Page 91 of Power Play
“You remembered,” I say around a mouthful of lemon tart.
“Of course I did. I’m mad about you, Hart.”
And just like that, the world quiets. It’s not the words, he’s said them before, it’s the way he says them now. Casual, certain,like breathing.
“I’m mad about you too,” I whisper.
We don’t need to say more. We just eat, lounge, make out a little in the dying light like two teenagers pretending the world doesn’t exist.
When he drops me back at mine, he walks me to the door, fingers brushing mine.
“You staying?” I ask.
“I was hoping to. But only if there’s another croissant in the morning.”
“No promises,” I tease, pulling him inside.
When we’re curled together on my sofa, legs tangled and his hand under the hem of my shirt, he murmurs, “This makes me happy, y’know?”
“What does?”
“You. Us.”
I kiss him slow. Deep.
“Good,” I say against his mouth. “Because I’ve already drafted our couple’s Halloween costume plan.”
He groans. “If you make me wear matching onesies, I’m calling Dylan for backup.”
“Too late,” I grin. “He’s already approved the spreadsheet.”
And we dissolve into laughter and kisses and something that feels an awful lot like forever.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MURPHY
Game day. And not just any game. This one’s huge. The kind of match that gets hyped all season and makes your blood tingle the second you wake up. I’m jittery in the best way. Not quite nerves, more like adrenaline doing backflips in my veins.
The arena’s packed to the rafters. Fans screaming, waving banners, and banging drums as if they’re personally responsible for the team’s energy levels. I love this. Live for it. Every roar, every chant, every face in that sea of noise. It’s chaos and home all at once.
I spot her before the first puck even drops. Front row, just left of the bench. Sophie. Legs crossed, wearing my jersey again, it’s become a habit for her, only this time she’s paired it with some outrageously short skirt, those damn Dr Martens and a smirk that tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I tap the boards and wink. She rolls her eyes, but her grin betrays her.
Mia’s there too, clipboard in hand, focused as always. She gives me a nod as I skate past and I shoot her a grin. She’s got that look that means business, and if things go sideways, she’s the one who’ll be there patching us back together.
First period hits like a punch. Fast, aggressive, and overly brutal. Their offence is tight and their goalie’s got hands like lightning. We scrap for every inch of ice. I take a hard check against the boards, bounce off, and grin at the guy as if he just gave me a back massage.
By the second period, I’m flying. Legs under me, stick hot, heart hammering. I feed Dylan a clean pass and he buries it top shelf. The arena explodes. Sophie’s on her feet, screaming as though she just won the lottery.
The next faceoff has barely dropped when things go sideways.
Ollie gets checked too hard by one of their defencemen. The guy’s bigger, older, the kind of enforcer who throws hits like he’s got something to prove. Ollie hits the boards with a thud, bounces up, and skates straight for him, eyes blazing.
Words are exchanged. Not the polite kind.
Then gloves drop.
