Page 84 of Hard Check

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You realize this is the opposite of your usual approach. Mr. Contingency Plan is suddenly okay with winging it?"

"Only with you. I'm learning to trust the process."

"The process." I heard amusement underlining Carver's words. "You make it sound like a hockey drill."

"Maybe it is. Maybe that's how we get good at this—practice, repetition, doing it over and over until it becomes instinct."

Carver's laugh was soft. "Leave it to you to turn a relationship into a training regimen."

"Is that what this is? A relationship?"

"Yeah," he said with no hesitation. "I think it is."

I chuckled softly. "Good. Because I was starting to run out of creative ways to describe you to myself."

"What have you been calling me?"

"Everything but your name, mostly. My mentor when I needed professional distance. My secret when I was feeling dramatic. My person when I was being honest." I traced the scar along his shoulder, following its path across his collarbone. "But I like boyfriend better."

"Boyfriend." He tested the word like he was tasting something new. "Haven't been anyone's boyfriend since college, and she was female."

"How does it feel?"

"Pretty damn awesome, to be honest. Like jumping out of a plane without checking if the parachute's packed properly."

I kissed his chest, right over his heart. "For what it's worth, I think your parachute's in pretty good shape."

We weren't hiding anymore. The thought circled through my mind like a mantra, each repetition making it feel more real. Coach knew. The team would figure it out soon enough if they hadn't already. And maybe, eventually, my parents would know, too. Perhaps someday, I could bring Carver home for Christmas and introduce him as more than just my mentor.

Maybe someday we wouldn't have to qualify anything at all.

The digital clock clicked over to 2:34 AM, and I finally felt sleep beginning to pull at the edges of my consciousness. Carver's arm remained heavy across my chest, his breathing deep and even. Safe. Content. Mine.

Chapter twenty-one

Carver

Thelockerroomshouldhave been empty on Tuesday morning at eleven-thirty on a game day. Instead, I found Pike wearing a new, black winter coat, standing between the equipment racks with his phone pressed against his ear.

His free hand gestured wildly while he paced three steps toward the showers, pivot, and three steps back toward the exit. He was all restless energy and barely contained electricity.

I dropped my gear bag beside my stall. Pike's head snapped toward me, eyes wide and slightly glassy. He mumbled something into the phone and ended the call.

"You're early." I settled onto the bench. "Way early. The on-ice warmup isn't for five hours."

"I know." He resumed pacing. "I couldn't sleep. I wished you were with me because I couldn't sit still. Kevin, my agent, called and—" Words failed him in the middle of a sentence.

I looked up at him. "Talk to me."

He stopped pacing and turned to face me. "They're having me skip rookie camp. Straight to the show. Syracuse needs bodies now. I'll be on the plane tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Not July. Not after months of preparation and long goodbyes. Tomorrow, as in twenty-four hours from now.

I stared at him. He was the kid who took over my final season and rearranged every assumption I'd made about endings. He waited for my reaction like a defendant awaiting a verdict.

A wave of fierce satisfaction in a job well done hit me first and nearly knocked me sideways. Of course, they were skipping camp. It made perfect sense that they wanted him now before some other team realized what Syracuse had in their back pocket.

Next was the realization that it was all happening now—today.

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