Silas is trying gamely to balance, but he’s pretty wobbly.
"Silas," I say, keeping my tone light. “Bring your left shoulder down and balance the pose."
"I feel stupid," he mutters, but he drops into the shoulder opener against the wall.
I fight a smile and watch him hold the position longer than anyone else, face going tight with the stretch. His shoulder must be killing him but he doesn't quit until I tell him to switch sides.
"Good," I say quietly as I walk past. Just that one word. Something flickers in his eyes before he looks away. My cheeks feel warm as I remember our kiss last night.
We went to bed in our own rooms after kissing for a while. We didn’t talk about what it meant. I don’t want to, honestly. But now all the restless energy flows under my skin, puddling at the base of my spine. I can’t wait until I’m alone with him again.
Twenty minutes later I pack up my cart and head to my spot in the tunnel to watch warmups. My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t believe they actually participated instead of blowing me off.
Players hit the ice and I notice the difference immediately. Rookies look lighter on their feet, quicker through their strides. Even the veterans move with more fluidity through their warm-up drills.
The game starts and I hold my breath.
It’s not pretty. The other team is Santa Fe, not one of the teams they face regularly, and the Vultures have an extremely aggressive offensive line. By the time the third period rolls around, the score is tied two to two. An opposing forward gets in Silas's face after a clean hit, chirping and shoving, trying to draw a retaliation penalty.
Everything happens in slow motion. Silas's jaw goes tight. His fists start to curl. Every line of his body says he's about to snap and take the bait.
He pauses instead and takes a visible breath. He rolls his shoulders back exactly the way I showed them in the locker room. Then he skates away clean.
My heart is pounding out of my chest. I beam at him from the tunnel. Silas can’t see me, but I’m so proud of him.
The ref doesn't call anything because there's nothing to call and Silas stays on the ice instead of sitting in the penalty box. Two shifts later he assists on the game-winning goal.
We win four to two. We’re messy, but it’s effective. Those twenty minutes of mobility work made a difference. Ifeelit in my bones.
Players stream past in the tunnel after the final buzzer. Juliet brushes by me with a proud smile and a squeeze to my shoulder. Beck mutters something to Coach Cross that I can't quite hear but Cross nods and says, "Keep it on the schedule."
Keep it.
Staying on the schedule means my program's permanent.
Silas comes through last, hair damp from his helmet, eyes unreadable in that way he has. He slows as he passes me. Hedoesn't quite stop, but his words ring out. "Your thing worked."
Not praise exactly. It’s certainly not warm or effusive. And the corners of his mouth curl up just a hint. He’s smiling. He’s fucking smiling! I feel like all my veins are suddenly filled with pop rocks, fizzing and snapping.
Coming from Silas Huxley, it might as well be a standing ovation.
My pulse pounds in my throat. I grin as I watch him disappear toward the locker room.
Standing there alone in the tunnel, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Maybe months. Tonight my work mattered. It made a tangible difference that showed up on the ice.
For once, I wasn't just useful. I was actually good at something that counts. After the game, I crash hard, barely making it into my bed before I fall asleep. Too many late nights, staying up and texting StatMan. So it’s not too surprising that I sleep a little late.
The next morning, I wake up buzzing with residual adrenaline. Silas is on my mind, big time. What I want to do most of all is go into his room and crawl into bed with him. When we stayed on the island, he spooned me for a while in the morning, gloriously warm and sleepy. I really want more of that. And then we could… explore… when he woke up.
But creeping into my roommate’s bed and feeling him up would be massively weird, so I think about what I would like to do second most. And then I smile.
I find Silas in the kitchen with his protein shake, watching him scroll through his phone with that permanent scowl etched on his face.
"Come to hot yoga with me," I blurt out.
He looks at me like I just suggested we jump out of a plane without parachutes. "No."
"Yes." I'm grinning, half teasing but completely serious. "You owe me. One hour. That's it."
