I actually laugh. Max goes completely still. Because I think he realizes before I do that this might be the first time he’s made me laugh while I’m not fighting it. “That’s the sound,” he hisses.
“What?”
“That sound.” His nose brushes mine. “I’ve been trying to get it back since Rockford.” That ache again. The unbearable one. I kiss him harder to stop myself from saying something catastrophic. I pull back. Just far enough. His breath is warm against my mouth and his hands have gone still and he’s watching me with that specific quality of attention he gives things he doesn’t want to miss.
My father's voice is still in the elevator.You can't be too careful. I know.There is no version of careful that gets me out of this. There never was. Not since Rockford. Not since the morning I looked him up in a library and called it research. It was never research. He was always going to be the one I couldn’t file away. I close my eyes. Oh God. His handsslide beneath my blazer, flattening against the small of my back. Pulling me fully against him. The contact sends heat everywhere instantly.
“Oh my God,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “That’s been my experience too.” I’m losing this battle. Rapidly.
Because now he smells like soap and hockey sweat, and underneath all of it is the horrifying reality that being near him feels good in a way my body has apparently decided to classify as essential.
My fingers drift across the bruise along his chin tenderly. “Does this hurt?”
“Not currently.”
“Max.”
“You touching me is affecting my ability to assess pain accurately.”
“That’s a good thing right now, because I need to ask for some time. Any contact between us will have to be strictly professional going forward. I’m sorry.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Max Stevens
Three weeks. I've survived broken ribs faster. Toni doesn't disappear. That's the problem.
Every morning she's there. Badge clipped. iPad in hand. Hair pulled back. Professional. So goddamned professional. Everything honest between us has been boxed up and put away. "Good morning, Mr. Stevens."
The first time she says it, I actually look behind me. Because surely she's talking to somebody else. Some executive or coach. A random Stevens wandering the arena. Nope. Me. Mr. Stevens. The woman who climbed into my lap in a chair at Piper's house is calling me Mr. Stevens. I spend the rest of practice wanting to fight something.
The locker room notices immediately. Of course theydo. The Guardians could identify emotional instability from orbit. Anthony drops onto the stall beside mine after practice.
"Jesus."
I pull off my gloves. "What?"
"She called you Mister Stevens."
"I heard it."
"I felt it."
Across the room, Fuze looks up from taping his stick. "That's not a compliance officer anymore."
"What is it?" Knox asks.
Fuze winces dramatically. "That's a federal employee."
Several guys laugh. I don't. Anthony points at me. "See? No smile."
"I smile."
"You haven't smiled in twelve days."
"I smiled on Tuesday.”
