It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It waseverything—rage, need, weeks of skirting around what neither of us dared name. His mouth traced a path down to my jaw, rough stubble scraping skin that suddenly felt too thin.
I should’ve stopped him. I didn’t.
The wall vibrated faintly with the bass from inside. His hand found my waist, thumb pressing under the hem of my shirt until my stomach trembled. His mouth moved lower—throat, collarbone—each kiss a brand, every one stealing more control than I’d thought I’d ever give again.
“This is a mistake,” I gasped, or tried to. Repeating his own words. Because he was right.
He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes. “So was trying to forget you.”
It wasn’t fair, what those six words did. My chest caved in, heart pounding against bone like it wanted out. He kissed me again, slower now but deeper, almost cruel in how careful it suddenly felt.
I fisted the fabric at his shoulders, pulling until the seam creaked. He answered with a broken sound, half growl, half prayer, then caught my bottom lip between his teeth. Sparks burst behind my eyes; the cold air turned irrelevant.
When he finally pulled back, neither of us moved. His pupils were blown wide, breath rough against my neck. The heat between us was its own gravity.
“Billie,” he started, like he wanted to take the whole thing back and couldn’t find the words.
I pressed my hand against his chest, found the steady hammer of his heartbeat. We were both trembling.
“We can’t,” I whispered.
His thumb brushed my mouth, wiping the smear of his own blood. “Already did.”
The truth of it hung there, heavy and alive. The distance between us was barely an inch, but it felt like a cliff. He exhaled, slow and ragged, then stepped back just enough for air to slip between us. I hit the wall again, missing his warmth instantly.
The alley spun with a quiet that felt dangerous. My lips ached. My hands stayed clenched, useless fists of want and denial.
Inside, somebody laughed. Out here, it was still snowing, flakes melting as soon as they landed on our skin.
He met my eyes one last time, face unreadable except for the crack around his jaw. Then he turned away, leaving the air stripped clean of oxygen.
I stood there, bones humming, breath coming too fast. The taste of him still burned in my mouth long after he disappeared into the dark.
Chapter 14
Calder
The morning came in fragments—light cutting through cheap blinds, the smell of burnt dust from the old radiator, the echo of her name in my head. My mouth still carried her. Smoke and whiskey and guilt.
I sat up too fast, sheets sticking to my skin, pulse thundering in my throat. The room looked the same—unmade bed, duffel in the corner, coffee stains on paperwork—but nothing felt right inside me.
“She’s just a player,” I muttered, voice raw. The words didn’t hold.
Steam hissed from the shower. I let it run until the mirror fogged over, but the reflection that stared back still looked like a man who’d crossed every line he used to draw in ink.Coach Shaw.What a joke.
I slammed my fist against the counter, more sound than pain. The cracked soap dish hit the tile. “You stupid bastard.”
I almost walked to the cabinet. The bottle sat behind the cereal box, half-empty and whispering my name. Familiar comfort. Instant silence. My fingers grazed the edge of the cupboard door—then stopped.
Not again. Not for this.
I turned away and flipped open the laptop instead. The screen blinked to life with yesterday’s footage queued up: Crestwood vs. Lakeshore. A shaky win. Her win, if I was honest. She’d clawed it back from disaster.
I scrubbed through the first period—my own voice barking orders from the bench, her skating cutting through noise like a blade. I paused when the puck hit her stick. Quick hands. Clean pass. I should’ve been proud. Iwasproud. That was what made it worse.
“Just a player,” I growled and typed it into the margins of my notes like a warning.
I started redrawing drills. Lines, zones, rotations. Ten, twenty, thirty plays before I stopped counting. The routine steadied my breathing. The rhythm scratched against the part of me still raw from the night before. I heard her voice in pieces—every curse, every gasp. Shoved them down, replaced them with diagrams.
