“Let me have that fucker!” he yells. “No one does Veikko like that!”
Felix is still struggling when he’s pulled into the locker room, where the rest of the team joins him. The crowd is still roaring. Veikko is the last man to skate off the ice, keeping a distance but not taking his gaze off Felix for a moment.
“I have to go talk to the officials to deal with this shit show,” Coach says as we stand in the locker room. Everyone’s giving Felix space. He’s still stewing in the middle of us, breathing heavy like he’s recovering from a sprint. “Hopefully they don’t disqualify us for that display.”
Veikko takes a step toward Felix. Their gazes lock. Something shifts in the air. It’s like there’s a taut thread connecting their eyes, humming with tension. The excited chatter of the teamfalls to a murmur, before cutting off entirely as everyone’s attention turns to the two men.
Veikko strides forward. His shoulders pushed back, his pace determined like he’s walking with a purpose. He stops in front of Felix. Every pair of eyes in the room points at them. Anticipation is heavy and thick in the air. Everyone’s waiting breathlessly for something to happen, though no one could say what they’re expecting.
Veikko reaches out, cupping the back of Felix’s neck. He steps forward, pulls Felix against him, and kisses him.
No one in the room can take a breath. Especially not the two men whose heads are slanting deeper into the kiss, whose chests are pressed so close I doubt either could expand to pull in any oxygen.
When the shock starts to clear out of my head, the first thing I feel is relief. At least what I saw in the kitchen isn’t this big secret I have to keep anymore. I still don’t have the whole story of what’s gone on between these two, but one thing’s for damn sure: it’s out in the open now.
Another thing is also clear: whatever these two went through to get here, openly kissing in front of all their teammates, wasn’t easy. But they still did it. They still got here. And judging by how their lips still haven’t parted, like they both need this kiss so much more than they need air, it was worth it.
Needing someone more than you need to breathe—that’s exactly how I feel about Carmen.
I don’t know what’s going on with her right now, but I’m not ready to give up. I can’t control what she wants, but I can damn sure make it clear to her what I want, and that I’d be willing to sacrifice anything else in my life to have it.
Carmen is worth everything to me. She’s damn sure worth fighting for.
42
CARMEN
Itold myself I had a lot of thinking to do, and that’s practically all I’ve done for the past week. I haven’t made any progress on my book in that time. What to do about Jamie and me getting way closer than I intended is all that’s been on my mind.
I finally came to an answer.
I have something I need to tell Jamie. It’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to tell anyone.
Something tells me Jamie’s going to come in for his coffee order this morning. I can feel it. I’ve never been superstitious, but maybe all those X-Files binge sessions we’ve had on my couch are starting to rub off on me.
I have a coworker who’s really good at latte art. Yesterday, I had her give me some lessons. I wouldn’t call myself skilled by any means, but I’m competent enough to write words more or less legibly. Today, that’s all I’ll need.
The front door opens, and my intuition proves right. Jamie walks in, heading to the counter. His face is lined with determination. His eyes are clear. My nerves flutter, but a feeling of reassurance keeps them from pulling too tight.
“Carmen.” His voice is firm. Resolute. “We need to talk.”
I nod. “We will. Right after your drink.”
I ring him up for a latte at the register. Furrows dig into his brow when he looks at the screen. This isn’t his normal drink order.
“Carmen, what are?—”
“After your drink,” I interrupt. “Three-seventy.”
He blinks at me, an eyebrow arched. He sighs and holds his card to the reader to pay for it. Maybe I should worry that, if Jamie thinks I’ve turned insane, that might influence his reaction to what I’m about to tell him. But I kinda think that even if I did go mad, it wouldn’t change a thing.
I step away and work on Jamie’s drink. An excitement, almost a giddiness, spreads through me as I design the surface of the coffee with foam.
In just minutes, he’ll have seen what I wrote, and I’ll have seen his reaction to it, and everything is going to be so different.
What that means for months from now, years from now, I’m not sure—but I don’t care. I’m tired of running from how I feel right now. I’m ready to find out where it takes me.
Instead of serving Jamie’s drink in a mug, I’ve put it in a to-go cup, so I can place a lid over it. I set it carefully on the counter in front of him.
