Page 85 of Hearts on Ice
Because that wasn’t lust.
Or secrecy.
That was truth.
“You don’t need to know the whole future,” I said. “Just the part where we’re in it together.”
He looked at me then, eyes warm, vulnerable in a way he’d never let anyone else see.
“You make that sound easy,” he murmured.
“It won’t be easy,” I said. “But it’ll be worth it.”
He nodded, slow, steady, like he was committing the words to memory. Our fingers brushed, the slightest shift, deliberate on both sides, a touch no one could see but everything inside me felt.
Behind us, someone shouted about drinks. Laughter spilled through the door.
He didn’t move away.
Neither did I.
For a few breaths, we stood there—a quiet ache, a promise, a future neither of us could name yet but both of us wanted.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur.
“Worth every damn second.”
I exhaled, something deep in me settling.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Me too.”
Chapter 31
Drew
Six months of hockey had carried us here—six months of wins, losses, long road trips, late practices, bruises blooming purple along ribs and shins. Six months of climbing the standings until we finished second in the Western Conference, higher than this team had reached in years.
And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, four months of Miguel had slipped into my life so quietly I didn’t notice the shift until it was complete.
Four months of shared mornings, quiet dinners, his music drifting through my house, his hand brushing mine in the dark.
Four months of routines that felt like a life we weren’t allowed to name.
The playoffs came early in April, and everything sharpened.
Chicago led the series 2–1—best of five—and if we wanted to advance, we had to take both games on their home ice.
Pressure like that used to hollow me out. This year, it just made every breath feel tighter. More urgent. More possible.
At O’Hare, we collected our bags and loaded onto the bus for the short ride to the hotel. The guys were loose, talking systems, chirping each other, half running on adrenaline and half on exhaustion.
Miguel bumped my shoulder lightly as we walked to the hotel. “You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “You?”
His smile was quick. “As long as you’re mine.”
It still surprised me sometimes—how easy it felt with him. How much harder the road trips had gotten since he started sleeping in my bed. Every time we traveled, we had to step backwards into distance and caution. Tonight would’ve been the same.
