Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
AJ
W ith forty-eight seconds left in Game 6, we’re tied 1-1. Hartmann’s exuding shitloads of nervous energy in the crease, and I’m sitting up in the luxury box with his family and some of the WAGs, wondering if he needs to be pulled. I took a big risk bringing him to Boston against his father’s wishes. I know he’s going to be a great goalie one day, but I fear that today might not be that day.
Relax , I remind myself. Trust the process.
I’ve hired the best coaches and players I could, and now I need to trust them to do their jobs like they’ve trusted me to do mine.
Next to me, Frank’s hand finds mine, and he squeezes. I look down and see that his other hand is holding his wife’s, so with my opposite hand, I grasp Marissa Walsh’s since she’s next to me. I know what it would mean to her to see her husband go to the finals again. She lives and breathes hockey and has been one of the most avid supporters of this team through the years. She squeezes back, and looking down, I watch her grab a hold of Audrey’s hand, who grabs Jules’s, until we’re a united line standing at the front of this luxury box.
I take a deep breath as one of Philly’s forwards, Mackenzie, takes a shot. It goes wide, and Zach snags the puck before he’s checked into the glass. He doesn’t go down, though. Instead, he bounces back and elbows Mackenzie off him, gaining control of the puck and passing it up to Walsh, who somehow manages a breakaway.
We’re yelling and screaming as he speeds up the ice, across the blue line, with two of Philly’s players trying their best to catch up. The nerves have my stomach in knots as their goalie moves up to challenge Walsh, but he quickly slaps the puck between the goalie’s legs and our fans erupt when the puck meets the back of the net. The home crowd is booing loudly as we hold our arms up in celebration, our hands still connected, cheering our team on.
Twenty-three seconds left. Two shots on Hartmann, both deflected. And then the final buzzer sounds to end the game, and our players fill the ice while Philly’s fans stand there, stunned. After coming on so strong in the first two games, they just lost four in a row to send us to the finals. It’s the most satisfying, perfect end to this series and I could not be more ecstatic.
Everyone in our suite is jumping around and hugging each other, and all I want to do is get down there and congratulate our players, so I slip out through the throng of people celebrating, thanking everyone who congratulates me. And then I’m running toward the one elevator that will take me down to ice level, flashing my badge at the security guard, and impatiently tapping my foot as I wait for the doors to open.
Jules
AJ, you’re coming out with us tonight, right?
Normally after an away game, especially one so close to home, we’d be on a plane home immediately. But tonight, we’re staying over. Given the importance of this game and the likelihood that it would be the one to send us to the finals, combined with most players’ wives and girlfriends being here, the team needed a night of celebration. Our flight tomorrow morning isn’t even at the crack of dawn, like they often are.
AJ
Thank you for the invite, but I don’t normally do things outside of work with the guys. It feels inappropriate.
I laugh to myself when I think about all the inappropriate things I’ve gotten up to with McCabe recently. Jules and Audrey are going to give me so much shit when they find out. I’m actually kind of looking forward to that. It’s nice to have women in my life who aren’t intimidated by me, who treat me like a friend, instead of like their boss.
Jules
But you came out to the Neon Cactus with us a couple weeks ago.
AJ
That was different. The team kind of insisted I come out to celebrate my award nomination.
I try not to think about how everything would be so much easier if that award wasn’t a thing. Two more weeks, at the most. You can do it, I tell myself.
Audrey
It’s Marissa’s birthday. Maybe you can come out for one drink to celebrate?
AJ
Shit. I wish you’d told me that before I sat next to her for half the game!
How did I not know? I’m so good about things like that. Except lately, my free time has been spent with McCabe, not planning out ways to make sure my players and families know I care about them. I wonder if they’ve noticed the difference.
Jules
You could just come tell her happy birthday in person
AJ
Well now I feel like I have to!
Jules
Yes!!! My work here is done. Here’s where we’re going . . .
A link appears on my screen, taking me to the map app that shows a bar only a few blocks away from the arena.
The elevator doors open, but by the time I make it down through the tunnel and to the ice, our players are heading out of the box and toward the locker room. Sweat drips off them as they carry their sticks, and I congratulate each and every one of them as they pass, giving fist bumps and high fives to the guys who offer them up first.
McCabe is the last one out of the box—the captain who refuses to leave anyone behind. When his head snaps up and he sees me standing there, his pupils dilate until his bright eyes are practically black. The look of hunger on his face has butterflies swooshing through my belly.
“AJ.” My name is a low growl leaving his lips as he nods his head at me. I’m sure he’s trying to sound professional, but his gravelly voice scrapes along my skin until I’m certain I’m wearing my desire all over my face.
When he steps past me, Charlie Wilcott is right behind him. And his confused expression tells me he didn’t miss the way I was looking at his star player.
“Congrats on the win, Coach.” I fake a lightness I don’t feel now that my heart is pounding, wondering what he might think about that look he just saw.
“Thanks.” Charlie’s words are gruffer than normal.
“I saw that Evangeline and her partner came in third at that competition in Europe last week.” I fall into step next to him, trying to distract him by talking about one of his favorite topics: his daughter, who is a pairs figure skater gunning for a second Olympic appearance.
“Sure did,” he says, his face lighting up.
“That Olympic run is looking more and more likely.”
“Yeah, she was disappointed that the other US pair competing ranked higher than them, though,” he tells me. “She said she wasn’t feeling quite right, and changed a double to a single in their routine, which lost them some points. She seems tired, and I worry that the constant travel and competition are taking a toll. I’m glad she’ll be home for a bit this summer before next season’s competitions start back up.”
I know exactly what he means. “I think we can all use the break,” I say. “But first, congrats, Coach. The Stanley Cup Finals...you don’t get there every year.”
“Sure don’t,” he says, lifting his chin. “Congrats to you, too. Wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for you.”
“It’s a true team effort.” I hate how cheesy it sounds, but it’s true. This team, and the year we’ve had, wouldn’t have been possible if everyone wasn’t giving their all.
I skip the locker room because I don’t trust myself to see McCabe with no clothes on. Funny how I’ve never had a problem standing in a locker room full of mostly naked men, until now, when one of them is mine.
My heart skips a beat at that word. Mine . But he is, isn’t he? Just like I’m his.
And I really like this for us.
“ W hat do you mean, you used to work together?” Jules screeches, her eyes huge as she looks back and forth between McCabe and me, where he stands ten feet from us, talking to Drew and Colt.
I let out a small laugh, hoping it doesn’t clue her in that this conversation is making me nervous.
“Yeah, I recruited him when I was a scout in St. Louis, before I became the assistant GM there.”
“And then?” Audrey asks.
“And then he played there for two years before he got traded to Boston, and a couple years later, I took the GM position here.”
Jules nods, like she’s following, but she’s narrowed her eyes at me. “I thought Colt said there was some sort of bad blood between you two? But it doesn’t seem like there is.”
“There was,” I tell her, wishing I could confide in Jules and Audrey the way I confided in Lauren. But for now, the fewer people who know, the better—just until the season is over. “But we cleared up a little miscommunication about his trade, and things have been better since.”
I really need to tell him the full truth about how that trade went down, but I’m already afraid of how he’ll react when we play St. Louis next week and he sees Chet for the first time since beating the shit out of him.
It’s going to be hard enough to keep our relationship a secret. Knowing that there’s even more to the story would make it impossible—there’s no way he wouldn’t react if he knew how Chet actually forced me into the trade. And if things between them turned violent again, that would be the worst possible scenario. I will prevent that, at any cost.
I’ll tell him the rest of the story as soon as the playoffs are over—hopefully after he’s held the Stanley Cup above his head and taken a victory lap around the ice, for the second time in his career.
He’ll understand why I waited.
“Hey,” Drew says, sidling up next to Audrey and snaking his arm around her waist as he pulls her into his chest. “Our table’s ready.”
An hour later, our group has polished off three bottles of champagne. I’m still sipping my second glass, and next to me, Ronan hasn’t finished his second beer. It’s an unspoken agreement that we’re keeping our drinking moderate, because we don’t want to waste tonight’s precious alone time. In fact, the only ones drinking heavily are Luke Hartmann and the birthday girl, Marissa Walsh. She’s pretty drunk, probably from the birthday shots she did with some of the guys when we first got here.
Beneath the table, Ronan squeezes my knee, and it’s so unexpected that I inadvertently flinch. I glance over at him as he leans toward me, then tilt my head toward him so he can speak directly in my ear.
“So...St. Louis for the finals. This mean you’re definitely going to that gala?”
“I guess it does.”
“It would be a shame not to see you in that dress again,” he says, dragging his fingers up the inside of my leg while memories of the way he looked at me when I walked out of the dressing room last time we were in Philly float through my mind. The hunger...there’s always hunger in the way he looks at me. My eyes flick up to his, and sure enough, he wants to devour me.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Can’t help it,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his. “And stop changing the subject.”
“You can’t come with me to the gala, Ronan. It would be a disaster.”
“Why?” His fingers creep up my thigh until they’re almost at the apex of my thighs. I swat his hand away. The last thing I need is Audrey, who’s on the other side of me, to look down and see his hand.
“You know why. Let’s just get through the finals and then?—”
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Colt calls out, and Jules elbows him in the side, which doesn’t even phase him. He just sits there, smirking at us, like he knows exactly what’s going on. Shit.
“AJ’s going to some big fundraising gala when we’re in St. Louis next weekend,” McCabe says casually before I can chime in. “Her ex is going to be there, so I was saying she should have some of us come along with her.”
“Why?” Zach asks, concern in his voice. “You need protection or something?”
My laugh comes out like a snort as I wave him off. “No, I’m fine. McCabe is just overreacting.”
“Actually,” Jules says, head tilted as she looks at me, “I think it’s a good idea. If your ex is going to be there, why wouldn’t you want people there in your corner?”
“Because we’re not going to be boxing?”
“You know what I mean,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “For emotional support.”
I look around the table, about to make a joke about not bringing hockey players to a black-tie event for emotional support. But all the guys are staring back at me, jaws tight, nodding their heads like the decision is already made.
They want to be there for me.
The realization hits me so hard that I tear up. They know I have their backs, and they want to have mine too.
“I mean, I do still have five seats at my table.” I let the admission slip out, even though I hadn’t intended to say anything.
“I’ll take one,” McCabe says next to me, and gives my knee another secretly supportive squeeze.
“I will too,” Colt says.
“Me too,” Drew adds.
“Me three. Or four?” Luke adds. “Haven’t gotten to dust off my tux in at least a month.”
“Having to dress up in a monkey suit for some fancy event is not the motivation here,” Zach says with a sigh. “But I’ll take the last seat.”
“Who else is going?” Luke asks.
“Wilcott and his wife. And your parents.”
He leans back and tilts his head so it rests against the back of the booth, letting out a big sigh. “I didn’t know I was signing up to hang out with my parents,” he groans. “Walsh, take my spot instead?”
“No can do,” Walsh tells him. “Marissa’s coming out with the kids for the first two games.”
“I suuure am,” she slurs, reaching her head up to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He just laughs and shakes his head as he looks down at her fondly.
“Besides, you have the best parents,” I remind Luke.
“You just think that because they’re not your parents.”
“I think that because they’re awesome.” I want to tell him a bit about my parents so maybe he’ll appreciate his own, but I’m aware enough to realize that I have no idea what his childhood was like any more than he knows what mine was like.
“You only think they’re awesome because you don’t have to see your nearly seventy-year-old dad making out with your mom every chance he gets.”
I laugh. “There are way worse problems than your parents being married for almost forty years and still being very much in love.”
“Well,” McCabe says next to me with a chuckle, “this is going to be fun.”
Fun is not the word I’d use to describe how I’m feeling about this event. However, now that I know they’re all coming with me, I feel slightly less sick to my stomach about having to go.
“ I ’m never . . . wearing . . . a dress . . . again.” The words leave my lips on ragged breaths between kisses where McCabe has me pushed up against the door of my hotel room.
The way he fingered me in the back of the cab on the way to the hotel, bringing me almost to orgasm, then pulling out right as we arrived at our destination, has me desperate for release.
This is a dangerous game we’re playing, making out in the back of a cab and sneaking around in the hotel when we could easily be caught. Thankfully, I gave him my second room key before we got out of the car, and we headed up separately, both managing to make it here without anyone seeing us. Whether he can get out of here tomorrow morning without getting caught remains to be seen.
“I love you in a dress,” he says, pulling back to look down at me. The pure need I see in his eyes has me clenching my thighs. “Easy access to your pussy is my favorite thing. The way you were dripping all over my hand”—he licks his lips—“I just want to taste you now.”
He drops to his knees, sliding his hands along my thighs, up and under my dress, then pulling my thong down my legs so I can step out of it. Pushing my dress up to my hips, he loops one arm inside my thigh and brings my leg up so my calf is resting on his shoulder. Then he leans in and breathes deeply, the act making me whimper. “God, the fucking scent of you,” he all but growls. “You smell like sex. Like you can’t wait for me to make you come.”
“I can’t.” I’m so turned on, I’m having trouble catching my breath. “I need you.”
“I need you too,” he says, those green eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Not just like this, Alessandra. I need you in every way. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know what I would do without you in my life.”
I stare down at him, on his knees before me, thinking that it’s too soon to feel that way, that we don’t know each other well enough yet. But even though I keep telling myself this, the truth is, I feel the same. I don’t want to go back to my lonely existence, where I used work as an excuse to avoid relationships.
“This . . . with you . . . it just feels right. It feels like this was meant to be,” I tell him.
He lifts my leg as he shrugs out of his suit coat, tossing it to the side before leaning in, running his tongue from the bottom of my slit, all the way through my center, and up to my clit, where he circles it before looking up at me again as I moan. “Maybe this was meant to be. We met at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. We should never have ended up here, together.” He presses another kiss to my clit. “And yet we did. Because this is where we were always meant to be.”
I thread my fingers through his dark hair, wishing this cast was coming off soon but knowing I still have weeks of wearing it. “Yes,” I say as he brings his face back to me, licking and sucking until I’m panting his name.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he demands, as he slips two fingers inside me and curls them up to hit the place he knows will bring me to orgasm.
“I’m yours,” I say effortlessly, my hips pressing forward to meet his fingers as I try to increase the pressure of his tongue on my clit.
He pulls back long enough to say, “Promise me.” And then he’s licking and sucking and bringing me right to the edge of release. My jaw hangs open, and I’m gasping for air, incapable of speaking, so he stops right as I’m about to come.
“Promise me,” he grinds out, the words sounding like he’s in pain. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“I promise,” I assure him on a shaky exhale. And then waves of pleasure ripple through me as he brings me right over the precipice, and I cry out incoherent promises of forever as lightning runs through my veins and every part of me lights up like I’m on fire.
I collapse forward, catching myself with my good hand on his shoulder, but he’s standing, picking me up and carrying me into the room in the next second. My mind dazed and my limbs weak, I melt against him, kissing his neck along the way. Putting me back on my feet at the end of the bed, he turns me around and unzips my dress, letting it drop, and then unhooks my bra, tossing it to the side so I’m standing naked before him.
His clothes are off just as quickly, and he fists himself, his cock huge and hard in his grip. I pull my lower lip between my teeth as I look down at it.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he tells me.
“W-what?” It’s a strangled gasp, and my core aches in response.
“That’s not what this is between us,” he says, bringing both his hands to my neck and running his thumbs along my jaw as he holds my gaze. “Every time I’m with you, it feels less and less like fucking, and more and more like...I don’t know. I want to make love to you.”
“Is there a difference?” I ask, attempting a flippant tone as I try to keep that last, thinning wall around my heart, even as I wonder why I bother. He’s so ingrained into my soul at this point, I don’t think I could live without him. I couldn’t protect myself from getting hurt now if I tried, and I’m pretty sure there’s no need to keep trying.
“You tell me. You just came apart on my tongue and told me this was forever.”
I did?
“Ronan,” I whisper as my chest tightens. I have so many emotions rushing through me as I bask in his adoration.
After my failed marriage, I never thought I’d say “forever” again.But, I’m ready to say it now. Things with him are different than anything I’ve ever experienced—the closeness, the intimacy, his protective instincts.
He’s my person, the one who would do anything for me. I was ready to go public with our relationship days ago, just so he didn’t feel like some secret I was hiding.
I’d take the fallout. I’d lose the award I’ve worked my whole career for. I’d do it for him, and I’d do it without any regrets. Because he’s worth it.
“Yes?” He smirks down at me.
With my heart racing, I reach out, stroking him in my good hand. “I need you inside me. I need to feel how only you can make me feel. And I need you to promise me that you’re in this for good, too.”
“Oh, Sunshine...” Picking me up with both arms, he puts a knee on the bed and leans down to lay me out below him. “I’ve never not wanted you. I’ve just been waiting for you to want me, too.”
“Wanting me,” I tell him, before sucking in a sharp breath when his lips meet my nipple, “is not the same as wanting forever.”
He hums a disapproving sound, and the vibrations send shockwaves through my body.
“With you, it is,” he says, and something about the simplicity of his words has me melting. He plants an elbow next to my head as he slides into me, bringing his lips to meet mine. And as I wrap my legs around his hips and thread my fingers into his hair, nothing has ever felt so right. The way our bodies fit together perfectly, the way he takes care of me physically and emotionally, the way my body feels as he slams into me over and over leaving me panting with need. It’s exactly what I need.
He is exactly what I need.
The fact that the sex is so good, that he has me coming again in a matter of minutes, has more admissions of my feelings tumbling out as the pleasure overtakes my senses. No matter how good it is, I could live without the sex. But I’m not sure I could live without him .