Page 46 of Hard Check

I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the exit, my mind quieter than it had been all day. As I fumbled with my keys, the realization settled over me with strange clarity: Pike wasn't afraid.

If he, with his whole career stretching before him, could be brave enough to step into uncertainty... maybe I could, too.

I climbed into my truck and sat motionless behind the wheel, watching my breath form clouds in the unheated cab. For years, I'd defined myself by what I hadn't achieved—the call-up that never came and the NHL career that remained tantalizingly out of reach.

He's not afraid. So maybe it's okay if I am.

The thought settled in my chest, not a revelation so much as a permission. I could be uncertain. I could worry. I could want the best for Pike while also wanting him for myself. Those things weren't mutually exclusive.

Chapter twelve

Pike

TheForge'sequipmentroomsmelled of rubber, leather, and the metallic tang of recently sharpened skates. Carver leaned against the grinding bench, arms folded across his chest. The whir of the building's ventilation system drowned out any sound that might leak from the hallway.

I closed the door behind me, heart drumming against my ribs. Three days had passed since our kiss in his apartment, two since he'd pulled me into the dark corridor outside the weight room.

"Anybody follow you?"

I shook my head. "No. TJ's trapped Monroe in a conversation about proper tape application." I stepped closer, narrowing the gap between us. "I told them I forgot something in my car."

"How long before they notice we're both missing?"

"Fifteen minutes. Twenty, if Mercier decides to tell that story about his cousin in Manitoba again."

Carver pushed off from the grinding bench. "I've got something to say."

"I'm listening."

He tapped his fingers against his thigh. "What happened in my apartment—"

"—and the hallway," I added, unable to resist a slight grin.

"And the hallway, yeah. It all changes things."

"Good or bad?"

"Complicates things."

I stepped closer, my t-shirt brushing against his. "Sometimes, I like complicated things."

"No, you don't. I saw how you pack for road games. You like everything neat and organized. Your locker's like a fucking department store display."

I couldn't stop a grin from forming on my face. "And then some things are worth the mess."

His eyes darkened, but I didn't detect any anger. "If we're going to do this—whatever this is—we need ground rules."

The statement surprised me. I'd expected him to still be hesitant. I didn't think he was ready for a contract negotiation.

"Ground rules. Like what?"

He held up one finger. "Nobody knows. Not TJ. Not Mercier. Not a single person in that locker room."

"Total secrecy." I nodded. That request wasn't unexpected or unwanted. The idea of the team finding out made my skin crawl.

"Second," Carver continued, "hockey comes first. We're professionals. On the ice, in practice, during games—none of this exists."

"Agreed."

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