
“I’ll find another job. There are teams in Seattle. Maybe not the Serpents. But others.”
Cal kissed her. Right there. Middle of the trail. “I love you. So much.”
“I love you too. So we have a plan. December. When your contract’s up, we move in together.”
“December. That’s eighteen months away.”
“We can do eighteen months.”
“We can do anything.”
Daily calls worked. Sort of. Some nights were great. Deep conversation. Connection. Other nights they were both exhausted. Going through motions. But they did it. Every single night. Showing up. Even when it was hard.
Three weeks into New Rules. Blair had a bad day. Patient relapsed. Set back months of PT. She was devastated. Called Cal crying.
“I failed him. He was doing so well and now—”
“You didn’t fail. Bodies are unpredictable. You know that.”
“But I should’ve seen it coming. Adjusted the program—”
“Blair. Stop. This isn’t your fault. Injuries happen. You’re an amazing PT. This doesn’t change that.”
She cried harder. Cal stayed on the line. Listening. Comforting. Not fixing. Just being there. This was what she needed. Not solutions. Just support.
Week five. Cal had a crisis. Preseason game. Hard hit. Knee twinge. Not serious. But scary. He called Blair panicking.
“What if it’s the ACL again?”
“Did the doctor check it?”
“Yes. He says it’s fine. Just bruising.”
“Then trust him. Trust your body. You’re healed.”
“But what if—”
“No what-ifs. You’re fine. This is anxiety talking. Call your therapist.”
“It’s midnight.”
“Then talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
He did. All the fear. The terror of reinjury. Blair listened. Validated. Reassured. Stayed on the phone until he calmed down. This was partnership. This was what they missed before. Actually supporting each other. Not just romantically. But as humans.
Month two of New Rules. Training camp started. Cal was busy. Constant practices. They missed a weekend visit. First time breaking Rule One. Blair was anxious.
“It’s fine. You had mandatory team stuff.”
“But we agreed every weekend—”
“We agreed barring emergencies. Team obligations count.”
“Still. I hate missing you.”
“Me too. But one miss doesn’t break us.”
It didn’t. They were okay. Stronger than before. More flexible.
Blair visited Seattle next weekend. Stayed at Cal’s apartment. Now half her stuff was there. Clothes. Toiletries. Books. Making space for herself. It felt right.
“This place feels like ours,” Cal said.
“It does. Almost.”
“What would make it fully ours?”
“Me living here. For real.”
“December.”
“December.”
They went to a Serpents’ preseason game. Blair in the stands. Wearing Cal’s jersey. Public. Obvious. Proud. People recognized her. Some smiled. Some whispered. “That’s Montgomery’s girlfriend.” “The PT he got fired over.” “They’re back together?” “Apparently.”
Blair ignored it. Let them talk. She was here for Cal. That’s what mattered.
After the game, Sage appeared. First time seeing her since the breakup. Still gorgeous. Still confident.
“Blair. Good to see you.”
Professional. Polite. Cold.
“Sage.”
“You and Cal back together?”
“We are.”
“Good for you. Long-distance must be hard.”
“We’re managing.”
“I’m sure. Well, welcome back.”
She left. Blair exhaled. That wasn’t terrible. But still uncomfortable. Sage was still there. Still a presence. But Cal had made his choice. Blair trusted that. Had to.
Month three. Halloween. They were in Vancouver. Couple’s costume party. Blair’s team hosted. Cal agreed to go. Dressed as Buttercup and Westley from Princess Bride. Nerdy. Cute. Perfect.
“You make a good princess,” Cal teased.
“You make a terrible pirate.”
“Dread Pirate Roberts is not just a pirate—”
“You’re such a nerd.”
“You love it.”
She did.
Party was fun. Blair’s coworkers loved Cal. He fit in. Charming. Friendly. Making effort. Amanda pulled Blair aside.
“He’s good for you. You’re happy again.”
“I am. Really happy.”
“The long-distance thing’s working?”
“So far. We have rules. Structure. It helps.”
“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. This version of you is so much better than sad Blair.”
That night, walking home, Cal said: “Your friends are great.”
“They like you.”
“Good. Because I plan to be around a long time.”
“How long?”
“Forever. If you’ll have me.”
Blair stopped walking. “Is that a proposal?”
“Not officially. More a… statement of intent. Again.”
“You’ve made a lot of those.”
“And I’ll keep making them. Until I do it properly.”
“When?”
“When the time’s right.”
“And when’s that?”
“You’ll know. Trust me.”
Month four. Thanksgiving. Big decision. Whose family? Blair’s in Boston. Cal’s in Minnesota. Vancouver and Seattle were neutral. They decided: Neither. Thanksgiving just them. Cooking together. Small celebration. Creating their own tradition.
Blair’s family was disappointed. “You’re choosing him over us?”
“I’m choosing us. Cal and me. We’re family too.”
Her mother didn’t understand. Blair didn’t expect her to. This was her life. Her choice. Her love.
Thanksgiving dinner was perfect. Turkey (slightly burnt). Stuffing (mostly edible). Pie (store-bought). Disasters all around. But together. Laughing. Making memories. This was what mattered.
“I’m thankful for you,” Cal said during dinner.
“That’s cheesy.”
“It’s Thanksgiving. Supposed to be cheesy. Your turn.”
“I’m thankful for second chances. And stubborn men who don’t give up.”
“I’m stubborn?”
“Incredibly.”
“Takes one to know one.”
After dinner, they lay on the couch. Too full to move.
“This is nice,” Blair said.
“It is. We should do this every year.”
“Just us?”
“Just us. Our tradition.”
“I like that.”
“Me too.”
Month five. December. Blair’s lease was up. Decision time. Renew in Vancouver? Or wait for Cal’s contract?
They talked it through.
“My contract’s not up for thirteen more months,” Cal said.
“So I renew here. One more year.”
“Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you sublet. Month to month. Keep your options open.”
“In case the contract situation changes?”
“Exactly.”
Blair considered. Month-to-month was more expensive. But more flexible.
“Okay. I’ll do month-to-month. Stay adaptable.”
“We’re really doing this. Planning a future.”
“We really are.”
Christmas. Blair went to Seattle. Spent a week at Cal’s apartment. Team holiday party. Friends gathering. Quiet mornings. Perfect week.
Christmas morning, Cal gave her a gift. Small box. Jewelry-sized. Blair’s heart raced.
“Cal—”
“Open it.”
Inside: a key. Not a ring. A key.
“Key to my apartment,” Cal said. “Officially. You’re always here anyway. Might as well make it yours too.”
“I love it. Thank you.”
“There’s more.”
He handed her another box. Envelope inside. Blair opened it. Lease agreement. For a new apartment. Two-bedroom. Downtown Seattle. Move-in date: January.
“What is this?”
“Our apartment. Once my contract’s up, we’re moving here. Together. I already signed. Just needs your signature.”
Blair was crying. Happy tears.
“You really did this?”
“I really did. We’re moving in together. Making it official.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Forever.”
New Year’s Eve. They were in Vancouver. Watching fireworks from Blair’s apartment. Champagne. Resolutions. Promises.
“This year’s going to be different,” Cal said.
“How?”
“We’re going to actually be together. Same city. Same life. No more distance.”
“Thirteen more months.”
“We can do thirteen months.”
“We can do anything.”
They kissed at midnight. New year. New beginning. Same love. Forever love.
Blair went to bed hopeful. Five months of New Rules. They were working. Actually working. The distance was still hard. But manageable. Because they were trying. Really trying. Together. Always together.
Thirteen more months. Then forever started. For real. Completely. Finally. She couldn’t wait.
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