I take a breath, steadying myself for the words that are going to come out of my mouth. “I don’t know what I am without the game.”
He doesn’t react, doesn’t answer. He just stares, waiting for me to fill the silence with more of my fear.
“I know the likelihood of surgery isn’t high, but this has really given me food for thought. What happens if I wake up tomorrow, and I can’t play hockey?” I inch toward the bed, lowering myself onto the edge, but not committing to getting all-the-way in yet.
“I’ve spent my life trying to out-hockey my big brother. So much so, that it’s now ingrained in my fucking identity. I don’t know what’s left of me when you take it away.” The vulnerability feels like it’s cracking me open from the inside, a wide-open chasm spreading through my chest.
Artemis shifts closer, slowly and carefully like he doesn’t want to spook me or maybe hurt me. He doesn’t touch me right away. “That’s terrifying.” He finally breaks the silence. It’s notyou’ll be fine. It’s notthat won’t happen. Just—validation of my fear.
“But it’s also bullshit.”
My head snaps up. I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my lungs for days. “I don’t even know what I likeoutside the rink. I don’t know who I am when I’m not chasing the next game or trying to prove I’m not just my brother’s shadow.”
His jaw tightens, something dark flashing behind his eyes. “Hockey didn’t make you. It helped shape you. That’s not the same thing.”
“It feels the same.”
He nods like he gets that too. “Yeah. I know. I get it.”
“What am I without the discipline and drive I got from learning hockey?”
Heavy silence stretches between us. He finally reaches out and curls his fingers around my wrist, like he’s grounding me.
“If hockey disappeared tomorrow.” His voice is low and steady. “You wouldn’t vanish with it. You’d still be the man who stayed when everything was on fire. The man who refused to run when it would’ve been easier. The man who sends care packages to make me smile, who has an unhealthy obsession with cinnamon, and who loves harder and more deeply than anyone else I’ve ever known.”
I swallow hard. “That’s easy to say.”
“I’m not saying it’s easy.” He pulls me toward him. “I’m saying you wouldn’t face it alone. Just like you wouldn’t let me face shit alone.”
I finally climb fully into bed, exhaustion crashing down now the fear’s been spoken. I press my forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Promise me something?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Anything.”
“Don’t try to fix this for me. Just… stay. Even if I’m a mess.”
He kisses the top of my head, lingering close. “I’m not going anywhere.” He sounds like he might even mean it this time. “But you don’t get to disappear either. If you want to talk about what your options are for after hockey, we can dothat. If you don’t, we won’t. But you need to know that you do have options.”
I nod, even though I don’t fully believe either of us yet. But for tonight, that’s enough.
Artemis shifts next to me, again, like he’s recalibrating around my injuries without saying it out loud. One arm comes around my back, careful of the sling, his hand warm and steady between my shoulder blades.
“Eyes on me.” Not even exhaustion makes him less of a bossy pants. It’s hot as hell.
I lift my head. His gaze is dark, intent, unwavering. “I’ve got you.” It’s loud enough to be reassuring, low enough to be a promise, but also stays on the right side of ‘I’ll save you,’ because I don’t fucking need saving… Yet something in my chest fractures even deeper.
He leans in and kisses me. It’s not rushed or hungry, just mouths meeting and soft pressure. It’s the kind of kiss that reminds me that my body still belongs to me. To both of us now. His thumb brushes along my jaw, tracing it like he’s memorizing me exactly as I am in this moment.
Broken. Incomplete. Lacking. I make a sound before I can stop myself, tension bleeding out of me in a shaky exhale.
“Easy.” It’s a whisper against my lips. He shifts again, moving me so I’m half draped over him, my good side tucked against his chest. He doesn’t touch my shoulder, doesn’t even go near it. Every single movement is intentional and reverent.
His hand slides down my spine, slow enough that it makes my skin feel too tight. Desire blooms in every cell—quiet but insistent, not the wild, starving kind. Thestay with mekind.
I nudge my mouth against his neck, breathing him in. “I feel like a glass figurine.”
He hums. “You’re not fragile.”
