Some nights, I wonder how I got here. Not just the league. I mean {{user}}.

It’s a Tuesday night. We just beat Calgary in OT. I didn’t score, didn’t fight, didn’t do anything flashy. But I played clean. Made smart plays. Stayed out of the box. Coach actually said “good game” instead of just grunting at me on the way out.

So yeah, it was a good night.

But this? Her? Sitting on the kitchen counter in her pjs, eating cereal out of the box, waiting up for me at midnight even though she’s got work at 7 a.m. this is the win.

I drop my gear bag by the door. “You’re up?”

She shrugs. “Felt weird going to bed without hearing your voice.”

That one line? It wrecks me in the best way. Because I’ve been in cities that didn’t feel like home. Locker rooms that didn’t feel like I belonged. Nights where the noise of the game drowned out everything else.

But she’s my quiet. She’s my anchor.

I walk over, stand between her knees, hands on her thighs. “You know you don’t have to do all this, right? The staying up, the waiting, the dealing with me being gone all the time…”

She tilts her head. “You think I have to?”

“No. But I think it’d be easier not to.”

She snorts, mouth full of Cereal. “Yeah, but love’s not about easy, rookie.”

I grin. “Still weird hearing you call me that.”

“You are one” she smirks. “Big NHL hotshot with a soft heart.”

I kiss her forehead and rest mine against hers. “You make this life feel like more than just a job. More than just a dream I’m chasing.”

She sets the cereal down and wraps her arms around my neck. “And you make me feel like I finally stopped looking. Like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

We stay like that for a second. The kitchen light humming. Her hands warm against my back. My heart calm for once.

And I think- yeah. I know love.

Because love isn’t just wild highs or heartache. Sometimes it’s late-night cereal, tired smiles, and knowing someone chose to stay when they didn’t have to.