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“God were they worth it. Your mom told me I can come back after the game for more.” He wagged his brows at me, causing the scowl I was trying to give him to fall.

“You should have heard the lecture I got about not letting you eat more.” I smiled at the memory. “My mom said you’re a growing boy who needed your food. And I told her I thought the ten tacos you’d already had were probably enough.”

Laughter echoed off the tunnel, settling into a comfortable silence between us.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the party, the tickets, flying Gracie out so her annoying ass can sit right behind me at my first NHL game. I’m not even the one playing, and you made sure everyone would be here to support me.” God, did that make my heart burst for him.

“You deserve everything and more, Sunshine.” He said with a soft smile, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “I’ve got something else for you,” he said, the confidence slipping slightly, his hand coming up to scratch at his neck.

“Wait. Me first.” I really shouldn’t have eaten so much, because now, all of it was threatening to make a second appearance. I pulled a large folded jersey out of my bag that looked identical to the one he had on—hadn’t realized he’d brought spares when I threw out his other one—minus one major change.

His brows pinched together. “I don’t⁠—”

“Just look at the back.” My tone was almost harsh, but I was seconds away from puking, I was so nervous.

Dalton turned the jersey over, his fingers brushing the fabric. I watched his expression shift, curiosity giving way to disbelief as his eyes landed on the name. THATCHER stretched across the shoulders, bold and unapologetic.

His chest rose and fell, but I could see the crack in his composure, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard. When he finally lifted head, his green eyes were raw and unguarded.

“Ari...” His voice was low, thick with emotion. He looked back down at the name, his thumb tracing the stitched letters “You did this for me?”

I nodded. “You should play under the name you want, not the one your dad forced you to.”

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he closed the space between us in two steps, pulling me into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around me, his face buried in my hair. I felt the deep, shuddering breath he took, the tremor in his hold as he tried to keep himself together.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “No idea what this means to me.”

Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I held them back, pressing my palms against his chest.

“Can you take a picture of me in it on the ice? I want to send it to my mom, she’s going to love it.” He chuckled. “We are probably going to have to have a fan jersey made for her. And darlin’, when we get back, will you come to family dinner with me to meet her?” he asked, gripping my chin.

My heart stuttered in my chest. “Of course. I mean, it only seems fair since you just endured meeting five hundred of my family members.”

“And I can’t wait to be around them again,” he said smiling, before it fell slightly, replaced by a nervous expression. “It looks like we had the same idea for a first game present.” He pulled a swath of navy fabric from behind his back, handing it to me. Flashes of what looked like orange stitching on the back caught my attention as I unfolded it.

“You know, I’m glad I moved you into my bedroom, because planning surprises is a lot easier when your girlfriend’s clothes are hanging in your closet.” The nerves were clear in his voice, and it took me a moment to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

But it all clicked when I unfolded a suit jacket. Orange embroidery matching the color and number on his jersey stared back at me.

55.

“I told you I’d find another way to see my number on your back.” There was no missing the hint of possessiveness when he spoke. It rolled over me like a caress. “If you don’t like it, you don’t ha⁠—”

I cut him off, lunging at him and wrapping my arms around his neck. The hard planes of his gear bit into my skin, but I didn’t care.

“Woah, there, Ari. In skates here,” he laughed, catching me around the waist, his shoulder colliding with the cinderblock wall.

“I love it.” I love you.

“Really? Because it was a fifty-fifty shot of you reacting like this or telling me off at the idea of being marked by me.”

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. The kiss was slow and deliberate, like we had all the time in the world, like he wanted to savor every second. His hands on my waist tightened, pulling me closer, and I melted against him, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

The roar of the arena preparing for the game seemed distant, muffled by the rush of blood in my ears and the way Dalton’s lips moved against mine.