The request—so unexpected and uncharacteristically vulnerable—caught Emma off guard. “I have no intention of being cruel to Jack. We’ve both moved on.” “Have you?” Veronica studied her. “Because the press seems determined to reignite every possible conflict tonight.” “The press thrives on conflict. That doesn’t mean we have to provide it.” Veronica seemed satisfied with this answer. “Good. Then we understand each other.” “How did you get up here anyway?” Emma asked as the model turned to leave. “I used to date the arena security director in Milan.” Veronica shrugged elegantly. “Men in that position tend to think alike across continents.” After she departed, Emma returned to the owner’s box, processing the strange encounter. Jack and Veronica reconciled. The volatile couple who’d imploded so spectacularly had found their way back to each other, just as Emma and Alek had found their way forward together. Perhaps there was symmetry in that. The third period brought the drama everyone had anticipated. Seattle took the lead early, then Boston tied it with five minutes remaining. The crowd roared with every shift, the ordinary Tuesday game transformed into something approaching playoff atmosphere. With two minutes left, Jack’s line took the ice for Seattle. Emma found herself leaning forward involuntarily, watching his familiar skating stride, the way he called for passes—habits she’d observed hundreds of times from this same vantage point. The moment unfolded as if scripted: Jack received a cross-ice pass, deked past Boston’s defenseman, and found himself alone against the goaltender. His shot was perfect—top corner, unreachable, the game-winning goal with 1:47 remaining. The arena fell silent except for the celebrating Seattle players. Jack’s teammates mobbed him along the boards, directly below the owner’s box. As they dispersed for the center ice faceoff, Jack looked up—directly at Emma. Their eyes met for three heartbeats. No anger, no triumph, no resentment. Just acknowledgment. Then he nodded once—almost respectfully—before skating back to his bench. “Well,” Franklin murmured beside her. “That was civilized.” Emma felt a knot inside her loosen slightly. “Yes, it was.” Boston pulled their goalie but couldn’t equalize. As the teams lined up for post-game handshakes, Alek appeared at Emma’s side. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly. “Surprisingly, yes.” Emma watched Jack shake hands with his former teammates without incident. “I had an interesting conversation with Veronica Wells during intermission.” “The supermodel?” Alek looked confused. “How did she get up here?” “Dating security directors has its privileges, apparently.” Emma filled him in on the encounter and Veronica’s revelation about her reconciliation with Jack. “Interesting timing,” Alek observed. “Must have happened right around when he was traded.” “Fresh start for everyone,” Emma echoed her earlier thought. As they prepared to leave, Lisa appeared looking concerned. “Small complication. The press is requesting joint comments from you and Reynolds about his return—a ‘closure’ narrative. Seattle’s PR team is surprisingly open to it.” Emma exchanged glances with Alek, whose expression remained neutral. “What do you recommend?” she asked. “Professionally? A brief, amicable joint statement could finally put this storyline to rest.” Lisa hesitated. “Personally? That’s entirely your call.” Emma considered her options. The easy path was refusal—maintain separation, avoid potential awkwardness. But something about her brief eye contact with Jack, and Veronica’s unexpected visit, suggested a different approach might be possible. “Two minutes,” she decided. “Brief statements, no questions. And I want Franklin and Alek present.” Lisa nodded. “I’ll arrange it. Press room in fifteen minutes.” As they walked toward the executive elevator, Alek touched Emma’s arm lightly. “You don’t have to do this.” “Actually, I think I do.” Emma smiled faintly. “Some stories need proper endings.” The moment proved less dramatic than anticipated. Jack entered the press room wearing his Seattle gear, looking tired but composed. He nodded politely to Emma, Franklin, and Alek before taking his position behind the podium. Camera flashes exploded as Jack and Emma stood side by side for the first time since the divorce. Journalists leaned forward eagerly, hoping for controversy. Instead, Emma spoke briefly about Jack’s contributions to Boston during his years with the team, congratulated him on his successful transition to Seattle, and wished him continued success—“except when playing against us.” Jack, in turn, thanked the Boston organization for his time there, acknowledged the support he’d received during difficult periods, and expressed appreciation for a “clean transition that benefited everyone involved.” No subtle digs, no veiled criticisms—just professional courtesy. As they concluded, Jack turned to Emma. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I know it wasn’t easy.” “Professional courtesy,” Emma replied, but without coldness. “More than I deserved,” Jack admitted quietly, then surprised her by extending his hand to Alek. “Take care of her. She deserves the best.” Alek’s handshake was firm but not aggressive. “I know.” As Jack left with the Seattle contingent, Emma felt a sense of completion she hadn’t anticipated. Not forgiveness exactly, nor friendship—but the acknowledgment that some chapters were truly finished. “Well handled,” Franklin said as they departed. “Both of you.” In the car afterward, Emma finally relaxed, exhaustion catching up with her. “That was more draining than I expected.” “You did beautifully,” Alek assured her, reaching for her hand. “It felt... final,” Emma observed. “In a good way.” “Closure is underrated.” Emma turned to study his profile as he drove. “You know what I was thinking during that awful press conference?” “How much you wanted to escape?” “No.” Emma squeezed his hand. “I was thinking how grateful I am that everything happened exactly as it did. Even the painful parts.” Alek glanced at her, surprised. “Even Jack’s meltdowns? The Adams scandal? The public scrutiny?” “All of it.” Emma’s certainty surprised even herself. “Because it led here—to us, to this life we’re building. I wouldn’t change any of it.” Alek brought her hand to his lips. “Neither would I.” As they drove home through the Boston night, Emma realized they had finally moved beyond playing short-handed—defending against threats, managing crises, reacting to Jack’s drama. For the first time, they could truly focus on building their future rather than navigating their past. Jack Reynolds would always be part of her history. But after tonight, he no longer defined any part of her story going forward.
“He’s literally checking his phone for your texts during board meetings,” Mia declared, swirling her martini with practiced elegance. “That’s not professional distance, Em. That’s a man completely gone for you.” Emma sank deeper into the corner booth of Noir, the discreet cocktail bar where she and Mia had retreated for their monthly catch-up. Three months after the snowstorm kiss and subsequent Jack meltdown, Emma was still navigating the complicated waters of her developing relationship with Alek while maintaining professional boundaries at work. “We’re being careful,” Emma insisted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No public dates, minimal private time, absolutely no office... interaction.” “And how’s that working out for your sanity?” Mia arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Terribly.” Emma sighed, dropping the professional façade she maintained everywhere except with her oldest friend. “I think about him constantly. When we’re in meetings, I have to force myself to focus
“Stop fidgeting with your tie or I’ll tie you to the chair with it.” Alek shot an amused glance at Franklin, who sat comfortably in the groom’s suite of the historic Boston estate they’d chosen for the wedding. Despite doctors’ warnings about overexertion, Emma’s grandfather had insisted on being Alek’s best man—“Since I’m giving away the bride, I might as well complete the set,” he’d declared. “Just making sure everything’s perfect,” Alek replied, adjusting his cufflinks for the fourth time. “She’s not marrying you for your tie, son.” Franklin’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Though I must say, that Russian frame of yours displays a tuxedo admirably.” The door opened as Walter entered, clipboard in hand as always. “Five minutes, gentlemen. Guests are seated. Bride is ready.” Franklin stood, using his cane more for show than necessity these days. Six months of reduced stress and proper medication had improved his condition remarkably. “Well then, let’s not keep my granddaughter waiting
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Boston Blades are your Stanley Cup Champions!” The arena erupted as the final seconds ticked away, confirming what the scoreboard already proclaimed: Boston 3, Chicago 1 in Game 6 of the championship finals. Emma maintained professional composure in the owner’s box, exchanging handshakes with league officials even as her heart raced with triumph. One year. It had taken exactly one year from her public introduction as team owner to this moment of ultimate victory. The journey had tested every facet of her character—her leadership, her resilience, her ability to balance professional demands with personal priorities. “Your grandfather would be bursting with pride,” Walter murmured beside her, emotion evident in the assistant’s usually stoic demeanor. Emma squeezed his arm in acknowledgment. Franklin wasn’t physically present, having watched from his hospital bed where he was recovering from his second cardiac procedure in three months. But his strategic influen
“At least let Walter drive you home,” Alek suggested. “Emma and I can meet you at the arena later.” To their surprise, Franklin agreed without protest—a sign of fatigue more concerning than any medical report. After seeing him safely to his car with Walter, Emma and Alek stood alone on Harvard’s historic campus. “Congratulations, Ms. Mitchell, MBA,” Alek said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Thank you, Mr. Volkov, for enduring this marathon with me.” Emma leaned into his embrace, finally allowing herself to feel the full weight of her accomplishment—and the exhaustion that accompanied it. “One more celebration to navigate,” Alek reminded her. “Tonight’s game. Then perhaps we can discuss a much-needed vacation.” “Vacation?” Emma looked up at him suspiciously. “You haven’t taken more than two consecutive days off in the three years I’ve known you.” “People change,” Alek said, a curious note in his voice. “Sometimes they realize certain moments deserve special attention.” Before Emm
Emma stared at her laptop screen, the words of her capstone project blurring as exhaustion set in. The digital clock in the corner read 2:37 AM—another late night in what had become her new normal over the past eight months. Her Harvard Executive MBA program had proven even more demanding than anticipated. Combined with running the Blades through playoff season and monitoring her grandfather’s declining health, Emma had pushed herself to limits she hadn’t known existed. She rubbed her eyes, determined to finish this section before allowing herself sleep. The project analyzed innovative revenue models for professional sports franchises during economic downturns—directly applicable to her work, yet requiring academic rigor that stretched even her considerable intellect. Her phone buzzed with a text. Only one person would message at this hour. Still awake? Alek’s text read. Unfortunately. This section on alternative revenue streams is fighting me. Want company? I’m just leaving the arena
She relayed the conversation she’d overheard, watching his expression darken from concern to anger. “Wilson and Peterson,” he growled. “I’ll speak to them tomorrow.” “No, you won’t.” Emma’s voice was firm. “That would only confirm their belief that I need you to fight my battles.” “This isn’t about fighting battles. It’s about basic respect.” “The respect has to be earned, not enforced.” Emma gazed out the windshield. “What if they’re right, Alek? What if I am just trading on my name and our relationship?” “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it?” She turned to face him. “I never completed my MBA. My business experience before the Blades was minimal. I learned hockey operations on the fly.” “While developing revolutionary pricing models, community engagement strategies, and player development approaches,” Alek countered. “Emma, you’re brilliant at this job. Wilson and Peterson are threatened by competent women, nothing more.” “Maybe.” Emma wasn’t convinced. “But perception matters in leadership.
Emma adjusted her earring in the full-length mirror, admiring how the diamonds caught the light. The black gown she’d chosen for tonight’s charity gala was a departure from her usual understated professional attire—backless, fitted, undeniably glamorous. “You’re staring again,” she said to Alek’s reflection as he leaned against the bedroom doorframe watching her. “Professional hazard of dating the most beautiful woman in Boston.” He crossed to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders. “You look incredible.” “So do you.” Emma turned to straighten his bow tie. Six months into their relationship, these domestic moments still gave her a quiet thrill—the easy intimacy, the shared spaces, the unguarded affection. Tonight marked their first major public appearance since Jack’s return game two weeks earlier. The annual Hockey Fights Cancer gala drew the city’s elite—team owners, players, politicians, business leaders—for a night of fundraising and strategic networking
The request—so unexpected and uncharacteristically vulnerable—caught Emma off guard. “I have no intention of being cruel to Jack. We’ve both moved on.” “Have you?” Veronica studied her. “Because the press seems determined to reignite every possible conflict tonight.” “The press thrives on conflict. That doesn’t mean we have to provide it.” Veronica seemed satisfied with this answer. “Good. Then we understand each other.” “How did you get up here anyway?” Emma asked as the model turned to leave. “I used to date the arena security director in Milan.” Veronica shrugged elegantly. “Men in that position tend to think alike across continents.” After she departed, Emma returned to the owner’s box, processing the strange encounter. Jack and Veronica reconciled. The volatile couple who’d imploded so spectacularly had found their way back to each other, just as Emma and Alek had found their way forward together. Perhaps there was symmetry in that. The third period brought the drama everyone had
“Seattle comes to town next Tuesday,” Coach Donovan mentioned casually at the end of the weekly strategy meeting. “Reynolds’ first game back in Boston.” Emma kept her expression neutral despite the sudden tension in the room. Two months had passed since the Adams scandal, and things had finally settled into a new normal. The media frenzy had eventually died down, Adams’ replacement on the Board—a progressive-minded woman with extensive sports management experience—had integrated seamlessly, and Emma and Alek had found a comfortable balance between professional collaboration and personal privacy. Jack’s return threatened that hard-won equilibrium. “Marketing wants to know if we’re doing any acknowledgment,” Peterson said, looking uncomfortable. “Video tribute or something for his years with the team.” “Standard protocol for returning veteran players is a brief highlight reel during the first timeout,” Alek replied evenly. “I see no reason to deviate.” Emma nodded in agreement. “Let’s t