The kind that means I’m alive, pushing my body, not just waiting for it to heal anymore.
Oh,yes.The ice feels like home again.
Which is ironic, considering home is starting to feel a lot more like a certain bakery apartment with a kid’s drawing stuck to the fridge.
Are you going to be here forever?
Morgan's serious, ten-year-old eyes flash in my head, and my stomach clenches. I try to shove the memory away and focus on the puck at my feet.
Focus onanythingbut the impossible question.
So, naturally, my brain serves up the next best distraction: Zoey, naked and warm in her bed this morning, her skin soft under my hands.
I've never had slow, lazy, morning sex like that. The kind where you savor every inch, every sigh after a night wrapped in each others arms.
And yet, somehow, even with that sexy image making my skin burn all over agian, Morgan’s questionstillwon't stop circling louder than Coach’s whistle.
Are you going to be here forever?
I don’t know.
I’ve never promised anyone forever. I’ve never evenwantedto.
But looking at that crayon drawing this morning, seeing the three of us holding hands and the big, lopsided heart in the corner… something inside me cracked open. Something hungry and terrified and hopeful all at once.
"Fuck," I groan, shaking my head loose.
I take another lap around the rink, keeping the puck close to my stick, the cold air biting my lungs. The familiar rituals of practice usually calm me, they always have.
Today, it all feels distant.
Eventually, Coach blows his whistle to end the session, and Cade Jensen appears beside me, slapping my shoulder pad with his stick.
“Not bad for a guy who’s been collecting dust, Lane. Good to see you've still got some wheels.”
“Wheels, hands, and a devastatingly handsome face,” I pant, grinning. “The full package is back, baby.”
Samuel finishes chatting with Coach and glides over, his usual frown still firmly in place. “Skating’s looking cleaner, and you're not hesitating on your turns. Willa’s gonna be happy.”
I look over to where Willa has been watching me in the stands, a Frost Café cup sitting beside her.
“Willa’s always happy when I’m not concussed,” I say, leaning on my stick and shooting her a smile. “It’s her favorite version of me.”
The guys start heading for the tunnel, and I hang back for a second, just looking around The Den. The empty seats, the pristine ice, the massive scoreboard hanging dark above center ice.
A month ago, this was all I wanted. To be back here, in my element, with my team.
And it feels good. Great, even.
But it doesn’t feel likeeverythinganymore.
I follow the guys into the locker room and my phone buzzes in the pocket of my pants as I retrieve them from my bag. I tug it out, expecting another update from Delaney about the partnership stats from last night's event she was waffling on about the second I stepped into The Den this morning.
Zoey:So… my brothers are insisting on ‘proper introductions.’ They want to buy you a drink. The Leopard Lounge. 7pm? Don’t panic.
I stare at the screen and a slow grin spreads across my face.
Shewantsme there. After this morning, after her quiet ‘you’ve done enough’ that felt like a gentle push away, she’s pulling me back in…