"By devaluing yourself? That's not love, Blake. That's fear. You're so afraid of being left behind that you're offering to destroy your own future to prevent it."
Her words hit like a physical blow because they were true. Every word was true.
"I don't want to lose you," I admitted, my voice rough. "Any of you. You're my family. My home. The thought of being drafted to some team across the country while you all stay here together—"
"Then we'll figure it out," Mira interrupted. "But we figure it out together, as partners. Not with you sacrificing everything while we just accept it."
"I don't know how to do that," I said quietly. "I don't know how to let people care for me without trying to pay them back through sacrifice."
"Then learn." Her voice softened. "Learn to accept love without feeling like you have to earn it through usefulness. Learn to believe you're worth keeping just because of who you are, not what you can give up for others."
We stood in the center of the ice, the anger between us transforming into something else—something vulnerable and raw and painfully honest.
"I love you," I said again. "Not because you need protecting or because I want to sacrifice for you. But because you make me feel like I'm more than my size and my fists. Because you see past the enforcer to the person underneath who just wants to be chosen."
"I love you too," she whispered. "Your gentleness and your strength and your enormous heart that wants to take care of everyone. But Blake, you have to take care of yourself too."
Then she kissed me.
Not soft and tentative—hard and demanding, like she was trying to convince me through physical contact of truths Icouldn't quite believe with words. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me down to her level, and I lifted her off her feet without thinking.
She wrapped her legs around my waist, and suddenly we were pressed together in ways that made thinking extremely difficult. The kiss deepened, became more urgent, her body warm and perfect against mine despite the cold of the rink.
"Blake," she gasped against my mouth. "I want—"
"What do you want?" My hands tightened on her waist, holding her easily even though she was suspended entirely on my body.
"You. Right now. Right here."
"Mira, we're in the middle of—"
"I don't care." She kissed me again, her lips moving to my jaw, my neck, making me forget every rational thought about appropriate locations. "I want you to stop being so careful with me. Stop treating me like I'm going to break. I won't break."
"I'm too big—"
"You're perfect." She pulled back to look at me, her eyes dark and certain. "Show me your strength, Blake. All of it. I can handle you."
That was all the encouragement I needed.
I skated us over to the boards, pressing her back against them, my body covering hers. My size—which I usually tried to minimize, tried to make smaller and less threatening—became an asset as I used it to shield her, protect her, create a private space in the center of an empty public arena.
What followed was rushed and desperate and perfect. I tried to be gentle, tried to maintain control, but Mira keptencouraging me to let go, to stop holding back, to trust her with my full strength.
When she encouraged me to grip harder, move faster, be less careful, I finally let myself believe that maybe—possibly—I didn't have to be small for her. That she wanted all of me, size and strength and intensity included.
The emotional intimacy of trusting her with my unrestrained strength while she trusted me with her body created a connection that went beyond physical. This was vulnerability in its purest form—both of us exposed and choosing each other anyway.
We were so focused on each other that we didn't hear the door open. Didn't notice we were no longer alone until Nolan's voice echoed through the empty arena.
"Blake? Mira? Are you—oh."
We froze.
Logan's voice joined Nolan's. "Oh my god, are they—they are. They're definitely—"
I pulled away from Mira immediately, trying to shield her with my body, both of us frantically attempting to look presentable. Mira's face was flushed, her hair disheveled, her lips swollen. I probably looked worse.
Nolan and Logan stood at the arena entrance, their expressions cycling through surprise, understanding, and something that looked suspiciously like jealousy.
