“Don’t go yet.” I take her by the hand and lead her back to the bed.
She bites her lower lip, something she does when she’s unsure. “What if McGinnis comes home?”
“He won’t. There’s no way D-Vo will let him out of his sight.” I pinch her ass as she climbs back into bed. “Besides, I’m not done with you yet.”
In truth, I’d be perfectly happy to go to sleep. I don’t need another orgasm, but if keeping her in my bed is the only way to spend time with her, so be it.
I shut off the light and slide in next to her. She curls up against my side, her small frame dwarfed by my larger one.
“You’re placing an awful lot of trust in Luke,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin.
I chuckle. “If there’s anyone I trust with my secrets—and McGinnis’s questionable decision-making—it’s Luke Dvorak.”
She tilts her head up to look at me. “You’ve known him a long time, then?”
“Since we were kids.” I brush a damp strand of hair off her forehead. Holding her in my arms feels so natural, and I can’t get enough of it. “Luke’s more than a teammate. He’s the brother I never had.”
Ava shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. “How did you two meet?”
The question is innocent, but answering means revisiting a dark time in my life, one I prefer to keep locked down. But if I want Ava to open up to me—to trust me with more than just her body—I need to do the same.
“After my parents died, I was a mess.” The words come easier than I expected. Ava’s a calming presence, and when she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it, I find I can breathe a little more freely. “I was sixteen and angry at the world. Left to my own devices, I would have completely self-destructed.”
“Knox…” Her voice is soft and filled with sympathy.
“Coach Carlyle was the only one who saw what was happening and cared enough to step in.” I swallow hard, the familiar guilt creeping back in. Coach saved my life, and howdo I repay him? By betraying his trust and sleeping with his daughter. “He helped me find a billet family so I could continue my hockey development without interruption. The family was the Dvoraks.”
Ava’s eyes widen slightly. “You lived with Luke’s family?”
“For two years. It was exactly what I needed—a fresh start away from home, away from all the things that reminded me of what I’d lost.” I still remember walking into the Dvorak house for the first time, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, feeling completely lost. “It was tough at first. I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to accept help from anyone. But Luke’s parents were patient, and Luke, he just got it, you know?”
“Got what?”
“That I needed space to grieve, but also someone who would challenge me.” A smile tugs at my lips despite the weight of the memories. “We had a shared love of hockey and similar work ethics. We pushed each other, made each other better. Not just on the ice, but off it too.”
Ava’s palm rests on my chest, directly over my heart. Her touch grounds me in the present. “It sounds like you and Luke have been through a lot together.”
“We have.” I pause, flashing back to grueling practices, exhausting schedules, and late-night discussions of our NHL aspirations. “Coach was there every step of the way, ensuring I went to counseling and kept my grades up. Between him and the Dvoraks, I had the support system I needed to survive.”
“I’m glad you had such an incredible support system,” she says quietly, “but don’t sell yourself short. You still had to do the work—mentally, emotionally, and physically—to get where you are today.”
She’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to acknowledge.
“Senior year, Coach recruited both Luke and me to play at Waverly,” I continue, steering the conversation back to safer territory. “We lived and played together for four years, and they were some of the best years of my life. It wasn’t until we were both picked up by the Gliders in the expansion draft that we got to play together again.” I pause for a beat, considering my next words. “Having Luke here, on my line, wearing the same jersey again feels right, like it’s all coming together.”
She hums in acknowledgment before falling silent. There’s clearly something on her mind. She’s biting her lip and her shoulders have gone rigid.
She’ll tell you when she’s ready.
I wait her out, slowly running my fingers through her hair in what I hope are slow, reassuring strokes.
Finally, she asks, “What happened to your parents?”
The question hangs in the air between us. I suspected it was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier to answer.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she adds quickly, her voice gentle. “I understand if it’s too painful.”
“It’s okay.” And surprisingly, it is. It was a long time ago, and while I still miss my mom every single day, it’s gotten easier to talk about over time. “My father was a high-powered corporate attorney who cared more about appearances than the messy details of real life. To say he was a hands-off parent would be an understatement, and by the time I was a teenager, he was rarely home. He spent most of his evenings wining and dining clients.”