Page 31 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
She laughs, and it’s soft, real. The kind that eases tension I didn’t know I was still carrying.
We walk side by side toward the exit. The arena is quiet now, just the low buzz of the janitorial crew and a few stragglers heading for the player lot.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, glancing over.
“You don’t have to thank me.” She hesitates, then adds. “It was nice. Weirdly calming. I think I needed the noise.”
I nod. I get it.
We stop near the parking lot exit. I pull out my keys but don’t move yet. Neither does she.
She shifts her weight, looks up at me. “You looked… in your element out there. Like your body always knew exactly what to do.”
I swallow, caught off guard. I’m not used to being seen like that. A part of me wants to look away, but I hold her gaze.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “It’s pretty much muscle memory now.”
She smiles faintly, then reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her fingers barely brush mine. But the contact is enough to short-circuit my next thought.
She drops her gaze. “Ready to head back?”
I nod once. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We walk out together, the cool night air greeting us like a wall the second we step outside. I automatically angle myself closer to her, shielding her from the wind without thinking.
And we walk toward the truck like we’ve done it a dozen times.
By the time we pull into the driveway, the adrenaline from the game has mostly worn off. It’s replaced by a slower kind of hum, something quieter and closer to contentment.
I kill the engine, and for a second, neither of us moves. The house is dark except for the porch light Miss Taylor must’ve left on. The twins will be asleep by now. The whole place feels still, like it’s waiting for us to come back in and fill it again.
Ava unbuckles her seatbelt but doesn’t open the door right away.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She turns slightly in her seat, tugs at the hem of her sleeve. “I need to go back.”
The words land heavy. Not panicked, just quiet. Measured.
“To your old place?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She nods, but the tension in her shoulders doesn’t go away. “Yeah. Jenna brought my clothes, laptop, toiletries, but the rest of my stuff’s still there. My books. Notes for my nonprofit. Some personal things. And my car.”
She hesitates, letting out a slow breath. “I’ve been avoiding going back. I wasn’t ready. Still don’t know if I am. But the longer I wait, the harder it’s going to be. And wherever I end up next… I’ll need those things.”
I nod. “Okay. Want me to go with you?”
She gives a small nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Coach gave us a light skate tomorrow morning. Want to go after?”
“Okay.”
I catch the shakiness in her voice.
We get out of the truck, and I walk her to the front steps like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When I open the door for her, she pauses, glancing back at me under the porch light.
