Chapter 28
Nick
Afterward, Kennedy lay curled against me, her head resting on my chest like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.
The chaos in my mind—the pressure, the fury, the helplessness—quieted the second she let herself fall into me. Into this. Into us. It felt like I could finally fucking breathe again.
I let my fingers drift along the curve of her spine, slow and aimless, just needing the feel of her against me.
Her skin was soft, warm, grounding. I looked down at her—hair a mess, lips still kissed-red, that post-storm glow in her cheeks—and it hit me all over again: this woman had been in my head for months.
And now? She was here. Real. Tangled up in my sheets and in my life.
I could’ve stayed like that forever.
“Next time,” I said, my voice low but firm, “you tell me.”
She didn’t answer right away, just shifted slightly against me. I waited, needing her to hear me. Needing her to get it.
“I don’t care if the world’s burning—I want to burn with you.”
She looked up, those brown eyes locking on mine like they always did—sharp and soft all at once. I saw the hesitation there. The fear. The weight of everything we hadn’t said. But then it faded, and she nodded, just once.
“Okay,” she whispered.
That one word hit me harder than any slapshot ever could.
She’d chosen me. Not just in bed—but in this. In the wreckage and the mess and the fallout.
Relief and protectiveness warred in my chest. I wanted to keep her like this—safe, quiet, mine. But the world outside hadn’t changed. The headlines would still twist the truth. Gary’s shadow still stretched long. And none of that vanished just because we’d torn down every wall between us tonight.
I kissed her forehead, slow and lingering, trying to hold onto the calm before everything outside found its way back in. My arms tightened around her.
She shifted again, her voice soft. “What are you thinking?”
I hesitated, then gave her the truth—well, most of it.
“Just… how far we’ve come,” I said, keeping my voice even. “And how far we still have to go.”
She lifted her head enough to look at me fully, her brows drawn tight with worry. “We’ll figure it out together.”
Her voice steadied me more than I’d expected. Just that one word—together—and something in me clicked back into place.
We’d already weathered so much. This? We could face it too. I believed that.
Still… some part of me couldn’t relax. Not fully. Not yet.
“Yeah,” I murmured, eyes locked on hers. “Together.”
She settled against me, soft and warm, and for a moment the world quieted. I let myself imagine it—what it would be like when this was all behind us. No reporters camped outside. No whispers in locker rooms. No Gary casting a shadow over every breath she took. Just… us.
But that fantasy cracked as fast as it formed. Reality had sharp edges. And Gary? He wasn’t done. I could feel it like a cold current under my skin.
He’d already hurt her once. Manipulated her. Watched her fall apart and smiled through it. If he even thought about trying again…
No. I wouldn’t let it happen.
I tightened my hold on her, my hand spreading across her back like I could shield her from everything.
She deserved peace. Not this media circus. Not to live in fear of what might crawl out of her past next.
I’d carry the weight. I’d fight the battles. I’d take the hits.
Because she was worth every fucking one of them.
As long as we were in this together, I’d keep her safe.
And if the world tried to tear us down?
Then let it burn.
We’d burn brighter.
I woke to the muted sounds of the city drifting in through the window—distant traffic, the occasional honk, the subtle hum of life moving on outside.
Sunlight stretched across the bed in soft gold, warm and quiet.
Kennedy was still asleep beside me, curled into the pillow, her lashes brushing her cheeks and my shirt riding up over her hips.
She looked wrecked in the best way—peaceful, undone, and mine.
For a second, I just watched her. Memorized the shape of her. Burned it into my brain.
But morning skate didn’t care how good last night had been.
I eased out of bed, moving quietly, every muscle still thrumming with the echo of us.
Getting dressed felt like slipping back into armor after something holy.
I scrawled a quick note before I left—Be back soon.
Love you.—and left it on the kitchen counter.
It didn’t feel like enough, but it was something. A tether.
Outside, the city greeted me with a sharp slap of cold.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept my head down, moving fast. My breath fogged in the air as I walked toward the rink, heart already starting to beat to the rhythm of game day.
The anticipation crawled under my skin like it always did before a big one—but today wasn’t just about winning.
Today was personal.
The locker room smelled like sweat, ice, and liniment. Comforting. Familiar. Axel was already at his stall, half-dressed and full of attitude.
“Look who finally rolled in,” he said, flinging a towel in my direction. “I was about to call in a search party.”
Luke grinned without looking up from taping his stick. “You still walking funny, or is that just the swagger of a man who got everything he wanted last night?”
I flipped him off as I pulled off my hoodie.
Greyson stretched on the mat, lazy as ever. “Hope you’re locked in, Maddox. Gary’s gonna be gunning for you.”
My jaw tightened. Just hearing that name put a sour taste in my mouth.
“He tries anything, he’ll regret it,” I said, my voice low.
Because Kennedy deserved peace. She deserved to breathe without watching her back, and if Gary thought he could mess with her again—on or off the ice—I’d bury him.
Axel leaned in, eyes sharp. “You think Jake’s gonna drop gloves? Guy’s been twitchy as hell since you claimed Kennedy.”
“He can swing,” I said, stripping down to my base layer. “But he won’t land shit.”
Because I wasn’t just playing to win anymore.
I was playing to protect what was mine.
Luke laughed, loud and careless, while Greyson just rolled his eyes at Axel like he was used to the theatrics. “You’re too locked into this love story shit,” Luke teased, but there was something behind the words—a warning laced with amusement.
Greyson didn’t bother sugarcoating it. “We need you focused today. That team’s coming for blood.”
I nodded once, not offering more. I knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just another game—it was the game. And if anyone thought dragging Kennedy into the narrative would throw me off mine, they hadn’t been paying attention.
I strapped in, tuned them out, and locked in.
Morning skate was about rhythm, about finding that edge right before everything exploded into motion.
The second my skates hit the ice, the world snapped into sharp relief.
The cold was bracing; the noise muted—just blades carving into ice, the crack of sticks, the satisfying ring of pucks hitting net.
Each drill, each pass, every snap of my wrist sent a message—not just to the guys watching me, but to anyone out there who thought they could shake me by going after what mattered most.
Kennedy wasn’t a weakness. She was the reason I’d burn down the rink if I had to.
By the end, sweat clung to my back, adrenaline humming through every nerve like a war drum. We ran through plays under Coach Kakashi’s sharp eye, each of us locked into the same unspoken understanding—this game wasn’t just about stats or standings.
It was about pride.
It was about drawing a line.
As we circled up at center ice for Coach’s final notes, I kept my gaze steady, jaw tight. The game tonight wasn’t just a rematch.
It was a reckoning.
Let them come.
Let them try.
Because if anyone touched what was mine again—I’d make damn sure they regretted it.
I stepped through the door and froze.
She was standing in the hotel room, bathed in the low glow of the city lights behind her—like something out of a dream.
Or maybe a fantasy. My jersey hung off her shoulders, loose and oversized, but it clung in all the right places.
Tight jeans hugged her hips, and those stiletto boots…
fuck. My pulse kicked hard. Every part of me responded like she was made to undo me.
And maybe she was.
“Damn,” I muttered, voice low, rough. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Kennedy turned, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. That blush—God, I lived for it. It was the kind of reaction I’d never get tired of provoking. She tried to hide behind a quip, but her voice betrayed her.
“Just trying to look decent for your big night,” she said, barely steady.
I didn’t say anything. I just moved. Crossed the space between us like gravity had its own plan. I didn’t touch her at first—just let the silence stretch until she was squirming under the heat of my gaze. Then I kissed her. Hard. Hungry. Like I needed her to know exactly who she belonged to.
My hands tangled in her hair as I deepened the kiss, tasting the hesitation, the need, the surrender. Her body softened against mine, and I drank in the moment like oxygen.
When I finally pulled back, our foreheads nearly touching, I watched her eyes—dazed, glassy, wrecked in the way I liked.
“You know what you do to me?” I asked, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. “Fuck, Ken.”
Her breath caught.
Good.
I wasn’t just saying it—I meant it. Every damn word. And I was going to prove it.
I ducked down, pressing my mouth to the spot just beneath her ear, letting her scent drown out the rest of the world. Her pulse fluttered under my lips, and I followed it down to her neck, kissing her softly—then letting my teeth drag lightly over her skin.
She let out a soft gasp as I sucked gently, just hard enough to leave a mark.
I wanted people to see it. I wanted her to feel it.
I wanted her to remember—no matter what came next—
She was mine.
Her fingers fisted my shirt like she needed something to hold onto—like I was the only thing keeping her grounded. That sound, that look in her eyes—it did something to me. Set every nerve ending on fire.
“Nick…” she whispered, breath hitching, equal parts surprise and surrender. My name on her lips wasn’t just a sound—it was a tether.
I leaned back just enough to see the mark blooming against her skin. A flush of color right below her jawline, undeniable proof that she was mine. Mine to protect. Mine to ruin. Mine to love in whatever way I damn well pleased.
“I want everyone to know,” I murmured, voice low and rough as I bent toward her ear. “You’re mine now—and no one’s taking you from me.”
I kissed along her jaw, slow and claiming, like I could map out her bones and memorize the feel of every angle. She trembled slightly, her breath catching again, and I swore it lit a fuse deep in my chest.
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade, and the sight of it—of her letting me in, letting me mark her, own her in this small but fierce way—sent a rush of something possessive and primal straight through me.
Because this wasn’t just about lust. It wasn’t just heat or hunger or even the chaos surrounding us. It was about us. Whatever we were becoming. Whatever we already were.
In the middle of the noise, the pressure, the spotlight—we had this.
And as I pulled her closer, burying my face in her neck like I could hide there forever, only one thought circled like a vow in my mind: She was beautiful. She was fierce. And she was absolutely, irrevocably mine.
I opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat with that practiced grace of hers—except tonight, there was something more behind it.
The way she smoothed down my jersey like it meant something, like it gave her armor instead of comfort, made something sharp twist in my chest. She was wearing me, and I felt it in a way that was raw and dangerous.
She looked good in it—too good—and she had no idea the kind of fire that lit in my blood seeing her like that.
But beneath the surface, I saw it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched like she was bracing for something. And I hated that. Hated that she even had to prepare for battle when she should’ve felt safe just being by my side.
I slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The hum settled through me, but the silence between us wasn’t the comfortable kind—it was thick with unspoken things, nerves flickering between us like static before a storm. I didn’t press. Not yet.
The rink loomed in the distance—bright, cold, familiar. But tonight? It felt like a battleground.
At the next red light, I reached across the console and took her hand. She tensed for half a second—just long enough to make my gut twist—then relaxed into my grip. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles, slow and intentional.
“You’ve got this,” I murmured. My voice was low, meant just for her. My thumb moved along her skin, grounding both of us. “You’re not just with me—you are part of this.”
She glanced at me, unsure, and I saw it there—that flicker of doubt. And fuck, I wanted to rip it out of her. Tear down every lie she’d ever been told that made her question if she was enough. If she belonged.
The light flipped green, and I kept driving, the weight of the moment anchoring every breath. The closer we got, the more my instincts screamed to protect her. To make sure everyone in that arena understood exactly who she was, and who she belonged to.
She bit her lower lip, and my grip on the wheel tightened. That lip should never see her teeth again. Only mine.
We pulled into the lot. I parked and squeezed her hand one last time, lingering. “Just remember,” I said, locking eyes with her, “you’re not alone in this.”
I stepped out and circled the car to open her door. My heart thudded, steady and loud. I didn’t know what tonight held. But whatever it was, I wasn’t facing it without her. Not anymore.
We were walking into the storm together. And if anyone tried to come between us?
They’d learn real fast who they were fucking with.