I didn’t answer.
But I didn’t leave either.
The last thing I remembered was the way his fingers twitched against my skin, like even in sleep, he was fighting the instinct to hold on tighter. And then the darkness took me, the weight of him anchoring me down, the quiet of the room swallowing everything else.
For once, I didn’t dream of the ice.
I dreamed ofhim.
I woketo the pale gray light of dawn creeping through the blinds, casting long shadows across the bed. Calder’s arm was heavy across my waist, his fingers still laced with mine like he’d been holding on even in sleep. His face was softer like this—no scowl, no storm behind his eyes. Just quiet. Justhim.
I didn’t move. Didn’t want to break the spell.
The sheets smelled like us—sweat and sex and the faint, clean scent of his detergent. My body ached in the best way, the kind of sore that reminded me I was alive. Thatthiswas real.
For once, the noise in my head was gone. No Nate. No reporters. No whispers about what I was or wasn’t allowed to be. Just this. Justnow.
His breath was slow and even, his chest rising and falling under my palm. I traced the lines of his tattoos—faded ink, old scars, the story of a life I barely knew. My thumb brushed over his ribs, and he stirred, his grip tightening just a fraction before settling again.
The light shifted, golden now, painting his skin in warm tones. His lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, his mouth slightly parted, like he was about to say something even in sleep.
Stay.
The word hung between us, unspoken but loud.
I pressed my lips to his shoulder, just once, just enough to feel the warmth of him.
The mattress dipped as Calder shifted, his muscles tensing before he rolled away. I heard the quiet rustle of fabric, the softthudof his bare feet hitting the floor. The bed creaked as he stood, and I kept my breathing even, pretending sleep still had me. But I watched through my lashes as he pulled on a pairof gray sweats, the fabric hanging low on his hips, the V of his back tapering down to the waistband. He didn’t look at me. Just rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing away the last of sleep, and disappeared into the hallway.
The scent of coffee hit me first—bitter and strong, the kind that didn’t mess around. Then came the clatter of pans, the scrape of a spatula, the hiss of butter hitting heat. I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around me, my fingers twisting in the fabric. The floor was cold under my feet as I padded toward the kitchen.
Calder stood at the stove, his back to me, shoulders tense. The eggs in the pan were already overcooked, the edges crisping. A plate of toast sat nearby, charred black at the corners. He didn’t turn around, but his voice cut through the quiet, rough with sleep.
"You don’t have to go. Not yet."
The words landed like a puck dropped at center ice—no spin, no frills, justthere. I didn’t answer right away. Just slid onto one of the stools at the counter, watching as he divided the eggs onto two plates with more force than necessary. He pushed one toward me; the toast teetering precariously on the edge. The coffee mug he set down was chipped, the black liquid inside steaming.
It was a disaster.
And I loved it.
I picked up my fork, poking at the eggs. "You’re a terrible cook."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. "Never had to learn."
I took a bite. The eggs were dry; the toast crunched like gravel, but I swallowed it down, anyway. "Liar. You just never cared enough to try."
He didn’t deny it. Just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like I was something rare. The silencebetween us wasn’t awkward. It waseasy. Like the quiet before a face-off, when the world narrows down to just the ice and the puck and the man across from you.
I sipped the coffee. It was strong enough to strip paint. Perfect.
"We’ve got practice," I said finally, but I didn’t move.
Calder nodded, his gaze flicking to the clock on the microwave. "Yeah."
Neither of us reached for our plates again.
I set my mug down with a clink, nudging the plate of charred toast toward him. "You know, if you ever get fired from coaching,do notopen a diner."
