Page 68 of Pucked Up

"You looked like me," I'd said.

And now he held me like he'd known that the whole time.

Noah didn't say anything for a long while. His hand moved once—slowly dragging across my muscular abs. It wasn't asexual gesture; it was more like he was checking that I was human. Real.

Finally, words emerged. "You're a fucked-up bastard."

I chuckled without thinking. "Yeah."

"You terrify me."

"I know."

He kissed my right nipple. "I've never wanted anyone more."

My heart might've stopped. Just long enough to register what his words meant.

"I'm not trying to fix you," he added, voice low. "I'm not building a rescue. This isn't a damn redemption arc."

I nodded once. My throat was too tight to speak.

"You scare me," he said again, quieter now. "But I don't think I want safe."

He turned his face up to gaze into my eyes.

"You chose me. Maybe you didn't know why. Maybe I didn't either. But I get it now."

He kissed my chest again—a single press of lips over my heart.

"I'm choosing you back."

He lifted his face, eyes steady on mine.

"And I love you, too."

Those words broke something in me. It was a fault line that had been waiting for the weight of one more truth.

I didn't cry. I didn't speak.

I curled my arm around him, pulled him closer, and held on like the world might try to pry us apart again.

For the first time, I knew it wouldn't succeed.

Chapter twenty

Noah

We'd settled into a modest apartment on the outskirts of Marquette, a short drive from the lakeshore. So much had happened in barely a week. The sun was rising on our new life until the Show came calling.

Micah's phone vibrated once, then stopped. The message was already open when he reached the table—just a blue rectangle, pulsing cold light.

It was the NHL notifying us of the specifics of the promised hearing. Micah read the message and then didn't touch it again. Just laid it there, screen up, like if we both stared long enough, it would blink out of existence.

I'd already read it twice. Once over his shoulder, once with my stomach turning slow and thick.

"Reinstatement Review – 11:00 a.m. EST – Zoom link enclosed."

No salutation. No explanation. Just a meeting time, a link, and a line of legalese. It read like a summons to a sentencing.

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