"You think so?"
"I know so." He kisses the top of my head. "Nobody builds what you built tonight without a fire in them. And fires like that don't come from nowhere, sweetheart. He gave you that. It's still burning. He's still in there."
I go quiet, my cheek against his heart, my fist curled in his shirt. The ocean hushes against the windows. The moonlight pools across the floor.
And slowly,slowly… the shaking stops.
For the first time in eight years, the grief doesn't feel like something I have to carry alone.
He brushes a strand of hair from my damp cheek with the back of one finger. "You good?"
"Yeah." I let out a watery laugh. "Yeah. Thank you. For listening. I didn't—I haven't said all of that out loud to anyone. Ever."
His thumb traces my jaw. "I'm glad you said it to me."
I lean my head against his shoulder, and the absurdity of it all suddenly catches up with me.
"You know," I murmur, "a week ago I genuinely wanted to murder you. Like, plan-the-alibi, hide-the-body wanted to murder you."
"A week ago I called you 'this woman' in front of the entire coaching staff." He winces. "I deserved murder."
"You really did."
He shrugs one shoulder, that maddening smirk creeping back across his face.
"And yet. Look at us now. About to spend the night together.Again."
I lift my head and meet his eyes. "Y-you want me to stay the night?"
His mouth curves, but there's nothing cocky in it now. Just heat.
"Josie," he says, low and rough. "I've wanted you to stay since the second you walked in that door. So yeah. Stay."
"Alright, I'll stay." I lean in, my mouth a breath from his. "But this time, we're usingyourbed. Not mine."
For one heartbeat, he just stares at me, those blue eyes going dark.
Then he moves. One second I'm sitting beside him, the next his hands are under my thighs and he's hauling me into his lap, his mouth crashing into mine like he's starving.
"About goddamn time," he growls against my lips.
He rises off the couch, and drags me toward his bedroom.
Chapter 12
Declan
Icarry her down the hallway with her legs wrapped around my waist and her mouth still on mine, and I don't think I've ever wanted anything the way I want her right now.
Because here's the thing about what I just heard out there on that couch.
Some woman who's supposed to love this girl more than anything in the world, looked at the most incredible person I've ever met and decided she wasbroken.Decided that loving hockey, loving the thing her father loved, loving the thing that makes herher, was some kind of defect to be corrected.
And it makes my blood run hot in a way I haven't felt since I was twelve years old.
People areidiotswith the ones they're supposed to protect. And I'll be damned if I'm not going to spend tonight reminding Josie Whitfield exactly how un-broken she is.
I shoulder my bedroom door open, and—