Chapter twenty-three #3
The handshake line formed. I watched Dante shake hands with Chicago’s players, watched him reach Antoine and offer his glove. Antoine stared at him for a long moment, and I saw something complicated cross his face—anger, resentment, maybe a little bit of respect he didn’t want to admit to.
Then he took Dante’s hand and said something I couldn’t hear. Dante nodded once and moved on.
I met Chicago’s coach at center ice. We shook hands, exchanged the requisite pleasantries, and then I was walking toward our dressing room where I could already hear music starting and voices rising in celebration.
Max caught me at the door. “Hell of a game, Coach.”
“Yep,” I said, and meant it. “Good adjustments in the second.”
The dressing room was chaos—the good kind. Music blasting, guys shouting, Ash already on his phone with someone. I let them have it for a few minutes, let them celebrate, before I stepped back out into the corridor to catch my breath.
My phone buzzed. A text from Ignatius: Celebration at the team hotel. Everyone invited. Spouses, families that are here. I’ve already invited the Russos.
I stared at the message, something warm settling in my chest. Ignatius didn’t do things halfway. I was pretty sure he would be involved in whatever the council decided to do about Odin’s business, the uranium, and I knew he’d make sure all the employees—especially Nicky—were taken care of.
I texted back: Thank you.
His response was immediate: You just concentrate on the second round. Yeah, because we had another seven games against whoever won tomorrow between Edmonton and Vegas.
I smiled despite myself and pocketed my phone.
Through the doorway, I could see Dante in the middle of the chaos, his hair wet from the shower he must have taken while I was out here, that black eye still prominent but his smile wide and genuine.
Cole said something to him that made him laugh, and the sound of it went straight through me.
Mine, my dragon rumbled again, possessive and satisfied.
I needed to touch him. Needed it with an intensity that was probably irrational given that I’d been holding him less than three hours ago, but the mate bond was newly sealed and demanding, and watching him out there tonight—brave and brilliant and completely unaware of how extraordinary he was—had left me raw.
I caught his eye across the room and tilted my head slightly toward the corridor. He understood immediately, his expression shifting into something more careful, more professional. He said something to Cole, grabbed his jacket, and made his way through the celebration toward me.
“Coach?” he said when he reached me, his voice pitched loud enough for anyone paying attention. “Did you need something?”
“Conference room,” I said, already turning. “Few things to discuss about the next round.”
He followed me down the corridor, past the equipment room and the Chicago training facilities, until we reached one of the small conference rooms the arena kept for visiting teams. I opened the door, ushered him inside, and locked it behind us.
The second the lock clicked, I had him against the wall.
“Theron—” he started, but I swallowed the rest of his words with my mouth.
I kissed him like I’d been thinking about doing since he skated out to warm up, since he was too fast for the bullies out there, since he’d used the hip move I’d taught him to leave Antoine sprawling on the ice, and since he’d suited up with a black eye and bruises and played the best hockey of his life.
I kissed him because I thought I’d been dying in that chamber and he’d been the only thing keeping me alive.
He made a sound against my mouth—surprised, pleased, desperate—and his hands came up to fist in my jacket. His lips were still a little chapped from the mouthguard, and when I pulled back to look at him, his good eye was dark and glazed and his breathing was unsteady.
“That’s what you wanted to discuss?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Among other things.” I traced my thumb along his jaw, careful of the bruising. “You were incredible out there.”
“I learned from a good coach.”
“You embarrassed Antoine.”
“He embarrassed himself.” Dante’s smile was sharp. “I just helped.”
I kissed him again, softer this time, trying to pour everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips against his. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for being alive.
“Ignatius is throwing a party,” I said when I finally pulled back. “Your family’s invited.”
He grinned. “I could practically hear my mom screaming from the VIP box.” Dante’s hands were still fisted in my jacket. “They’re going to have so many questions. My ma’s going to take one look at me and lose her mind.”
I pressed my forehead to his. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from that. From any of it.”
“You saved my life.”
“You saved mine first. Told me it was a trap.”
He rolled his eyes. “Like you didn’t know.” Then he paused. “I can’t wait to get home. I have so many questions.”
“I’m going to explain everything. Show you everything. But right now, we have a party to get to, and your family to spend time with, and probably about a hundred questions from everyone.”
Dante leaned in and kissed me again. “I want to see everyone, but I want to go home.”
“I’m sure Ignatius will have a couple of spare seats on his plane tonight. After all, you were hurt, and as your coach, it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re okay.”
And I intended on doing a very thorough physical examination later.