Page 98 of These Wicked Hearts

It’s so funny how quickly he goes from dominant to pliant. Right now, he feels small in my arms, but I know the power he has.

Especially the power he has over me.

“Do you still miss being there with them? Or have you gotten used to your new team?”

I think about this for a moment, and a soft ache settles in my chest. What’s done is done and I can’t go back. Impulse control is something I have to live with, and I made the most impulsive decision last season when I decided to leave. I remind myself why I left to begin with, though. As much as I miss them, I still stand by it. I need to figure myself out, and being around my friends who I leaned on too much was hurting me. I need to grow up. I still do, but it’s hard.

I miss drinks at a shitty bar with my friends.

I miss late-night talks around a fire with Grey.

I miss it so much.

“You okay?” I blink fast, trying to clear the burn in my eyes.

I clear my throat. “Yeah.” His fingers land on my jaw. He pulls me in for a kiss, and I feel that knot in my throat all over again. His thumb smooths along my beard as he kisses me slowly. Damn he tastes good. Sweet like mint. Warm and firm. These kisses center my mind. Better than any buzz I’ve ever had.

I break our kiss and drink in the look in his eyes.

“Your head?”

“I’m okay. No contact sports for a couple of weeks. I’ll be fine.” A thought comes to mind. The Otters play the Hawks this weekend.

“Can I ask something? You can say no if you don’t want to. No pressure.” He nods. I have no clue what I’m doing. “I think I want to go home to New Jersey. I want to show you the ice rink I used to play at. Maybe see my foster mom. Then to New York to see the Otters play.”

So I can finally talk to Grey.

His brows knit. “You were in foster care?”

“I mean like, yes and no. Yes, but like basically there was a woman and her husband who took me in um, after my birth mother couldn’t take care of me anymore.”

He nods softly.

“Why?”

He smiles sadly. “I was in foster care too.”

“Really?”

He nods.

“How long?”

“Since I was about four.” I go to ask him more, but he cuts me off. “So, like . . . you want me to meet your parents?”

I want to push, but I know him well enough now to know he’s not going to give me anything more. “No. I mean maybe. I mean kind of. Not like, seriously, but like just⁠—”

“Casually?” An amused smirk lifts his lips. “Would you like me to casually meet your adoptive parents?”

I smile. “Well, just my mom. My foster dad died a few years ago.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry.”

“And we’ll probably see my ex-girlfriend, but she’s really nice and works at the rink my mom owns. But don’t worry.”

“What would I be worried about?” He smirks.

“Nothing. I’m mean, obviously not. Why would you be jealous?” I swallow. “She’s um, a great person. So uh, would you?”