Page 50 of For Pucking Ever

We'll need another shower, separately this time or we'll be right back here, but with his body warm and safe in my arms, I can't bring myself to move. His skin against mine feels like the most natural thing in the world, like we were designed to fit together this way. I trace my fingers along the curve of his spine, feeling each vertebra, memorizing the map of him.

I'll do whatever it takes to keep him, to protect him, to make him mine. Because he is mine. . .and I am his. The thought hits me with startling clarity, cutting through the post-orgasm haze like a spotlight in darkness.

God. I didn't want it. I fought against it with everything I had, but fuck, I want to keep it. Keep this feeling of completeness. Keep these quiet moments where the world narrows down to just us, just the sound of Derrick's breathing and the weight of his body against mine. Keep this man who looks at me like I'm his entire world. Because I know now that he is mine.

TWENTY

SEBASTIAN

The puck slams off my blocker with a crack loud enough to echo. I barely have time to track it before the rebound comes flying. I drop low, twist, and deflect it with my left pad.

"Jesus," I mutter under my breath. "LA didn't come to play."

Preseason game or not, the Kings are treating this like the Cup is on the line. Hard hits, fast plays, brutal stick work. Every whistle is earned with grit and clenched teeth.

I rise to my feet in the crease, sweat trickling down my spine beneath my pads. From across the ice, I see Ridley and Tobias slam a forward against the boards. A warning check, but still aggressive. The message is clear: we aren't here to be pushed around. Tor scores with a slapshot, the puck flies between the LA goalie’s legs, mere inches away from them touching the ice. The horn blares and the fans chant their approval, but there’s barely time to celebrate with how fast this game is going.

I reset my stance, eyes locked on the puck. LA's center resets behind the net. The crowd in Seattle is loud, louder than it needs to be for a meaningless game, but then again, this city doesn’t do anything halfway. This is the first time our fans are seeing us together. The new team. The new season. Everything on the line again.

The whistle blows. Faceoff. We win possession of the puck. We move. Tobias catches the pass from Devan, skating like he has rockets strapped to his blades. I track his movement, watching how he cuts through LA's defense like they’re standing still. He is good, better than good. The fucker is brilliant on the ice.

I'd known it watching him play for Vegas, but seeing him in our colors, moving in sync with our team is something else entirely.

My focus snaps back as LA regains possession, their forward barreling toward me with murder in his eyes. I widen my stance, body coiled and ready. Time slows, as it always does in these moments. The puck left his stick, a nasty wrister aimed for the top left corner.

I snatch it out of the air like it’s nothing.

The crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers. I don’t react. Just hold the puck a moment longer than necessary, making sure the Kings forward sees it in my glove before I drop it to the ice. No celebration, no theatrics. Just cold efficiency. That’s how I roll.

"Nice fucking save, Bast!" Ridley shouts, skating past my crease to take position for the faceoff.

I breathe through it, locked in, watching, reading, reacting. In the back of my mind, even as I block and save and keep the score even, I think about the conversation we had this morning in the car.

The car ride was quiet at first.

Not tense, not awkward. Just quiet. The kind of quiet you settle into when you've been sharing space with someone long enough that silence feels like a comfort rather than a void to be filled. Derrick had one leg propped on the dash, his sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose as he scrolled through something on his phone. My playlist hummed low over the speakers, instrumental jazz with a moody undercurrent I've never actually admitted I like to anyone, not even my teammates who'd probably give me endless shit for it.

The morning sun filtered through the windshield, casting golden highlights across Derrick's dark skin. Every few minutes, he'd shift slightly, readjusting his position without ever seeming uncomfortable. He was perpetually in motion, even when sitting still. A tapping finger, a bouncing knee. Like energy was constantly flowing through him, too vibrant to be contained.

I should have been focused on tonight. First preseason game. Trial run for everyone. New lines, new chemistry, new possibilities. . .but I wasn't thinking about the puck drop or rotations or game strategy. I wasn't mentally reviewing film or visualizing saves.

I was thinking about Friday. The gallery opening. The moment everything I've been hiding for years might unravel in the space of a single breath, when my two worlds could collide with the subtlety of a freight train.

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, my knuckles whitening against the leather. My chest constricted painfully at the thought of everyone seeing, really seeing what I'd kept hidden for so long.

"You're quiet," Derrick said, not looking up from his phone, thumb still scrolling lazily across the screen. "Even for you."

"Just thinking."

He hummed, a low sound at the back of his throat. "Dangerous."

The corner of my mouth lifted despite myself. He knew me too well already, could read my silences like they were sentences spoken aloud. I switched lanes, Seattle's traffic blurred past in streaks of gray and green, the Space Needle appeared briefly in the distance before disappearing behind a cluster of high-rises. "It's the gallery. Friday."

"That's what I figured." His voice was soft, matter-of-fact, without judgment.

I exhaled through my nose, the knot in my chest tightened. My shoulders tensed beneath my jacket. "I've had weeks to sit them down. Say something. Tell them about everything. But. . ." I shook my head, frustration gnawing at me. "Tor and Alexis have baby Kodah now. Devan's barely left Lia's side since Chloe was born. Brea's back in the studio. Ridley's basically her shadow. Everyone's busy with their lives, their families."

"So are you," Derrick said quietly, finally setting his phone down in his lap. "And maybe you were never going to be ready. Some secrets get comfortable, even when they're heavy."