Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~11 min read
Chapter 12: Road Games
POV: Rory
Rory – THE AWAY GAME
Rory boards the team charter to Boston for a week-long road trip that includes three games and approximately forty-eight hours of forced proximity to Henrik while maintaining professional distance in front of other journalists and players, and she’s already exhausted before the plane even takes off because pretending not to be in love with someone is significantly harder when you’re trapped in an enclosed space traveling at thirty thousand feet.
The seating arrangement separates press from players—journalists in the back, team in the front, clear delineation between coverage and subject—and Rory settles into her aisle seat next to Dave from the sports desk while watching Henrik board with his teammates and not look in her direction because they’re professionals who absolutely don’t have a secret relationship that involves nightly phone calls and weekend breakfasts and increasingly serious conversations about future possibilities.
“You ever cover away games before?” Dave asks, pulling out his laptop and settling in for the flight like he’s done this a thousand times. “Team travel is different from home coverage. More access, more casual interviews, more opportunity to see player dynamics that don’t show up during official practice sessions.”
“First away series,” Rory confirms, trying to focus on Dave’s veteran advice instead of watching Henrik laugh at something Lucas said three rows ahead. “Any tips for maximizing the opportunity?”
Dave launches into a detailed explanation of how to navigate hotel lobbies where players congregate after games, which teammates are most likely to give interesting quotes when they’re tired and less guarded, how to balance professional observation with respecting private downtime, and Rory takes mental notes while trying not to think about the fact that she and Henrik will be staying in the same hotel for a week with separate rooms and how they’re going to handle wanting to see each other without anyone noticing.
They land in Boston late afternoon, and the team buses everyone to a hotel in Back Bay that’s nice enough for professional athletes but not so fancy that it attracts excessive attention, and Rory checks into her standard press room on the eighth floor while knowing that Henrik is somewhere in this same building in the player section on a different floor, so close but requiring careful coordination to actually see without raising suspicion.
Her phone buzzes with a text: *Room 1547. Text when you’re settled and I’ll text back in 30 minutes. Gives everyone time to assume we’re in our own rooms doing our own things before you show up.*
Rory texts back: *Paranoid much?*
*Careful,* Henrik corrects. *There’s a difference. I’m protecting your career.*
He’s right—they need to be more careful on the road when teammates and journalists are all staying in the same hotel, when running into people in hallways or elevators could lead to questions about why Rory is visiting Henrik’s room—but the careful planning feels exhausting when what Rory actually wants is to just be a normal couple who can see each other without elaborate timing strategies.
She waits the suggested thirty minutes, then makes her way to Henrik’s room on the fifteenth floor while trying to look like she’s just wandering the hotel instead of deliberately going to see the player she’s supposed to be covering professionally, and when Henrik opens his door she slips inside quickly before anyone in the hallway can register her presence.
“This is ridiculous,” Rory says, but she’s smiling as Henrik immediately pulls her into a kiss that tastes like the coffee he apparently had sent up from room service. “We’re sneaking around like teenagers.”
“Romantic teenagers,” Henrik corrects, pulling her toward the bed where he’s clearly been waiting for her based on the fact that he’s showered and changed into soft clothes and has wine and snacks laid out like he’s trying to create an actual date atmosphere in a hotel room. “Besides, you like sneaking around. Admit it. The secrecy is kind of hot.”
“The secrecy is stressful,” Rory argues, but she’s already settling onto the bed and accepting the wine he pours. “Though I’ll admit there’s something appealing about having you all to myself without teammates or journalists or anyone else demanding your attention.”
“You always have me all to yourself,” Henrik says, joining her on the bed with careful attention to maintaining some space between them like he’s not sure how much contact is welcome right now. “Even when we’re in public. My attention is always on you.”
“That’s a problem,” Rory points out. “You need to stop looking at me like that at practice. People are going to notice.”
“Lucas already noticed,” Henrik admits. “He knows. Has known for weeks. But he’s not going to say anything.”
“Henrik,” Rory says, and she can hear the panic in her own voice. “We agreed to keep this quiet.”
“He figured it out on his own,” Henrik defends. “I didn’t tell him. He just… he’s observant. Noticed I was happier. Saw us talking once when we thought no one was around. Put the pieces together.”
“Who else knows?” Rory asks, anxiety spiking because if one teammate figured it out, others might have too, and if too many people know then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions it to press or management and her career credibility gets destroyed.
“Just Lucas,” Henrik promises. “And I trust him. He won’t tell anyone. He actually gave me advice about being patient with you, letting you set the pace.”
Rory wants to be angry about the breach of secrecy, wants to panic about discovery and consequences, but she’s also touched that Henrik has been talking to his teammate about their relationship in ways that suggest he’s serious about making this work, that he’s seeking advice instead of just winging it.
“Okay,” she says finally. “Lucas knows. But no one else. Please.”
“No one else,” Henrik agrees, and then because he’s apparently incapable of staying serious for long: “Though for the record, he thinks we’re good together. Said I look happier than I have in years. That you’re good for me.”
“You’re good for me too,” Rory admits quietly. “Even when it’s complicated and stressful and I’m constantly waiting for you to turn out to be like Carlos. You’re… you’re different. Better. And I’m trying to trust that.”
Henrik sets down his wine and pulls Rory closer, and they lie on the hotel bed talking about the upcoming games and her article deadlines and whether Boston has better seafood than Chicago (Henrik says yes, Rory maintains Chicago has better everything on principle), and somewhere in the conversation Rory realizes that this is what she wants long-term—not just the sex or the chemistry or the crisis bonding, but this comfortable intimacy of being with someone who listens when she talks and makes her laugh and lets her be herself without performance.
“What are we doing?” Rory asks later when they’re tangled together under hotel covers, Henrik’s arms warm around her waist. “Long-term, I mean. Are we just enjoying this until it gets too complicated? Or are we actually building toward something permanent?”
“What do you want us to be doing?” Henrik asks carefully, and Rory appreciates that he’s putting the question back to her instead of declaring intentions she might not be ready for.
“I don’t know,” Rory admits. “Part of me wants to say we’re casual, keep it light, protect myself from getting hurt. But that’s not true anymore if it ever was. This isn’t casual. Hasn’t been casual since you held my hand in the doctor’s office. Maybe before that.”
“It’s not casual for me,” Henrik confirms. “Never was. From the beginning—from that first night in the bar—there was something about you that felt different. Important. And now that I actually know you? I’m all in, Rory. This is serious for me. I’m thinking long-term. Future. Eventual public acknowledgment and meeting families and all the things that scare you but I want anyway.”
“That’s terrifying,” Rory whispers.
“Yeah,” Henrik agrees. “But worth it. We’re worth it.”
“What if I can’t give you what you want?” Rory asks. “What if I’m too damaged to ever fully trust this? What if the best I can do is secret relationship and careful distance because anything more feels too vulnerable?”
“Then we work with that,” Henrik says simply. “I’d rather have you secretly than not have you at all. But Rory, I need you to hear this—I think you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for. I think you’re already trusting me more than you realize. And I think eventually you’re going to be brave enough to let this be real instead of just secret.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rory says, and she turns in Henrik’s arms to kiss him properly, to show through physical contact what she can’t quite say with words yet.
They make love slowly—hotel sex that requires being quieter than usual because walls are thin and teammates are on this floor, moving together with the careful attention to each other’s pleasure that comes from actually knowing someone’s body, from caring about their enjoyment as much as your own—and when they’re both satisfied and drowsy, Henrik says against her shoulder, “You should probably go back to your room before it gets too late. Don’t want anyone seeing you leave in the morning.”
“I know,” Rory says, but she doesn’t move yet, doesn’t want to leave the warmth of Henrik’s bed and arms. “Five more minutes.”
“Take as long as you need,” Henrik says, and his arms tighten around her like he’s equally reluctant to let her go.
Rory eventually forces herself to get dressed and sneak back to her own room, and she falls asleep thinking about Henrik’s words—long-term, future, permanent—and wondering if she’s brave enough to actually want those things instead of just being terrified by them.
The week continues with stolen moments between games and interviews—Henrik sneaking to her room or Rory going to his, always careful about timing and hallway encounters, maintaining professional distance during team dinners and press conferences while knowing exactly what the other person looks like undressed and vulnerable.
On night three after a game the Frost wins in overtime, Henrik shows up at Rory’s room still high on adrenaline and they have fast, urgent sex against the door before collapsing onto her bed laughing about how they’re definitely going to get caught eventually if they keep taking risks like this.
“Worth it though,” Henrik says, still breathing hard. “You’re worth the risk.”
“Am I?” Rory asks, and she’s not fishing for compliments—genuinely questioning whether the complications of their relationship justify the potential consequences.
“Absolutely,” Henrik says without hesitation. “I would risk everything for you. Career, reputation, whatever. You’re the most important thing in my life after hockey. Maybe before hockey if I’m being honest.”
“Don’t say that,” Rory says, alarmed. “Your career matters. You can’t sacrifice—”
“I’m not sacrificing anything,” Henrik interrupts gently. “I’m just acknowledging that you matter. A lot. More than I expected when this started. And I’m okay with that. More than okay.”
Rory doesn’t know how to respond to that level of declaration, so she kisses him instead and they lie together in her hotel bed talking about nothing important until Henrik has to leave to avoid being seen in her room too late.
The pattern continues through the rest of the Boston trip—professional during the day, intimate at night, both of them pretending this suspended reality can last indefinitely even though they both know eventually something will have to change.
On the flight back to Chicago, Rory sits in her designated press seat and watches Henrik several rows ahead, and when he glances back and catches her looking, he smiles—small and private and just for her—and Rory feels something settle in her chest that might be the beginning of actually trusting this.
Maybe Henrik is different.
Maybe this is real.
Maybe she’s allowed to hope.
🔥
END CHAPTER 12
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