The thing I couldn’t quite get over was how little any of this scared me.
Most of my life, attraction had arrived like a storm—fast, bright, impossible to miss. This hadn’t. Somewhere between the practice rink, the conversations, and the moments neither of us seemed able to walk away from, something had taken root before I’d even recognized it forwhat it was.
I thought back to that first morning on the ice. Luka standing by the boards, still, focused, and impossible not to notice.
At the time I’d called it curiosity.
Lying here beside him, listening to him breathe, I wasn’t so sure.
My gaze drifted to the window.
They monitor us.
The words hit differently now.
Jesus.
He’d spent ten years convincing himself that wanting something dangerous meant refusing to want it at all.
And now he was here, in my bed, trusting me.
That was the part I couldn’t stop thinking about.
This wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t some harmless Olympic fling we’d laugh about six months from now. There were real consequences attached to this, and I didn’t think Luka had exaggerated a single one of them.
My hand found the small of his back beneath the sheets.
Even asleep, he shifted closer, the movement unconscious. Instinctive.
Underneath all that control, all that discipline, all those years spent bracing for consequences, he was just a man who wanted to be close to someone without fear attached to it.
I swallowed and stared back at the ceiling.
Whatever happened after Milan, I wasn’t going to treat this like it was temporary just because the Olympics were.
Luka
I don’t knowwhat woke me. Maybe it was the unfamiliar weight ofanother body close beside me. For one disorienting second, panic tightened through me before memory caught up.
Dean’s room. Dean’s bed. Dean’s arm still draped across my waist, heavy with sleep.
Except—
I stilled.
Dean was awake.
The room was dark enough that most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but I’d spent too much of my life reading small changes in breathing, posture, stillness. Then I took a closer look. Dean’s eyes were open, fixed somewhere on the ceiling, his expression thoughtful in a way that immediately had my pulse racing.
“Can’t you sleep?” I murmured.
Dean turned his head toward me. “Nope.” His voice was rough with exhaustion. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” I reached for his face and found his cheek. “What is stopping you from sleeping?”
Dean was quiet for a moment before answering. “You.”
I felt that single word all the way through my chest.
