Then, I go to Volk.
The handshake line is the hardest thing I’ve done all day. And that’s saying something after nearly a hundred minutes of hockey. I meet their eyes one by one, tell them good game. I hate that it’s true.
Somewhere in the line, I think about Summer. The way she’d know what to say. The way she’d just be there and let me fall apart as quietly or as loudly as I needed to.
I’ve never wanted anyone at the end of a game the way I want her here right now.
I get through the line. I don’t remember a single face.
The locker room empties around me. Coach tells me to get up and get out, but I stay folded over, my elbows on my knees, and my head down.
Fox’s hand lands on my shoulder. Then it’s gone.
Eventually, it’s just the ventilation system humming and the distant muffled noise of their celebration bleeding through the walls.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes.
I stay there.
No idea how long.
“Miles.”
I open my eyes.
She’s right there, cheeks flushed and hair falling around her face.
I reach for her without thinking. Arms banded around her hips, face pressing into her stomach. Her hands move into my hair instantly, fingertips scratching my scalp, nails dragging gently down the back of my neck.
I don’t make a sound.
But my shoulders start to shake, and by the time I understand what’s happening, it’s too late. “Fuck,” I mutter into the fabric of her jersey.
She keeps her body pressed against mine, anchoring me without saying a word. Lets me have it. Doesn’t try to fix it or rush it or fill it with anything.
I don’t know how long we stay like that.
When I finally lift my head, she looks down at me, and a small smile lifts her lips. Christ, I even love this sad version of her smile. She frames my face in both hands, thumbs brushingunder my eyes, but doesn’t acknowledge the tears. Just looks at me like I’m still worth something.
Like the guy she flirted with at Citgo. The one she gave hell to at Sully’s. The one she keeps finding, even when I’m trying to disappear.
Not the captain.
Not the loss.
Me.
I pull her down, and she settles into my lap, arms looped around my neck. I kiss her, still not over the fact that she’s here.
That shecame.
That she chose me when it would’ve been easier not to.
When I ease back, she stays close, forehead tipping against mine. I catch a hint of that citrus scent I love so much.
“You’re here,” I rasp.
“I’m here.”
