Eventually I lower her carefully, helping her stand on shaky legs. We dress in silence, stealing glances at each other, and there’s something different in the air now. Something settled.
We move to the bench, and she curls into my side, her head on my shoulder. My arm goes around her automatically, holding her close.
“Why don’t you want to share me?” she asks suddenly, voice quiet. “It could be fun.”
I stare at the top of her head. “No. No fucking way. You’re mine.”
She pulls back to look at me, eyebrow raised. “I’m not only yours.”
The words make my jaw clench. “You are when you’re with me.”
“Koa—”
“I know what they are to you. I know what happened at the hotel.” I can’t keep the edge out of my voice. “But when you’re here, with me, you’re mine. Just mine.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I don’t give a fuck about fair.” I grab her chin, gentle but firm. “You want them? Fine. But you don’t get to tell me about it. You don’t get to make me share when I can see you.”
She studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“When I’m with you, I’m yours. When I’m with them, I’m theirs. We don’t talk about it.”
It’s not perfect. It’s not even close to what I want. But it’s something I can live with.
“We’re playing the Ravens next week,” I say, changing the subject.
Her expression shifts. “Ravens?”
I nod. “The Blackridge hockey team.”
Understanding crossing her face. “Revan and Atticus.”
I think about seeing them on the ice, about the puck between us and the boards and the rules that make violence legal. About being able to hit them and call it hockey.
“I’ll see them on the ice,” I say.
Lexi smiles, and there’s something in it that’s proud and worried and turned on all at once. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Can’t promise that.”
She laughs, and the sound echoes in the empty locker room.
Outside, I hear the Zamboni finish its final pass. The team will be coming back soon for their post-practice recovery.
But for now, it’s just us.
Just this.
And the promise of violence on ice next Friday night.
51
Revan
The Blackridge University rink smells like new paint, professionally maintained ice, and that crisp chemical scent of a ventilation system that actually works. Everything here is pristine, funded by alumni who donate millions because their names get etched on plaques in the entrance hall.
