“You’re adorable.” He pulled me closer. “But I promise I’ll be fine. Go play hockey. Score some goals. Come home safe.”
I hesitated, the newness of this—of us—making me uncertain. But then I caught the welcome in his eyes, and I kissed him instead of answering. Gentle and slow, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips against his. My hands cupped his face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones as I tried to memorize every detail—the softness of his mouth, the tickle of his beard, the way he sighed into the kiss like he’d been waiting for it. He tasted like coffee and his unique flavor, and I wanted to chase that taste, to learn it by heart. My gut sank with the weight of having to stop, having to wait until the next day to feel this again. It felt impossible, the loss already creeping in before I’d even pulled away. So, I kissed him slower, deeper, trying to make it last, trying to hold onto the warmth spreading through me and the way my heart kicked against my ribs every time he made that small sound in the back of his throat.
“I should go,” I said eventually, even though everything in me wanted to stay.
“Yeah.”
I stood up and grabbed my bag. Paused at the door.
“Text me,” I said. “If you need anything. Even if you just want to talk.”
“I will. You too.”
“I’ll probably text too much.”
“Good.” He was smiling. “I want you to.”
I backtracked for one more quick kiss—I couldn’t help myself—and then I forced myself out the door.
The drive to the airport felt longer than usual. I kept thinking about Marco on that couch, alone in the house, managing his recovery without me there to help.
It was stupid to worry this much. He was a grown man. A professional athlete. He’d survived thirty-two years and previous injuries without me hovering over him.
But I’d gotten used to taking care of him. Used to being the one who made sure he ate, took his meds, iced his foot on schedule. Used to being needed.
And maybe I just wanted an excuse to stay close.
At the airport, I found my seat on the team jet next to Kinnunen. He looked up from his phone as I settled in.
“Hey. How’s Morelli doing?”
“Good. Better. Getting around on the crutches pretty well now.”
“That’s good.” Kinnunen studied me for a moment. “You look better too. Less stressed.”
My face heated. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Past few days you’ve been wound tight. Today you seem more relaxed.” He grinned. “Good night’s sleep finally?”
If only he knew.
“Yeah.”
We landed in Winnipeg around noon local time. Theroutine kicked in—check into the hotel, drop bags, head to the arena for a light skate, pregame nap, dinner as a team, back to the arena.
I texted Marco throughout the day.
Étienne
Landed. Hotel’s nice.
Étienne
Just finished skate. How’s your foot?
Étienne
About to nap. You eating lunch?
