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My hips jerk with the feel of his finger back inside me, as if I’m too sensitive and not quite ready for more. He chuckles, and he pulls his fingers out. We lie together in a quiet sort of contentment, and even though it will still take time to fully build the trust between us again, I think we’re well on our way there.

CHAPTER 50: Cash Maddox

Sparklers

Nine Days Later

I set my stick on the ice and look into the eyes of Jacob Donovan standing across from me.

He's glaring at me, so I glare back.

“Ready to get your ass beat on your home ice?” he mutters to me.

“Fuck off, Donovan,” I mutter back.

It’s the first game of the season, and I’m not going down to the fucking Penguins.

The ref drops the puck between us.

My blade wraps around it first, and I fling it straight over to West because fuck yeah, our rhythm is back.

To nobody's shock except my own maybe, our rhythm fell right back into place the very second I returned home from my trip to Chicago.

And even though I had to pay a fine for my transgression, it was worth the five grand to straighten my shit out.

West moves the puck up the ice toward the goal, but we're not in a position to take a shot yet.

He passes it to Kellan, and it winds up behind the net.

We work our way along the boards, and Kellan passes back to me.

We're quick on the ice thanks to the intuition we worked so hard to build that I very nearly fucked up.

One of the Penguins’ defensemen intercepts the puck, and our defensemen are quick to block them from any possibility of taking a shot.

We get the puck back and fly down the ice toward the goal.

This is it.

This is what gets my adrenaline moving and my blood pumping.

I pass it to Kellan this time, who goes for the shot and misses as the goalie blocks it, but West is able to control it off the rebound and winds up behind the net.

I'm still standing close to the goal, and he flicks it to me. I slip it in right around the goalie for the first goal of the game in under two minutes of playing time.

The sirens blare as everyone in the crowd yells, “Goal!”

I grin at my teammates and jump into them in celebration before I rush over to the glass where I know my girl is sitting.

She’s wearing the black jersey with the red ninety-eight on the back.

I bang on the glass.

She's standing and cheering with her vodka Sprite with cherries in her hand, her best friend Ainsley beside her holding the same.

She blows me a kiss, and I grin at her. I know people watching at home will have their comments and judgments, but I don't fucking care.

I have never been happier than I am in this moment.