The engine thrummed beneath us and we rolled out of the lot with the cameras and shouts fading into the distance. I put my foot down, still waiting for something to give, for Landon to tell me he’d changed his mind.
“We’re doing this?”
He rested a hand on my thigh and squeezed lightly, a faint pressure. “Yes.”
I pulled up outside James’s place and cut the engine. The house sat dark, windows blank, porch empty. I stayed behind the wheel, eyes on the driveway.
“His car isn’t here,” I said, nodding toward the curb. “He’s not home.”
Landon was already unbuckling. “I’ll check.”
He stepped out before I could argue, shoes crunching over gravel as he crossed the yard. I stayed put, hands locked around the steering wheel, watching him mount the steps and raise his fist. The knock echoed louder than it should have. The porch light stayed dead. No footsteps answered. No door opened.
He knocked again, longer this time. The house held its silence.
When he turned back, shoulders set, I felt my lungs finally work again. He walked toward the car, each step steady, and slid into the passenger seat. I exhaled, a long spill of relief I couldn’t stop.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” I said. “For today, at least.”
He stared through the windshield, jaw tight, eyes too focused. All that energy he’d wound up for a confrontation had nowhere to go now, and it sat there with him, restless and sharp in a way that made my skin prickle.
“Let’s get you home,” I said. “You should take a hot shower. I’ve got the day off. I’ll order takeout. We can put on a movie and pretend the world is normal.”
His fingers tapped the clock on my dashboard. “I can’t go home. There’s a practice.”
I turned to him. “Landon, you just got out of jail.”
“If I miss practice, I don’t play.” He kept his eyes forward. “Playoffs start in less than a week. I can’t let them down now.”
“McAvoy will cut you slack for one day.”
He shook his head once. “That’s not how it works. You want to be the best, you show up. Every time.”
I watched him for a beat, then nodded. “Okay. Arena it is.”
The drive settled into something lighter than it had any right to be. He reached over and adjusted the vents, then frowned.
“Your car hates me,” he said. “It’s blowing arctic air.”
“It’s character,” I said. “Builds resilience.”
“Pretty sure this is how villains are made.”
I laughed, the sound surprising me. “You say that now. Wait until you see what it does to take-out when you’re more than five minutes away from home.”
He glanced at me, grin tugging at his mouth. “If I lose a finger, I’m suing.”
“You can’t sue me. I posted your bail.”
“Fair point.”
By the time the arena came into view, the knot in my chest had loosened. The building glowed against the night, familiar and comforting in a way that still felt unreal to me. I parked, and he was out of the car before I’d finished unbuckling.
“Come on,” he said, already moving.
We slipped inside and picked up speed, shoes skidding on polished floors. Voices carried from the rink ahead, skates carving ice, sticks knocking. Landon lowered his head and cut toward the hallway, and I followed, pulse spiking with the ridiculous thrill of it. We ducked past the open doors, past familiar shapes and jerseys, keeping to the shadows until we reached the locker room.
He grabbed my wrist and tugged me inside, door swinging shut behind us. The room was empty, lockers lined up in neat rows, the air cool against my skin. He pressed me back against a locker, metal cold through my shirt, and kissed me with everything he’d been holding in. His hands slid over my waist, up my sides, urgent and unrestrained, and I hooked my fingers into his shirt to keep him close.
