Page 6 of The Pucks We Freeze
She lifted her chin. “It’s not that simple, Kade.”
“Why not?” I asked, watching her carefully. “Because of your dad?”
She hesitated, then shrugged like it cost her something. “It’s complicated now. This isn’t like before. It wouldn’t be another one-night without consequences, especially when we both know we can’t pretend it never happened. I don’t want either of us to end up regretting it more than we already do.”
The words landed like a gut punch. Sharp. Deliberate. She wasn’t wrong, though.
Still, something inside me tightened when I heard her say the word regret aloud.
I stepped in, slow but sure, until I was right in front of her. Her back brushed the edge of the desk, and for a second, she didn’t move.
“You really mean that?” I asked, my voice low. “You regret it?”
She didn’t answer.
I reached out, curling my fingers gently under her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her breath caught, and it was enough to let me know she felt it, too.
“Then say it,” I murmured. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you regret it.”
Her eyes flicked away, just for a second.
“Willow.” My voice hardened. “Say it.”
Her lips parted like she was about to, like maybe she would, but she didn’t.
And in that quiet, in the space where the lie should be, all I could hear was the truth she wasn’t ready to say.
Still, I stepped forward, closing the space between us until her chest nearly brushed mine. The air thickened—heavy, charged, like even a breath might tip it all over.
I let my hand drop from her chin, my fingers grazing hers on the way down. It was soft enough to be a mistake but deliberate enough not to be.
Her eyes flicked down to my mouth—only for a second.
But it was enough.
A flush crept up her neck, blooming across her cheeks like she was already regretting the way her body betrayed her. As if she were trying to will the reaction away, to press it down beneath everything she was telling herself to believe.
Her voice was a whisper when it came. “Kade…”
It was a warning. A plea. A name she still hadn’t learned how to say without it landing like a gut punch.
She shook her head, barely moving, like a war was waging inside her and she was losing ground fast. So I made the choice for her.
I leaned in slowly, giving her time to stop me, to say no, to remind me why this was a bad idea.
She didn’t.
My lips brushed hers, gentle at first. Testing. Pleading.
Willow exhaled sharply, a soft sound that turned into a moan against my mouth, and her fingers fisted the front of my shirt like she was afraid I’d vanish if she let go.
She still tasted like mint and something familiar. Like a memory that never let go. Like a mistake I already knew I’d make again.
For one dizzying second, I allowed myself to forget everything. The snow, the storm, even the thought that her dad could have installed a camera behind every mounted deer head in this place.
That thought was the only thing that jerked me back.
I pulled away slowly, dragging in a breath that felt heavier than it should. Her lips were still parted, her chest rising and falling as though she was trying to catch up to what just happened.
