“I mean it,” he says, wrapping his hands around me. “There's no one else, Harper. There never will be.”
The vulnerability in his voice, the way his steel-blue eyes search mine for a reaction, makes my throat tight with emotion. This powerful, confident man is laying himself bare for me.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you in my jersey,” Cole says, lightening the moment.
“In your dreams, Maddox,” I throw back.
“Every night,” he says, and the teasing tone becomes more intimate.
His hands have moved from my hair to my shoulders, his thumbs tracing circles at the base of my neck. What started as a therapeutic massage is becoming something else entirely.
But I’m not complaining. “We should get some sleep,” I murmur, even as I lean into his touch.
“We should,” he agrees, but his hands are sliding down my arms now, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
When he stands and offers me his hand, I take it without hesitation. He leads me to his bedroom, and as we fall onto his bed together, I try to push away the uncertainty gnawing at me.
This feels real, feels permanent, but I've learned not to trust feelings. I've learned that people leave, that success can be fleeting, and that the only person you can really depend on is yourself.
But as Cole's hands map every inch of my skin, as he whispers my name like a prayer, I allow myself to pretend. Just for tonight, I let myself believe in forever.
18
Cole
“Maddox, you're gonna eat ice tonight,” a Boston fan screams from the stands.
I grin. More insults follow. Insults that would make a sailor blush. The rivalry between our teams always brings out the best and worst in both sides, and tonight's no different as I glide across the ice during warm-ups.
For the tenth time, I swing my gaze to the family section, searching for one specific face. My heart gallops in my chest when I see Harper. She’s seated in the second row, wearing a navy blue sweater that brings out her eyes.
She's surrounded by other players' wives and girlfriends, but she stands out like a beacon. When our eyes meet across the ice, she gives me a subtle smile that sends warmth shooting through my chest.
“Cap, you're staring,” Ethan says as he glides up beside me during warm-ups. “Who's caught your attention?”
“Nobody,” I lie, but I can't keep the grin off my face.
“Bullshit. You look like a lovesick teenager.” He follows my gaze toward the family section. “Ah, the blonde in red? Nice choice.”
Wrong. I shoot him a warning look, but before I can respond, the horn sounds for the end of warm-ups.
Back in the locker room, Coach Mercer delivers his usual pre-game speech about playing with heart and determination. Then it’s game time.
The game is brutal from the first puck drop. The Commanders come out swinging. During a break in play, Brett sidles up to me at the face-off circle, a cocky grin on his face.
“Hope you're ready to get schooled, Maddox,” he says, tapping his stick against mine. “I've been saving up some moves just for you.”
“In your dreams, Hayes,” I shoot back. “Last time we played, you spent more time on your ass than on your skates.”
“We'll see about that.” He skates backward toward his position, still grinning. “Tell me, how's that fancy penthouse treating you? Still eating cereal for dinner like a bachelor?”
If only he knew his sister had been cooking for me most nights. “Wouldn't you like to know.”
By the end of the first period, we're tied 1-1, and both teams have taken enough penalties to staff a small prison.
During the first intermission, I catch sight of Harper again. She's leaning forward, completely absorbed in the action, and the intensity on her face makes me want to play even harder.
The second period is where we start to pull away. Logan makes three impossible saves that have the crowd on their feet, and Alex scores a beautiful goal on the power play. By the time the horn sounds, we're up 3-1.
