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There was a world of difference between I have to stay and I'm staying because I want to.

I looked away before he saw how much it mattered. “I'm not going to your apartment.”

“I figured you'd be more comfortable at yours.”

That made me look back at him, but Max merely adjusted the strap of my bag and waited, leaving the decision with me.

Eventually, I sighed. “Fine, but if you criticize my apartment, I'm throwing you out.”

His smile finally reached his eyes. “Considering I haven't seen it yet, that feels like you're preparing me for something alarming.”

“I'm preparing you for the fact that you're French-Canadian and therefore judgmental.”

His laugh was warm and familiar, and for the first time since I'd asked him for space, something between us felt almost normal.

Max opened the door and waited for me to walk through it.

My phone was still in my pocket.

My father was still out there.

We'd lost Game Four, the series was tied two-two, and I had absolutely no idea what tomorrow was going to bring.

But Max was taking me home.

And this time, I let him.

Chapter fifteen

Icing - An infraction generally called when a player shoots the puck from behind the center red line across the opponent's goal line without it being touched.

Ash

By the time Max pulled into the parking garage beneath my building, I'd discovered that bruised ribs apparently objected to speed bumps, corners, braking, and breathing, while Max had discovered every one of those things at roughly the same time and adjusted his driving accordingly.

For the last ten minutes he'd handled his SUV as though there was an uncovered bowl of soup balanced on the dashboard, slowing for every turn and glaring at anyone who came within two car lengths of us as if Denver traffic had personally conspired to finish what Vegas had started. I hadn't commented because I wasn't entirely sure I'd have been able to do it without smiling, and laughing was currently high on the list of things Cinder had neglected to forbid but my ribs had vetoed anyway.

When Max parked and killed the engine, I caught the way he looked at me before reaching for his door.

“I can walk, in case you're considering carrying me from here.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I wasn't, although the fact that you apparently think it's a possibility makes me wonder whether you hit your head harder than Cinder thought. I'm planning to walk beside you, carry your bag, and catch you if you fall over, preferably without making any of those things into an argument.”

“That sounds suspiciously like you've been planning this.”

“I had the entire drive over here. It kept me occupied while I was trying not to murder every driver who braked too suddenly in front of us.”

I couldn't entirely hide my smile this time.

He came around to my side anyway but at least had the good sense not to offer me a hand getting out. He simply waited until I was upright before collecting my bag from the back, and when I reached for it, he gave me a look that reminded me we'd already fought that battle at the arena and he considered the matter permanently settled.

The elevator ride gave me enough time to become increasingly aware of where we were going.

Max had never been to my apartment.

Nobody from the team had, unless I counted the equipment guy who'd delivered a replacement stick I'd accidentally left at the arena two seasons ago, and he'd never made it past the door. I'd been to Max's place, though. I'd sat on his couch, eaten his food, and watched a baking show with him, and I'd seen the expensive furniture, huge windows, and kitchen that looked as though someone actually knew what all the appliances did.

My apartment wasn't like that.