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“Yeah. I’m fighting for you, James, if it isn’t clear yet. Every step of the way from now on.”
He grins back.
“You really do love me.”
I kiss him hard, and he responds with the kind of needy enthusiasm that makes me feel like I might float away from sheer happiness. One kiss turns into another, and I’m so hard that sitting on top of him becomes its own kind of torture. And yet, I’m in no hurry to take this any further. Intimacy is the whole point right now, and I don’t want to turn it into something other than that.
So we kiss.
My lips are swollen.
There’s beard burn on my jaw.
And my knees go numb from the cold, hard bathroom tiles.
But it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter at all.
As long as I get to kiss him.
RYKER
I limp into the rink a few minutes after practice has ended. Most of the guys are still cooling down, and for a minute, it feels like I’m being viciously stabbed. I want to be out there, and I hate that I’m not.
Luckily, I’m distracted by the nerves. I was supposed to be in practice this whole week, despite the fact that I couldn’t actually play. I’m part of the team, so I’m supposed to show up.
Instead, I was sulking at home, angry and bitter and terrified.
I never thought I’d be that person. The one who simply gives up when kicked down.
I’ve been conclusively proven wrong.
But I’m back on my feet now, ready to start fighting.
I stand and watch for a while, unnoticed by the rest of the team. They skate around and joke, but once they see me, shouts ring out, and one after the other, they head toward me, off the ice.
Then they’re in front of me.
There’s a beat of silence, and I don’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ would probably be a good start.
“You’re late,” Soren says, and pretends to glance at his watch. “Oof. Really fucking late. I’m kind of thinking it earns you a fine.”
I clear my throat. “Do we do those now?”
“It’s a special thing, just for you. Prepares you for those NHL team fines you’re gonna have to deal with next season. I’m thinking you’ll take the whole team out for pizza and cover the bill. That should make the lesson stick.”
I nod slowly. “Sounds fair.”
He grins, and I smile back.
I feel lighter already. We spend a couple of minutes talking before Coach’s loud whistle pierces the air around us.
“I’m not getting paid to watch you chat,” he says gruffly. “Showers.”
The guys scatter, and I make my way toward where Coach is standing. And next to him is a very familiar face.
My eyes widen, and I stop.
