Viktor's voice coming from somewhere in the dorm makes me jolt. The door is half open but no one’sstanding there, thank God. Though, part of me wants to gloat and throw in his face that Zach is mine now.
“Don’t make me come out there and kick your fucking ass.” The deep rumble of Zach’s voice makes my dick twitch.
Of course, I find his threats sexy. I mean, hey, everyone loves a dangerous man.
“Yeah, yeah. Heading to Becks’ place for the night so you two can continue keeping the rest of the floor up. And here I thought I was loud. Damn, Knight. Never knew you had it in you.”
Zach snarls, and I chuckle.
He gently lifts me off, setting me down on the bed with a tenderness that makes my limbs go weak. For someone who once wanted to kill me, he sure knows how to make a boy feel special.
My heart flutters when he peels off his shirt and uses it to clean up my abs and his hand. Like I’m something precious. Something worth cherishing and protecting.
After tossing his ruined shirt aside and tucking me under the covers, he walks to the bedroom door and pushes it wide open.
The gesture is so small, so simple, but somehow, it hits me harder than anything else tonight.
The mattress dips as he climbs in, pulling me against his chest. I melt into him, feeling stupidly safe and weirdlyemotional. No one's ever held me like this—like they want to keep me.
And I’ve never felt more . . . dare I say it . . . happy?
The steady thump of Zach's heart lulls me toward sleep. My eyelids grow heavy as my breathing slows, and I nuzzle closer, lips grazing his skin. “I love you.”
Chapter 24
Zach
I squeeze the fucking stress ball Tommy Harper shoved at me the moment I walked into our session in a slow rhythm, the foam compressing under my fingers before springing back into shape. It’s supposed to help with grip strength, but right now, it's just a tangible reminder of every deficiency I need to fix.
Three months until graduation. Four until Ottawa’s development camp. Every squeeze of this stupid ball feels like a countdown, each rep a reminder of how much ground I still need to cover.
"Loosen your grip." Tommy hovers nearby, tablet in hand, as he studies my form. "You're tensing too much. Focus the effort on your fingers, not your wrist."
I grunt but adjust my hold, even though the movement feels inefficient. Three weeks of this shit, and I still can't execute these basic exercises without overcompensating. My fingers twitch against the foam, the weakness in my left hand more apparent with each repetition.
"Your grip strength is up eight percent from last week." His tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s stating the weather. “Range of motion's improved too.”
“Barely.”
"Progress is progress." He sets the tablet down, crossing his arms. His tattoos peek out from the rolled cuffs of his shirt, the ink stark against his skin. “You’re playing the long game here, not a highlight reel. You want quick fixes then go grab some duct tape.”
I scowl and clutch the ball harder than I should, imagining it’s his throat. “Not looking for a quick fix. Just looking to actually feel like this is working.”
"Itisworking. You just don't have the patience to see it." He grabs a resistance band from a nearby shelf, the green rubber dangling between his fingers. "Which means doing this right. Now drop the ball. Let's work on extension."
He tosses the band and I catch it with my right hand, the motion automatic and smooth. My left hand twitches in response, slow and clumsy in comparison. As I loop the elastic around my fingers and thumb, my thoughts drift back to last night.
To Merci.
To the way his lips moved against my chest as he drifted off, those three words slipping out in a hazy murmur.
I love you.
He didn’t bring it up this morning. Neither did I. I couldn’t. But it’s been on repeat in my head ever since, looping endlessly, driving me insane. I don't know if he meant it or if he even remembers saying it.
My gut twists as I stretch the band, my fingers pushing against its resistance in slow, deliberate motions. It doesn’t make sense why it matters so much. Why Merci’s words feel significant, like something I can’t afford to misread.
“You’re clenching your jaw again.” Tommy’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Relax.”
