36. Thirty-six
Thirty-six
Max
W e waited for Jerke to leave. Arne said nothing and looked so thoroughly downcast that I held him back without a word.
I shut the door after our coach and turned around. Before he could get out the first of the hundred apologies I knew he wanted to give me, I slung my arms around him and gave him a chaste kiss instead. Then I brushed the tears off his bearded cheeks.
“What? I’m not crying because I lost my captaincy. I’m crying because I am a horrible person. I don’t even deserve to have you look at me.”
“Shut up,” I chuckled. “Baby, listen. It’s not you who is horrible. They took a video of us without permission and plastered it on their ArgoS. I want to see if we can connect them with any ticket accounts. I don’t want them at the rink when they invade our privacy and hurt you like that.” The last words came out in a low, distorted snarl.
Arne gaped at me.
“What?”
“God, it’s so hot when you get all protective.” He huffed, rubbing a hand over his neck.
My face slipped into a smirk, the shadows dancing around me. “Well, I protect what’s mine.” A shadowy tendril reached out to brush his throat and up to his lips.
Cheeky little fucker.
“Let’s go see Finn, and then let me take you home,” he rasped, Adam’s apple bobbing under my touch. Then Arne stepped nearer, palming my face. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and kissed me gently on the lips.
We left the room hand in hand, his thumb rubbing circles over my knuckles.
“Shit, Arne!” Decks waited outside for us, looking pale and uncomfortable. “I—”
“I know you didn’t ask for this, Nate. But I’m glad you got it, Captain.” He offered him his free hand and Decks shook it.
“Shit. I’m still sorry.”
“We’ll be okay,” I assured him, squeezing my man’s hand.