The accusation lands like a fist to my chest. Because she's right. I have been avoiding her, keeping her at arm's length, pretending I don't want her when I think about her constantly. Scout's the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep.
My voice is gone to gravel as I say, "I look at you."
"Not like you mean it."
"Scout..." I run out of words. So I kiss her instead, brushing her lips with mine, bringing her close. Under my hands, she's all woman. Flared hips, ripe tits, and the sweetest taste imaginable.
This kiss is slow, more deliberate than the one we shared on Vashon Island. A promise, instead of just a claim. She melts into me immediately, hands fisting in my shirt, making a small sound against my mouth that goes straight to my chest and lodges there. Her taste is so heady that my hands tremble with the urge to crush her against me and plunder her mouth.
When I pull back, she's breathless and flushed and absolutely perfect.
"I look at you," I say again. My words are quieter this time and a hell of a lot more honest. "All the fucking time. I look at you and I want things I have no right to want."
Scout's lips are glossy, pink, and parted. She looks up at me like I'm someone worth talking to. "What kind of things?"
"You. This. A future where I'm not so damaged that I destroy everything good that gets close to me."
Her eyes shine with tears she's trying not to let fall. "You're not damaged, Si."
"I am." I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "But maybe you're a little broken too. Maybe two broken people can figure out how to be less broken together."
She chuckles. "Two broken people trying to figure their shit out. Sounds like a complete disaster."
"Probably."
"Definitely."
My heart pounds. "How about we don't think about any of that right now?"
She pulls back just enough to look at me properly. "Okay, big man. We can do that."
God, when she calls me big man, I can't refuse her anything. So I kiss her again. Softer this time, sweeter. It feels fucking great.
And for the first time in years, maybe ever, I let myself believe that maybe this could work. It's entirely possible that I can have her and hockey, too. Maybe I can let her in without destroying everything. I can be the man she deserves instead of the broken thing I've always been.
Maybe.
Chapter Twenty
Scout
Istand outside the locker room double-checking my supplies for the third time. Laminated instruction cards sit on top of the cart. Mini resistance bands in three different tensions fill one box. Lacrosse balls for trigger point release fill another. Foam rollers lean against the side. Everything's arranged on the equipment cart in a way that looks organized and professional.
My hands shake. I smooth them down my jeans and take a breath.
Twenty minutes. I can do anything for twenty minutes. This is the third class I’ve put together, so at least I have some idea of what’s to come.
The door swings open and players start filtering in, loud and restless with pre-game energy. A couple of rookies glance curiously at my setup. But no one says anything. I don’t hear any mutters or see any players rolling their eyes. That’s good, at least.
Beck Tate shoots me a look sharp enough to slice through steel. Coach Cross nods once, giving me permission to start.
My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "All right, everyone.Twenty minutes of mobility work. We're hitting hips, shoulders, and thoracic spine. Two minutes each side. You can pretend you like me later."
A few scattered laughs come from the back. Jett grins. "What's next, downward dog in the crease?"
More laughter ripples through the room but they're already moving into position, copying the hip opener I'm demonstrating. The rookies are eager, mimicking my movements with the kind of focus that makes my chest warm.
The veterans are more skeptical. Moose does the bare minimum until Thorne elbows him. Hunter participates, but I can tell he's humoring me.
