A shaky laugh bursts out of her, half nerves, half admission.“We can’t.”
“Shouldn’t,” I correct, brushing my thumb along her jaw even as every nerve in me screams to kiss her again.“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Her eyes search mine, wide and conflicted.I can see the fight in her, the logic battling want.She shakes her head, still clutching my shirt like it’s the only thing holding her upright.
“This can’t go anywhere,” she whispers.
“Maybe not,” I say, voice low, “but tell me you didn’t feel that.”
Silence.Her throat works, but no words come.Which is answer enough.
We step back at the same time, space flooding between us like cold water.For a moment, we stand there, staring, stunned at the line we’ve crossed.
Then she exhales hard and spins toward the kitchen.“I need coffee,” she mutters, like caffeine could drown out what just happened.
Fuck.I need a shot of bourbon.
I drag a hand through my hair, still tasting her on my lips.
♦
The training facilitysmells like rubber mats, disinfectant and determination.Lucky’s already there, headphones slung around his neck, racking weights with his usual efficiency.Kace is sprawled on a mat, lazily tossing a fifty-pound medicine ball in the air and catching it like he doesn’t fear gravity.
“Look who finally decided to join the living,” Kace drawls, rolling his head sideways.“Thought you’d be too busy playing house to hit the gym.”
I grunt, dropping my bag with a thud.“Morning to you too.”
Lucky smirks, ever the calmer counterpoint.“Next playoff game’s in four days.No excuses.”
Kace pushes the ball from his chest, launches it into the air and catches it again.“Did you see Arizona swept Calgary?Four games.Done.Tacker Hall’s on fire—dude’s scoring like his opponents are all playing peewee.”
Lucky grunts as he lifts a plate to the barbell.“Western Conference is theirs to lose at this point.Pretty sure it will be us versus them in the final.”
I tug a resistance band off the wall.“They’re hot now, but it’s a long haul.Plenty of time to cool off.”
“Hot?”Kace snorts.“They’re scorching.Hall’s got, what, seven goals in four games?That’s not a heater, that’s arson.”
Lucky tips his chin.“Yeah… but we have Penn Fucking Navarro.”
He’s been the points leader all season and our strongest asset.
Kace chuckles.“And you have me in net, so we should all be feeling optimistic.”
I don’t knock his confidence.He’s more than stepped up to the plate and is playing so hot right now, I’m not sure Coach would put Drake back in net even if he were at a hundred percent.
All this bravado though irritates me since we still have an uphill battle.“Let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched.None of this is a cake walk.”
“Look at Atlas,” Kace says, grinning.“Captain Serious over here, already writing the headlines.‘Karolak Demands Optimal Performance.Joy Optional.’”
“Better than your headline,” I counter.“‘Kace Trips Over Blue Line Again, Fans Concerned.’”
Lucky barks out a laugh.“He’s not wrong.”
Kace snorts as he rolls to his feet, grabbing a towel to wipe his face.“Keep talking, Karolak.Bet you twenty bucks you can’t put one past me.”
“Big words for a guy who almost just dropped a medicine ball on his own head,” Lucky quips.
Kace points at him.“That was a bad grip.”
