Me
Thanks. It felt good to play like that.
Stardust
Can't wait for you to get home.
Me
Me neither.
I stare at the messages on my screen, at how carefully we're choosing our words. I could call her. Just to hear her voice, nothing that breaks the rules.
But a phone call feels different. More intimate than what we're supposed to be doing.
The rules exist for a reason. To keep things simple, to protect us both.
I want to break every single one.
I want to tell her that sleeping with her two nights ago changed everything, that watching her take control and reclaim her body wasn't just physical for me, it was everything.
I want to tell her that I've been in love with her for years, and the rules won't change that.
But I can't. Because she needs this to be safe, needs boundaries and structure, needs to heal without the pressure of my feelings.
So I put the phone down, turn off the light, and try to sleep.
The second game is in two days. Another chance to lead my team, another day closer to going home.
Another day closer to her.
The next day passes in a blur of practice and team meetings. We watch game footage, break down their defensive structure,and plan our attack. It's routine, mechanical, and it keeps my mind occupied.
At night, though, lying in the hotel room with Chase snoring across from me, the thoughts creep back in. Maya in my room, Maya taking what she needed, Maya leaving because the rules said she had to.
I check my phone. Nothing new.
I type out a message—Missing you—then delete it before sending.
It's too much.
The second game arrives, and I channel everything into the ice. The longing, the frustration, the love I can't express. It translates into two more goals and an assist. We win again, 4-1.
In the locker room after, Reeves throws a towel at me. "Cap's on a fucking tear. What'd you eat for breakfast?"
"Same thing I always eat."
"Well, keep eating it. You're playing out of your mind."
I am. Because it's the only place I can channel everything I'm feeling without breaking the rules.
The bus to the airport feels longer than it should. We're all exhausted, riding the high of two wins but feeling it in our bones. It's past eleven o’clock by the time we board the plane.
I take the window seat again. Chase drops beside me, already half-asleep.
The flight back is almost two hours. I stare out the window at the darkness below, at the scattered lights of towns and cities, counting down the minutes.
We land at 2:25 in the morning. The airport's nearly empty at this hour, just our team and a handful of other travelers. We collect our bags and load them onto the bus one more time.
