“Okay,” he whispered. “We’ll talk to them on Saturday.”
The relief that flooded through me was physical, overwhelming. Not because we’d solved anything—we hadn’t—but because we were facing it together. Not hiding from each other, not breaking apart, but trying.
“Come here,” Étienne said quietly, pulling me toward the bed.
He kissed me, soft and desperate, and I let myself sink into it. Let myself have this moment of connection after two days of forced distance.
“I missed you,” he whispered against my mouth. “It’s been two days, and I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
His hands found the hem of my hoodie, sliding underneath to touch bare skin. “Stay. Please. We don’t have to worry about interruptions.”
I kissed him again, deeper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
We shed clothes slowly this time, no urgency, just the need to be close after two days of pretending we were just friends. We came together with the familiarity of people who knew each other’s bodies, who’d learned what made the other person groan, the body language ofmoreandpleaseanddon’t you dare stop.
When we were spent, we lay wrapped in each other in the bed by the window, the curtains open just enough to let in the city lights.
We stayed like that for a long time, breathing together. Eventually, Étienne’s breathing deepened, and I knew he was asleep.
I should have gone back to my room. Should have maintained the appearance of propriety, of separation.
But I couldn’t make myself leave.
Instead, I pulled the blanket over both of us and let myself sleep beside him, consequences be damned.
We’d taken the first step.
And maybe that was enough for now.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and Étienne already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching me.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi.” I checked my phone—7:30 a.m. “Shit. Morning skate is at nine.”
“We have time.” He smiled, and it was real, warm. “You stayed the whole night.”
“Yeah.”
“That was risky.”
I pulled him down for a kiss. “Worth it.”
Étienne shifted, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “We should text Griffin.”
“Now?” I sat up.
“We have free time this afternoon once we land in Portland. If we’re really going to do this—talk to them—we should set it up.” He looked at me. “Unless you changed your mind?”
“No. I haven’t changed my mind.” I pulled out my phone. “I have his number from when he played with us. I hope he hasn’t changed it.”
“Me too.” Étienne was already opening his messages. “Should we both text him, or…”
“You do it. You were closer with him.”
Étienne nodded, his thumbs hovering over the screen. “What do I say?”
