Chapter 147: My Next -

Harper’s POV

"Babe, are you done settling in?"

I tucked my legs beneath me on the bed, holding the phone tight against my ear, listening intently to the background noise on his end.

"No," Justin chuckled softly, a low, exhausted sound. "Not even close. I just got into the room. I’m still trying to figure out where everything goes."

A smile tugged at my lips. "So you’re already lost?"

"I wouldn’t say lost."

"You’re lost, Justin."

"I know where my bed is," he defended with a quiet laugh that made my chest warm. "That counts for something."

I could picture him so clearly—standing in the middle of that pristine, corporate room, his massive gear bag sitting half-unzipped, hockey sticks propped against the wall.

"How was the rest of orientation?" I asked, leaning back against my pillows.

"Good. Really good. The staff doesn’t mess around, Harper. There’s a lot going on, but they’re taking every single detail seriously."

"Good." My voice softened, taking on a gentler tone. "Just make sure you take it seriously too, okay? You worked so hard to get here. Don’t get comfortable just because you were picked first overall. Go out there, listen, learn, grind, and show them exactly why they drafted you."

There was a brief pause on the line.

"I will," he promised quietly.

"And don’t let Mason distract you."

Justin laughed. "That might be an actual impossibility."

"You two are ridiculous."

"He’s worse than me."

"You’re both terrible."

He chuckled again, and for a fleeting second, the heavy distance between us vanished. Then, his voice dropped into a lower, softer register.

"I miss you already, baby."

My smile faded into something tender and aching. "I miss you too."

"I’ve only been gone for a few hours."

"I know."

"And I’m already counting down the days."

"Me too."

The bedroom door creaked open, breaking the spell. Emma poked her head inside, her eyes wide. "Is that Justin?"

Before I could even answer, Noah shoved past her. "Is that Justin? Put him on speaker!"

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the grin. "Yes, it’s Justin."

Justin’s rich laugh came through the speaker. "Hey, guys."

"Hi, Justin!" Emma called out, walking farther into the room. "How’s the big-league camp?"

"Good so far. Just getting settled into the dorms."

Noah leaned down toward the phone. "Are you going to become an absolute NHL superstar now?"

Justin laughed. "That’s the goal, man."

"Don’t forget about us when you’re famous," Noah warned playfully.

"Never."

Emma crossed her arms, giving the phone a stern look. "Are you eating properly?"

Justin let out a dramatic sigh. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because you forget to feed yourself when you’re stressed!" I chimed in.

"I eat!"

"You literally passed out on the ice once, remember?"

"I remember."

"Then eat."

"Yes, ma’am."

Emma smirked. "Good answer."

We talked for a few more minutes, Emma and Noah chiming in with endless questions about the facility, the gear, and the ice. Finally, I caught the time on my nightstand and sighed.

"Okay, go."

Justin groaned. "What?"

"You have things to do. You need to unpack and get some rest."

"So do you."

"Exactly. So go, go, go."

"You’re really kicking me off the phone, sweetheart?"

"Yes."

"That’s cruel."

"Bye, Justin."

"I love you, Harper."

"I love you too."

I ended the call before he could tease me any further.

Emma stared at me in disbelief. "You really just kicked your top-prospect boyfriend off the phone?"

"He has camp. I have a life."

Noah snorted. "Sure."

"Out, both of you!"

They laughed, backing out of my room and pulling the door shut.

Once the room fell quiet, I reached for the leather-bound planning journal I had bought during our getaway. The cover was thick and rich, the cream-colored pages structured with sections for goals, timelines, and projects.

I opened it to a fresh page, uncapping my pen. "Okay," I whispered to the empty room.

I needed a real plan. I couldn’t spend the next several weeks just sitting in my bedroom, waiting by the phone for Justin to call between training sessions.

I looked at the calendar. The legendary producer’s project wouldn’t start for a little while yet, and my formal internship was still on the horizon. But Justin was stepping into a terrifyingly huge world—the world of professional sports, spotlights, and insane expectations.

A quiet knot formed in my stomach.

Justin was becoming an NHL player. And me? I was currently just a film student waiting on an internship.

There was nothing wrong with where I was. I knew I had earned my accomplishments. But deep down, a fierce, protective pride stirred inside me. I didn’t want to become just the player’s girlfriend who tagged along to games. I didn’t want people looking at me as an accessory to his success.

I wanted to stand directly beside him—an equal in drive, passion, and ambition.

I need to be on his level, I thought. Not in money or fame, but in purpose.

I brought the pen to the paper and wrote in clean bold letters:

MY NEXT Chapter

Underneath, I began mapping it out:

Legendary Producer’s Project — Prep & Logistics2. Film Internship — Finalize start dates3. YouTube & Digital Portfolio

I paused, tapping the pen against my chin. My channel had been growing subtly. A few hundred followers had trickled in after I posted small clips of my life, behind-the-scenes moments of sports media, and snippets of my editing process. People were genuinely interested. But I refused to let it turn into a couple’s channel. My online identity couldn’t just be Justin’s girlfriend. It had to be Harper—the filmmaker, the storyteller, the creator.

"What can I build right now?" I murmured.

I thought of Ava and Mia. We could pitch a mini-project—a short, independent documentary or a micro-series that we could shoot, edit, and produce entirely on our own terms. Something to sharp-shoot our skills before the big internship started.

I jotted it down: Mini-Project w/ Ava + Mia.

Then, my gaze drifted across my desk to my hard drive. My heart gave a sudden, hard thud.

I opened my laptop and clicked into a archived folder. Inside were dozens of raw video files I had taken during my mother’s cancer treatments—quiet, intimate fragments of hospital rooms, waiting areas, her recovery, the terrifying days, and the triumphant ones.

My breath hitched.

I could turn this into something profoundly real. Not an exploitation of her pain, but a deeply personal, raw documentary about survival, love, and resilience. I could sit her down, interview her, ask her what it felt like in the darkest moments, and what gave her the strength to keep fighting.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as the vision crystallized.

"That’s it," I whispered.

I grabbed my pen and hastily wrote: Mini-Doc: Mom’s Story.

It felt powerful. It felt important. It was a story that belonged entirely to my family, told through my lens. Ava could help with production lighting, Mia could assist with sound engineering, and I could direct and edit the final cut.

For the first time since Justin drove away, the hollow ache in my chest was replaced by a surging fire of inspiration. I wasn’t just sitting around waiting for my life to happen. I was building it.

I picked up my phone and stood up from the bed, my heart beating with purpose.

"Okay," I breathed, heading toward the door. "First step: ask Mom."