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Russ dropped onto the bench beside him and bumped their shoulders. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Ford had dropped onto the bench by Halsey’s stall, still half in his gear, and was saying something to the kid, too low for anyone else to hear. Whatever it was, Halsey’s shoulders relaxed and he laughed, loose for the first time all night. Ford had hated every minute on that bench, but maybe this was what everyone needed. With him out of the game, he could watch Halsey in action and groom him for more nights like this.

Ford glanced up and caught Cole watching him from across the room, and for about half a second, neither of them bothered to hide. The look wasn’t one you could’ve named from the outside. It just went on for half a beat too long to be nothing.

They barely made it inside the house.

Charlotte was at Nadine’s, and they were both keyed up after a big win. Cole got his hand in the back of Ford’s jacket on the porch and didn’t let go. The second the door shut, they were on each other. It wasn’t like the other nights, the careful ones where somebody remembered to slow down. Tonight, the air was laced with desperation. Cole walked Ford back into the wall and kissed him until they were both stupid with it, and Ford got Cole’s jacket off, his flannel open, and his hands under the T-shirt. Cole made a sound he’d have been embarrassed by anywhere but here.

“Upstairs,” Ford said, against his jaw, and they went, shedding things on the way: Cole’s shirt on the stairs, Ford’s over the banister, a boot each. By the time they got to the bed, Cole had his hands on Ford’s belt, Ford had his mouth on Cole’s chest, and there was no hesitation left in either of them. No careful, nothing but a year of wanting finally happening all at once.

Cole got Ford’s jeans open and his hand inside, and Ford’s whole body jolted. The sound Ford made went straight down Cole’s spine. Cole had thought about this more times than he’d ever admit, in the dark, three rooms away from the man himself, hating himself a little every time. Getting to do it for real, with Ford right there, warm and heavy and coming undone under his hand, was nothing like the dark of the spare room.

“Cole.” Ford had a fistful of his hair. “I want your mouth on me.”

Cole was already moving down. He’d just gotten his mouth on Ford’s hip, on the good side, when headlights swung across the bedroom ceiling.

They both went dead still.

A car door. Then a second one, smaller, and a voice, high and cranky and unmistakable, carrying up from the driveway, going on about being too tired and needing to make sure her daddy was okay.

“Nadine,” Ford breathed, already sitting up, already reaching for his jeans with hands that had gone clumsy. “That’s Nadine’s car. She’s got Charlotte.”

The next ninety seconds were a fire drill neither of them had rehearsed. Cole was off the bed and hunting the shirt he’d left on the stairs. Ford was doing up his belt and finger-combing his hair into something that didn’t make what they’d been about to do obvious. Downstairs, the front door creaked open.

“Dad? Are you home?”

“Up here, bug. Coming down.” Ford’s voice slid back into its dad register between one word and the next, warm and easy.

Cole yanked his shirt back on over a bare chest, remembering the trail of clothes they’d left between the door and the stairs when he reached for his flannel. Ford shot him a look on his way out the door, wrecked and sorry, and then he was gone down the stairs. Cole heard him scoop his daughter up and heard her complain about not being a baby anymore.

Nadine apologized profusely for bringing her home so late, explaining that she’d been whining about a tummy ache all night. She reassured Ford that she was fairly certain it had more to do with Charlotte being worried about Ford sitting out the game.

Cole gave himself one more second, one hand flat on the wall, breathing. Then he got his own face back where it needed to be and went down to help.

Charlotte was a heap of misery on the couch by the time he got there, blanket to her chin, but she perked up about four percent when she saw him. “Big Cole, my tummy hurts.”

“I heard. That’s rough.” He crouched to her level, and his bruised thigh throbbed.

Behind him, Ford was walking Nadine out, the two of them talking low, co-parents handling a late-night kid swap.

“You want the ginger ale trick your dad does, or are you too grown-up for it now?”

“I’m not too grown-up.” Cole’s heart melted when she looked at him with sad brown eyes. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he wasn’t so sure she was using the upset stomach as an excuse. “You have to do the part where you say the bubbles are medicine.”

“Wouldn’t work otherwise. Everybody knows that.”

Cole went and got the ginger ale and did the whole bit, the tapping of the can, the solemn announcement that these were the strongest bubbles in the state of Wisconsin, poured slowly so it fizzed right. Charlotte watched him do it with her whole tired heart in her face. He handed her the cup. As frustrated as he was that their night was interrupted, he reminded himself this was what he’d signed up for. The odd thing was he didn’t actually mind. He loved that she trusted him to take care of her.

“Slow sips,” he said. “That’s the rule with medicine.”

She took a slow sip to show him she could, then ruined it by asking, “Did you really jump in front of the puck? Mommy said that was silly and that you could’ve hurt yourself.”

Cole glanced up. Ford was back in the kitchen doorway, out of her sightline, watching the two of them. “That’s what we do for our goalies. Sometimes, even they need a little extra help.”

“Mommy said you saved the game.” Charlotte’s eyelids were getting heavy, and she was fighting the urge to yawn. “She said Halsey isn’t bad, but he’s still new, so he needs extra help.”

“Lots of guys saved that game. I just got in the way of a puck so it couldn’t get to the net.” He tucked the blanket back up where it had slid. “Drink your medicine.”