Page 116 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I find Ava in the living room, curled up in my hoodie with her laptop beside her. Half a dozen open tabs on one side of the screen, a spreadsheet and an email draft on the other.
“Hey,” she says softly, smile blooming the moment she sees me.
“Hey,” I echo, crossing to kiss her temple. “Still working?”
“Wrapping up.” She closes the laptop and sets it aside. “I didn’t want to miss you.”
I sit beside her, shoulders touching, the hum of the house wrapping around us like a blanket.
“I told Greg today,” I say quietly.
Her head turns toward me fast, eyes searching mine. “You did?”
“Yeah. Before practice. Figured it was time.”
“And?” she asks, voice soft but strained.
“He asked the questions I expected. Didn’t make it easy. But… he said he’s trusting me.”
I watch the tension in her shoulders ease, just a little.
She exhales, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ve been worried about what he’d say.”
“Me too,” I admit.
She nods, quiet for a moment, then leans into me like the weight’s shifted off her chest.
“Come up with me,” I murmur.
She tilts her head back to look at me, eyes searching mine. “If I go up with you,” she says softly, “I might not get much rest.”
I chuckle, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “No complaints from me.”
I turn off the light and follow her upstairs, a quiet warmth curling low in my chest.
By morning, the house is still and dark.
I lace up my sneakers by the door, trying not to make noise, but Ava’s walking down the stairs. She’s in leggings and one of my hoodies, hair pulled up, her eyes looking tired.
“You didn’t have to get up,” I murmur.
“I wanted to,” she says. “You’ll be gone a while. Let me hover a little.”
I smile and lean in, kissing her cheek. It lingers longer than I meant for it to.
“Win,” she whispers.
I lean in and kiss her, slower this time, my hand resting on her hip.
“That’s the plan.”
Then I head out, the front door clicking shut behind me.
By the time we land in New York, the day disappears in a blur. Team shuttle, quick stretch at the rink, meetings, meals, lights out. The travel routine is automatic, but my mind keeps wandering back home. Ava, the boys. The house already feels too far away.
The next day, it’s game time. Morning skate is crisp, energy’s good. We know what’s coming. New York’s crowd, their speed on home ice. Coach drills it into us: start fast, play smart, weather the first ten minutes.
By puck drop, the crowd in New York is loud from the jump. Hostile, hungry, riding every hit like it’s bloodsport. We expect it. Hell, we’ve played in worse. But something about the energy tonight feels razor sharp. Every shift, they’re on us.
