His lips drag down my neck, making me gasp and whimper. He’s a ripple of muscles under my hands, his hot breath tickling my skin.
“So perfect,” he murmurs against my neck, the words vibrating through me like a promise.
At some point, my phone rings from somewhere in the pile of clothes, Jemma’s ringtone cutting through the quiet. I roll over the bed to pull it out of my pants, her name flashing across the screen. For a moment, guilt tugs at me. But I hit silence and crawl back into Oliver’s arms. That’s right. There’s a whole world out there, with my sister and other people in it.
Right now, though, I don’t want a reminder of that. I have everything I need, right here in my bed.
My head rests on Oliver’s chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me in a way that no meditation or breathing exercise ever could. His fingers draw lazy patterns along my back, and I hum in appreciation.
“This feels... right,” I murmur.
“It does,” he agrees, his voice rumbling beneath my cheek. “Too good to mess up.”
I lift my head slightly, just enough to see his face. “We won’t mess it up,” I say, with more certainty than I expected to find. “Not this time.”
His eyes search mine. “Even if it gets hard?”
“Especially if it gets hard.” I smile softly. “That’s when we lean in. That’s when we show up.”
He nods, something quiet and unspoken passing between us, like an agreement etched not in words but in bone and blood.
Outside, snow begins to fall again, the flakes swirling softly in the glow of the streetlight. We watch them for a moment, both of us silent.
“I used to think this kind of peace wasn’t for me,” he says finally. “Like I didn’t deserve it.”
I tilt my head. “And now?”
“Now I think maybe I was just waiting for the right person to prove me wrong.”
My throat tightens, and I press a kiss to the center of his chest, just above his heart.
We drift, the silence between us comfortable and rich, full of everything we don’t need to say. I feel myself slipping toward sleep, lulled by warmth, by safety, by the quiet knowledge that this night has changed everything.
And in the final moments before unconsciousness takes me, I think: This is what it feels like to come home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oliver
“Make sure your weight is equally balanced,” I tell Gabe, watching his stance shift on the ice. His knees wobble slightly as he adjusts. “That’s where it all starts.” I tap my stick against the ice near his left skate. “Good. Now watch your knees—see how they’re caving in? Square them up. This is all going to help with your inside edge stops.”
He nods behind his goalie mask, sweat already beading on his forehead despite the cold. The kid’s got potential, but he’s overthinking every movement.
Satisfied that he’s absorbed what I’ve said, I push off and glide across the ice to check on the other players. The forwards are weaving through the neutral zone drill while the defensemen work on their positioning near the blue line. One of the biggest games of the season is coming up next week, and you could cut the tension in this rink with a knife. Everyone feels like the season got off to a bad start with Richie’s injury, and morale isn’t where it couldbe.
Taking a run in and out of the traffic cones just for fun, I lean hard into each turn, feeling the burn in my thighs and the satisfying bite of my edges carving the ice. I glance over at Devin through the plexiglass. She’s watching me with that particular tilt to her head, shaking her head with a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
I skate over to her, coming to a stop with a little flourish that sends ice shavings spraying against the boards.
“Did you see that?” I flex my arm. “You like those skills?”
“Yeah.” She laughs, and the sound cuts through all the tension in the rink. “Very impressive.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. The number on the screen stops me cold. It’s the same one that’s been sending me texts for weeks now.
“Keep an eye on your players’ skates. I might tamper with them like I did yours. Your shattered wrist was even better than I could have imagined. Hockey is better without you stealing the spotlight.”
Wait. Is this person saying what I think they are? It could be some crazy person but maybe they just admitted to causing my injury? My phone rings in my hand, and dread fills my stomach at the name on the screen.
