Page 148 of Almost Ours
Out on the ice, Connor was skating hard, focused and determined. He was fearless, completely in his element.
I envied that about him–his ability to just throw himself into something, not holding back, not second-guessing.
Maybe it was time I took a page out of his book.
I locked my phone and shoved it back into my pocket, making a mental note to deal with the conversation later. For now, I needed to focus.
Connor’s little figure darted across the ice again, a blur of motion. The kid had potential–more than just raw talent, but drive. A desire to be better, to push himself. He didn’t hesitate, even when it was hard, even when the odds were stacked against him.
Maybe I could learn to be more like him in that way. Maybe it was time to stop holding back, to stop second-guessing myself, and just face what needed to be said.
The drive home was quiet,yet warm, the kind of comfortable silence that made me feel like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Outside, April sunlight spilled across the street, melting the last stubborn patches of snow into thin streams that trickled toward the ditch. The trees were still bare, but hints of green were starting to push through along the edges of the fields, the first real promise that winter was finally giving up.
In the backseat, Connor was buzzing from his tryout, replaying his best moves in his head–I could tell by the way he kept grinning to himself in the rearview mirror. Hockey season might have been winding down for most, but for him, spring hockey was just beginning.
When we pulled into Harper’s driveway, I helped Connor get his gear out of the truck and walked him inside. Harper greeted us at the door, her smile lighting up the room like it always did. Dinner was waiting–spaghetti, Connor’s favourite–and I stayed without a second thought.
After Connor went to bed, exhausted from his big day, Harper and I settled onto the couch. A movie played softly in the background, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Her head was resting against my chest, her body warm and soft against mine.
I wasn’t sure how long we sat there, just like that, when she tilted her head up to look at me. Her eyes, those deep expressive eyes, held something I couldn’t quite name–something soft but determined.
“Ryan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine.
The kiss started gentle, her lips moving against mine in a way that sent a rush of warmth through me. But then it deepened. Her mouth opened slightly, inviting me in, and when I felt her tongue brush against mine, a low growl escaped my throat.
She nipped at my bottom lip, and everything shifted. My hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss turned fiery, her body pressing against mine. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I couldn’t help but trail my lips down her neck, leaving a line of heated kisses along her soft skin.
Before I knew it, she had shifted, pulling herself onto my lap so that she was straddling me. Her hands slid under my shirt, her touch scorching as she traced the lines of my chest. I kissed her harder, my hands exploring the curve of her hips, her thighs, everything I’d been holding back for so long.
Her hands moved to my pants, tugging them down just enough. I felt her align herself with me, and when she sank onto me, both of us gasped.
“I love you so fucking much.” I murmured, my voice rough with need as she began to move, her head falling back as we lost ourselves in each other.
Every sensation was heightened, every touch electric. We moved together, perfectly in sync, and when we both came undone, it was nothing short of explosive.
She stayed on my lap, her breathing heavy, her forehead resting against mine. My hands gripped her hips, holding her as if she might disappear.
I couldn’t lose this. I couldn’t lose her.
As she pressed a soft kiss to my lips, the guilt I’d been carrying around all afternoon tightened in my chest. I knew I had to tell her the truth about Kyle. Looking at her now, though, feeling her warmth, I couldn’t bring myself to risk it.
I’d almost lost her once.
There was no way I was losing her again.
Connor’s gamewas in full swing, the energy in the rink electric as kids zipped across the ice. I sat in the bleachers, bundled in a thick sweater against the chill of the arena. My attention wasn’t really on the game, though. It wasn’t even fully on Connor–though I could hear his name being shouted by parents as he darted around, making plays like he’d been born on skates.
No, my focus was mostly on Ryan.
He was down by the boards, pacing like a caged tiger. His arms were crossed over his chest, but every so often, he’d fling one out in exasperation. I couldn’t hear him over the din of the crowd, but I didn’t need to. I knew exactly what he was muttering under his breath.
“Come on, move the puck! Get your heads up!” His hands gestured wildly, his frustration mounting every time the coach called for something he didn’t agree with.
I couldn’t help but smile, watching him. He’d insisted he didn’t want to coach Connor’s spring team, claiming he wanted to enjoy being just a “hockey dad.” But seeing him now, pacingthe boards like he was ready to hop over them and take charge, I had to wonder how long he could hold out.
Connor scored a goal, and Ryan fist-pumped so hard I thought he might pull a muscle. He was grinning ear to ear, shouting, “That’s my boy!” I felt my chest tighten with affection, watching the man who’d come to mean so much to both me and my son.
He was good with Connor. Constant. Reliable. Exactly what my son needed.
