When we finish, I step away, pretending my heart isn’t galloping in my chest.
Nate props himself on his elbows, sweat at his temple, focus sharp.
“Same time Thursday?”
“Unless you spontaneously heal,” I say, aiming for unbothered.
He nods, pushing up. But before he heads out, he pauses at the door. Glances over his shoulder.
“You ever think we were unfinished?”
I stop breathing.
The question hangs in the air. It’s a challenge, and I realize he’s asking about more than our friendship. He’s asking about the girl who used to trust him with everything, and the woman who’s been running from that trust ever since.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He walks out and leaves me staring after him, pulse racing, knees weak, and heart breaking open all over again.
12
OFF LIMITS NEVER LOOKED LIKE THIS (NATE)
Iwalk out of the PT room, my skin too tight, the ghost of her touch burning in places I shouldn’t be thinking about. She’d been all business, but my head had been nowhere near clinical.
By the time I hit the rink, I’m still buzzing, and it’s a problem. Coach is going to bench me if I don’t get my head straight, and right now every blink puts her back in front of me, close enough to touch, close enough to wreck me.
“That’s three in a row,” Liam calls out from the top of the circle after I let another easy save slide past. “Getting slow, Russo. You hungover or aging out?”
I flash the glove, show the pocket—come and get it. “Try aiming next time, Cap. Hitting the center of my chest isn’t a flex.”
The guys snort. Wesley bangs his stick on the boards. “He’s got a point, man. Try top shelf next time.”
Their chirps barely register. Every time I blink, I see Eden—flushed, unsettled. I got under her skin without laying a hand on her. I’m finally closing the distance I’ve wanted to erase for years.
“Last round,” Coach Novak barks. “Then stretch and cool down.”
The skaters break into pairs; I peel away. Goalies finish earlier, and I take full advantage. I strip off my mask and gloves, drag a towel over my neck, and drop my blocker on the bench.
“Yo, Russo!” Alex calls as he glides by. “You look wound for overtime. I know a girl who could loosen you up. You in or what?”
“Hard pass.”
“Come on, man.” Alex grins. “You’ve been radiating tension all week. Get laid. Scowl less.”
“Seriously,” Wesley chimes in. “You’re more twisted than Finn before a playoff game.”
“Not anymore,” Finn chimes in. “Happily married and extremely relaxed.”
They’re not wrong. But it isn’t only tension. It’s Eden. Ten years of nothing, and now she’s close enough to touch, close enough to wreck me. My pulse hammers, my head’s a mess, and I’ve already made the call—I want her. Bad. And if she somehow missed the memo, my body made sure the announcement was as clear as a summer day.
“Is everyone on this damn team domesticated now?” I grumble.
“Not Alex,” Liam says. “And he’s trying to corrupt you.”
Alex shakes his head, but I’m tuning out. I need someone who can help me make sense of Eden. And there’s only one person who knows her well enough to give me information I can use.
A couple hours later,I’m standing outside Leo Carver’s boxing gym in Williamsburg. The place resembles a converted garage with a cracked sign and zero pretension. Heavy bags swing from steel beams, and the smell of sweat hits me the second I push the door open.
Leo’s in the ring, working mitts with a coach. He doesn’t see me at first, too locked in. When he finally glances over, his gaze narrows.
