Page 71 of Hearts on Ice
The rink air hit like cold steel.
The team loosened up, sticks tapping, laughter bouncing off the boards. I moved through drills—clear, steady, professional—but my focus kept drifting to the crease.
Miguel moved like a storm contained inside glass: all balance and heat and control. Every save was clean, each drop to his knees fluid, economical. When the puck snapped against his pad and shot wide, he rose in one motion, eyes already on the next play.
I’d coached a lot of goalies. None of them made my pulse trip the way he did.
JB skated past me with a smirk. “Coach looks impressed.”
“Coach looks busy,” I said.
JB blew the whistle. The session wrapped, chatter scattering across the ice.
As the players filed out, Miguel caught my gaze from the far end of the rink. Nothing blatant—just a look that found its mark and stayed there.
He peeled off his blocker, raised a hand in a quick salute, and vanished down the tunnel.
I stayed another minute, listening to the echo fade. Then I exhaled, slow and even, and told myself to focus on the next thing.
By the time I got home, the apartment was dim, washed in the gold light that came right before sunset. I’d barely kicked off my shoes when a knock sounded—three quick raps. Familiar. Confident.
Chapter 28
Miguel
When Drew opened the door, the last streaks of sunlight slipped past the blinds, flooding the apartment in gold.
I barely had time to breathe before he reached for me—one rough hand curling around the back of my neck, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was all heat and hunger and quiet disbelief.
For a second, I froze. Not because I didn’t want it—God, I did—but because this timehewas the one who started it. Drew, the man who always held the line, who measured every touch like it might cost him something.
When he pulled back, his breath brushed my cheek, ragged and warm. His eyes searched mine like he was checking if he’d gone too far.
“Hey,” I whispered.
His voice was low, rough-edged. “Hey.”
I lifted the takeout bag still dangling from my hand. “Hope you’re hungry.”
He glanced at it, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What’d you bring?”
“Burgers,” I said. “From that place by the rink. The one with the ridiculous fries.”
That earned me a grin—rare and unguarded. “That’s sweet of you,” he said, and his eyebrows shot up, like the words surprised him as much as the kiss had.
We ate at the counter, side by side. Nothing fancy—just the kind of meal that tasted like comfort and grease and long days finally over. The quiet between us was as easy as it had always been. Every so often, he’d glance at me from under his lashes, like he still couldn’t believe he’d been the one to close the distance first.
And if I was honest, neither could I.
He wiped his hands with a napkin and leaned on his elbow, studying me. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“Just enjoying the company,” I said. “You?”
He hesitated. “Trying to wrap my head around all of this.”
I nodded once, slow. “Fair.”
He gave a soft laugh—more breath than sound. “I spent most of my life thinking I was straight. Then you show up, and suddenly every part of that feels… less certain.”
