He hums along with it as we rock together. The candles burn down, and the wax covers the counter. The city glitters through the windows, and I close my eyes and let myself feel this.
His hand slides up my back, and he spins me out without warning. I yelp, and he catches me, pulling me back in. He dips me low, and I grab on to his shoulders as he sings along.
“Don’t drop me,” I tell him.
“Never,” he says, pulling me back up and kissing me.
We keep dancing long after the song ends, swaying to whatever plays next, neither of us paying attention to the songs anymore. His chin rests on the top of my head, and I press my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“I used to think about this. Having you here. Like this.” His hand traces up my spine. “I’d imagine what it would be like to be with you. No hiding. No sneaking around.”
“And?” I pull back to kiss his chin.
“Way fucking better than I ever imagined.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “And to think, we’re just getting started.”
The record crackles, and a new song starts, something slower. He pulls me closer, and we barely move.
“As soon as my contract is signed, I don’t want to hide anymore,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Really?” I ask.
“Don’t sound surprised. I want you with me everywhere. I’m tired of pretending we’re not together. I want the whole damn world to know you belong to me. I spoke with my agent today. She’s telling Dennis we need everything finalized before playoffs.”
I study him. “And what if they don’t?”
“They will,” he says. “I’m the best player they have. Losing those games only proved that.”
“That’s so soon.” I capture his lips, giddy at the idea of going public, and then I think about my dad. “I’ve thought about this, and I think I should tell my mom first. She’ll be happy, and she can help us come up with a plan.”
“Or maybe I’ll march into his office tomorrow and tell him exactly how I feel.” He presses his lips against my forehead, then my nose, then my mouth.
“That’s irrational,” I whisper. “You’ll be freshly unsuspended. Let’s try not to push your luck, okay? My dad is going to be angry.”
“Do you think he’ll get over it?” Patterson asks.
“I hope,” I tell him, feeling a stab of panic.
We make out in front of the fire that he built, his hands in my hair, mine pressed flat against his chest. Eventually, we slow down, trading kisses for quiet, holding each other while the flames crackle and pop.
“Thank you for this,” I say.
“Anything for you.” He pulls me down against him, my head on his chest, his arm heavy around my waist. “Stay with me tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The fire burns low. His breathing slows. I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat and let myself believe that everything is finally falling into place.
31
PATTERSON
The puck hits the back of the net before the goalie’s glove is halfway there.
My body remembers this even though I’ve spent the past week watching from the sidelines. Now I’m back where I belong, blades cutting fresh ice and my stick feeling like an extension of my arm.
Everything is clicking into place, like the life I’ve always dreamed of having is waiting for me on the horizon. Wyatt feeds me another pass, and I slam it into the goal. The crossbar sings from the impact.
