I finish eating faster than I mean to, because staying at this table feels dangerous. Every time my eyes slide to her hands, to her mouth, to the way she looks in my shirt like it belongs on her, my brain does something it shouldn’t.
This is not what I need before practice.
I stand, grab my gym bag, and force myself into captain mode again. “Be ready… I’ll pick you up later.”
Her brows lift. “I’m not coming with you now?”
“No. You’re staying here.”
That answer comes out more possessive than I intend, like I’m placing her somewhere safe. I don’t like that, so I add quickly, “Don’t leave. Don’t call anyone. Don’t post anything. I’ll be back after practice.”
Talia’s expression twists. “I’m not a child.”
“Then don’t act like one,” I say, and immediately regret it when I see her flinch.
I don’t apologize. I should. I don’t.
I just leave.
The drive to the rink is a blur of streetlights and clenched teeth.
When I step out of the car and walk into the facility, I act like nothing’s changed. Like I’m not legally tied to the coach’s daughter.
In the locker room, the guys are loud and half-asleep, tossing jokes around like always. Connor cradles his coffee like it’s life support.Declan is already chirping someone about their terrible playlist. Rhys looks annoyingly fresh, because of course he does.
I keep my expression neutral.
I’m good at neutral.
At being the captain.
I tape my stick, lace my skates, and step onto the ice with my shoulders squared.
The first few drills burn off the edge of my anger. My body knows what to do even if my life doesn’t. Skating is simple. Pucks don’t lie. The ice doesn’t care who you married.
Coach Petrov’s voice cuts through the arena, sharp and controlled. “Morrison, tighter on the turn. Again.”
I pivot and go again, pushing harder, faster, muscles singing with the familiar strain. I love this. I hate that I love it. Because I’ve built my life around it. It’s my purpose and my prison.
I glance toward the bench and catch Petrov watching me with that assessing stare.
My stomach knots.
Because all I can see behind his face is Talia’s.
Her bright eyes. Her stubborn chin. Her messy hair in my kitchen.
His daughter.
In my house.
In my bed? No. Guest room. Rules. Boundaries.
Still.
The thought flashes anyway, unwanted and vivid.
I nearly miss a pass.
