Page 165 of Power Play
But all I can do is look for her.
And there she is. Waiting at the edge of the rink. Still in my hoodie. Still mine, even if neither of us has said it out loud.
Yet.
Hours later, after the noise and the beers and the boys chanting my name in the locker room, I drag myself home. Bruised. Exhausted. Riding the kind of high that only victory, and a glimpse of hope can give you.
I shower. Ice my ribs and try to sleep.
There’s a knock at the door and I open it to find her.
Two suitcases. One overstuffed tote bag. And a look in her eyes that floors me harder than any bodycheck ever could. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just lifts her chin, defiant and terrified and still somehow smirking.
“Told you I don’t travel light.”
I blink. Once. Twice.
“You sure?”
“Nope. But I’m here.”
I step aside and she walks in.
She drops the bags by the door like she’s done it a hundred times, and this is already her home. My chest aches with the sight of it. With her.
I close the door behind her, quietly, as though I’m afraid to jinx it.
She glances around. “Place looks cleaner than I expected. Did you hire a maid or just threaten Jacko with bleach?”
“I’m a changed man,” I say, stepping closer. “Didn’t you get the memo?”
“Oh, I got it. In triplicate. With follow-up texts and a Spotify playlist titled‘Please Forgive Me and Also I’m Still Hot.’”
“Admit it, you liked the playlist.”
“The acoustic version ofSex on Firewas a choice.”
“Bold,” I say, grinning. “But effective?”
She hums like she’s thinking it over. But I can see it in her eyes, that soft, glinting thing that’s lived in them for months and is finally back, unguarded.
“I missed you,” I say. Simple. Honest.
She looks at me like she wants to bite me and cry at the same time. “I missed you too. And I hated every second of it.”
My hands find her hips automatically, like they remember the shape of her even if the rest of me still feels stunned that she’s really here. She’s warm, real, solid. And when she tips her head back to meet my eyes, it’s as if the ground steadies beneath me.
“I was scared you wouldn’t want me anymore,” she whispers.
I brush her hair back, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. “I never stopped wanting you. Not for a second.”
“Even when I was being a stubborn, emotionally constipated goblin?”
“Especially then.”
She smirks. “You’re a sick man.”
“You love it.”
