Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
I’m halfway through the trip. Five days left. And I have the same problem I did on the day I left: I miss Summer.
The ache seems to grow day by day.
I flip onto my side, then flop onto my back, blinking into the dark. I give up on falling asleep anytime soon and tap on the bedside lamp.
My hotel room in Edmonton is identical to every other hotel room I’ve stayed in. Generic art on the walls. Blackout curtains that don’t quite block out the light. A bed that’s fine, but not mine.
Except this one is in the city where I used to play.
I saw her today.
Vanessa.
Just for a passing second, in the hallway after the game against Finland. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her over the years, but I didn’t expect her to be here. She works for the Edmonton Rogues, and this event is a league-wide tournament.
This was the first time that seeing her felt different.
I felt… nothing.
Well, not nothing. But not what I expected. Not that hollow ache that’s lived in my chest for five years. No hit of adrenaline. No punch to the chest. Just… a blank space where it used to hurt.
She’s still the same. Still works the same job. Still looks the same. Smiles that same smile.
Have I changed?
I think so. I’m just not sure when it happened. Maybe when I left Edmonton. Or when Vanessa left me. Maybe when I met Summer. Probably somewhere in between.
It’s not just one moment. It’s a slow shift you don’t notice until you’re standing on the other side of it and realize everything is different.
I barely recognize the old me anymore.
When I saw Vanessa, we exchanged a wave from down the hall, and all I could think about was what Summer said about being in love: I thought I was, but now I’m not so sure.
I know I loved Vanessa when we were together, but I don’t think that version of me exists anymore. It’s strange how you can feel so deeply for someone and still end up strangers. And maybe that’s not always a bad thing.
But my stomach sinks at the thought of that separation happening with Summer. How long after she leaves? How long would it take for her to stop feeling like an integral part of me?
I don’t want to think about it.
My phone sits on the nightstand, screen dark. It’s almost midnight here, which makes it nearly one in Chicago. She’s probably asleep.
I reach for it, anyway, pull up her contact, and press FaceTime.
The call rings three times. I’m about to hang up when she answers.
“Miles?” Her voice is soft; she’s definitely in bed. I can barely make out her face in the dark room.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No.” The sheets rustle as she sits up, then a light clicks on. She’s in my bed—or is it ours now? Either way, she looks good in it.
“Everything okay?” She adjusts the phone, bringing her face a little closer to the screen.
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Sorry for calling so late.”
We’ve fallen into a routine of talking every night when I’m on the road. It grounds me in the same way her pre-game texts do. She hasn’t missed one. But I already spoke to her earlier, and I’m not in the habit of bugging her multiple times a night.
She props the phone against a pillow and snuggles into the bed. It’s the same view I’d have if I were home, lying next to her. “Why’re you still up?”
Because I can’t sleep. Because I keep thinking about you. Because I’m in a hotel room, and all I want is to be home.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” I hear Grace purring in the background. “Gracie says hi. She’s very upset you’re not here.”
“Just Grace?” A smile tugs at my lips, and at Summer’s shrug, I add, “Tell her I’ll be home soon.”
“She’s not impressed.”
We fall into silence, but it’s comfortable. Just her breathing on the other end of the line.
“How was the studio today?” I never got a chance to ask her earlier.
“Better, actually.” There’s something different in her voice, not quite excitement, but close. “We still have some tough days, but for the most part, things are falling into place, I think.”
After seeing her struggle those first weeks, hearing that confidence in her voice makes me breathe a little easier. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I was working on something new tonight, actually. Just a melody, no lyrics yet.”
“I wanna hear it.”
“Maybe when it’s done.” She shifts, and I get a glimpse of the shirt she’s wearing. Mine.
Is she wearing anything underneath? I can’t help but imagine her in my bed—
“I thought Easton was dragging you out?” she interrupts the direction of my thoughts.
“He did. I lasted maybe an hour before coming back to the hotel.”
What color are her panties? Is she even wearing any? I thankfully filter that thought, keeping it to myself. But blood still rushes south. “I wish I were there.”
She smiles. “Me, too.”
“Are you wearing anything under my shirt, Starling?” So, not all my thoughts can be filtered, apparently.
I slip my hand beneath my boxer-briefs and give myself a slow stroke.
“Miles King,” she drawls, thickening her accent and exaggeratedly clutching her chest. “Are you trying to have phone sex with me?”
“I think it’d technically be video sex.”
“We haven’t done that.” Her eyes flick past me.
“Oh, we don’t have to—”
“It’s not that,” she cuts me off. “I just didn’t know…”
She trails off, but I wait. Her posture straightens, even though she’s lying down. I’m not sure what I’m expecting her to say, but it’s not: “I guess I’m asking if you’ve been with other people—when you’re on the road. I thought—”
My bark of laughter halts her words, and when I refocus on her through the screen, her expression tells me that was not the right response. “Christ, you’re serious.”
I sit straight, bringing the phone closer. “You think I’ve hooked up with other people?”
Her shoulders lift. “Well, I didn’t want to jump to any—”
“No. I’m not touching anyone else. I haven’t since our first night together.” I haven’t wanted to. The thought never crossed my mind, and thinking about it now makes me feel vaguely sick.
I can’t fault her for asking. We’ve never talked about it; I just assumed it was obvious. But I’m sure she’s heard about my reputation from Mia. Hooking up on the road and at home was a regular occurrence before, but I can’t think of anything I want less now.
Her throat bobs. “Oh.”
I hold her gaze through the screen. “While we’re doing this, it’s only you. No one else.”
She watches me for a second longer, then she nods once. “Okay.” She places the phone on the nightstand, so I can see her face, down to her thighs. “In that case, I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
I slump back onto the bed with a groan. “Show me.”
She bites her lip, hesitating. Then she pulls my T-shirt up, slowly, so goddamned slowly, until it’s rucked up around her waist. And yeah, she wasn’t lying.
My cock pulses in my hand, and I squeeze the base before giving myself another stroke. “Fuck, Summer.”
“Your turn.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I shove my boxers down and wrap my hand around my length.
Her breath catches, her hand skimming up her side before disappearing under her shirt to cup her breast.
“Let me see all of you, baby.”
She removes the shirt, and then she’s naked in my bed. Her nipples pebble. She sucks a finger into her mouth. And fuck, my movement picks up without my permission, imagining it’s my cock surrounded by that wet warmth. She pulls it out with a wet pop, circles one nipple with it, then the other.
I spit into my hand and return it to my dick.
“Are you wet for me? Touch yourself and tell me.”
She does. Her fingers disappear between her thighs as she moans. I can’t look away, don’t want to blink, stroking myself in time with her movements, wishing it was my hand instead of hers.
“I hate that I can’t touch you.”
“Tell me what to do,” she gasps.
“Slow. I want you to go slow.” I adjust my grip, matching my own pace to what I’m asking of her. “Circle your clit.”
She whimpers, her hips lifting off the bed.
“That’s it, honey. Just like that. Wish I was there to taste you.”
“Me too,” she pants.
“Imagine it’s my tongue instead of your fingers. If I were there, I’d fuck you with it, lick you clean.”
Her hand moves faster.
“Slow down,” I say through clenched teeth, fighting my own need. “Not yet.”
She moans in frustration but obeys.
“Good girl. Now, slide a finger inside. Tell me how wet you are.”
“Dripping,” she breathes. “God, I need—”
“How tight is your cunt around your finger, baby?”
Her gaze meets mine through the screen, and she mumbles something incoherent.
“I know what you need. Add another finger. Fuck yourself with them.”
Her back arches, her fingers work. And it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“How do you feel?”
More words leave her mouth, but now they’re muffled by the pillow.
I speed up my own movements. “I want to watch you come apart. What do you need?”
“Tell me—” she manages through a hitched breath.
My girl loves to fucking please.
Precum gathers at my tip and slides down my length.
“Come for me, honey.”
She does, my name torn from her lungs, and I follow seconds after.
We both lie there, trying to catch our breath. She blinks, her gaze back on me. Then she smiles.
I shake my head. “You’re something else.”
“Something good?” she echoes the question she asked on our first night together.
Back then, I said, “We’ll see,” but now there’s no question. “The best.”
I close my eyes, picturing her curled up in my bed, Grace tucked against her side. Me beside them.
“How many more days?” she whispers around a yawn.
“Five. I’ll be back in Chicago on the twenty-sixth.”
She tucks one hand under her cheek. “That’s forever.”
“I know.”
“Hockey players travel a lot.”
“We do.” I pause. “Country music stars, too.”
“Yeah,” she finally says, voice quiet. Then murmurs words I don’t quite catch that sound like, “we’ll make it work.”
When I ask her to repeat herself, she waves me off, rubbing at her eyes.
A beat passes, then she blinks at me, only slightly more awake. “How’s it being back on your old stomping grounds?”
“Weird.” I shift the phone. “I played here for four years. Used to know every corner of that building.”
“Does it still feel like home?”
“No.” The word comes out easily. “Hasn’t in a long time.”
Her eyes close, but she murmurs, “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah. It is.”
More silence. Only her breathing fills the line—even puffs getting slower.
“Summer?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You falling asleep on me?”
“Little bit.” She yawns again. “Sorry. Keep talking.”
I’m not ready to hang up, so I ramble on about nothing. The games. Our upcoming schedule. How I want to take her skating on the pond again. How she should do another open mic night. I ask her if she knows when she’ll record with Cash, but there’s no response.
Her breathing is deep and steady, eyes closed.
“Starling?”
No answer.
I should hang up. Let her sleep.
Instead, I listen. To her breathing. To Grace’s steady purr. To the sound of home playing through my phone from a thousand miles away.
The truth clicks into place.
As much as I hoped we could be a clean, controlled temporary thing.
We never will be.
We’re a wildfire, already too far gone to contain.
The old ache, the one Vanessa left in her wake, that I thought I’d carry forever, is gone. But this—
This one is going to follow me.
I listen to her sleep for another ten minutes before I finally hang up.
Then I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and wonder how the hell I’m ever going to be able to let her go.