Chapter 23 #2
It creaked when it opened, and I froze mid-step in the middle of the living room when I heard him hang his cane, drop his bag, and start walking.
And then he was there—hovering in the archway, face pointed slightly to my right.
“I know you’re in here. You breathe so loud.”
“Pretty little goalie,” I said. It was his only warning before I swept him into my arms and kissed the breath from his lungs. He groaned loudly, sagging into my grasp as I backed him against the wall and kissed over his eyelids, nose, and lips.
He was grinning by the time I was done with him.
“How was your week?” he asked, pressing one hand to my cheek. His thumb brushed over my too-long stubble. “You didn’t shave.”
I scrubbed my chin over his fingertips. “Mm. Will shave before I eat your ass.”
“Jesus,” he breathed out. His fingers spasmed against my face.
Sometimes, after long roadies, he didn’t want that at all.
Sometimes he wanted to just curl up in my arms and listen as I talked about my boring day.
And that was just as good as the moments he was overwhelmed and wanted me to pin him to the mattress, shove my tongue in his hole, then fuck him into oblivion.
All of it with Micah was worth it.
All of it was everything I’d ever fantasized about when I considered the idea that someone might love me. That I might find my forever.
“You’re very quiet,” Micah said after a long while. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Well…hearing is soon. For Hunter.”
He flinched, and I hated myself for saying that fucker’s name in our space because he wasn’t welcome here. But it was also something we couldn’t run from.
“Sorry,” I whispered, taking his hand and pressing my apology to his fingertips in the form of kisses.
Micah softened. “Can we go lay down? I smell like airport, and I didn’t get dick for sleep last night.”
I took his hand and led the way through the small space, into the room we were calling our own. Eventually, we’d have something that belonged to us. The perfect space where Micah didn’t feel lost or uncertain.
We would find something and then transform it into the perfect space.
We would have plans in print and braille so he could be part of every step.
It would be ours—to shape the way we wanted.
And he wouldn’t feel afraid again. He wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night gasping, terrified that everything was out of place.
And I knew that was just going to take time, sessions with his therapist, and trust that he had finally put a stop to the things that were hurting him. But I hoped those little things would reassure him too.
“God, this is going to feel so good,” he said, dropping his clothes in a little pile near the foot of the bed. He stretched his body over the covers, hands sliding across the comforter as he searched for the hem to pull it back.
His little smile full of joy, a smile that so many people rarely ever got to see, burrowed deep in my chest as he let out a happy hum, nestling beneath the sheets.
“Where are you?” he demanded. “I’m cold.”
I slid my body alongside his, letting my soft sweats soothe his bare skin. He was bruised like we all were after long games, and he hissed when my fingers found a few tender spots, but he didn’t pull away.
“I missed you,” I murmured.
He nosed against my collarbone, hands drawing lines along my arm and ribs—feeling out the scars left behind from the accident. I liked the way he saw me. It was different than sight, deeper in some ways.
He found little grooves and bumps and imperfections that the eyes always missed. Those things on the map of history that made me who I was. And he was the only one who knew they were there.
“I heard the Glaciers did well,” he said. “Are you doing okay without being out there?”
“Mm, is hard, but yes. They clinched playoff spot, so maybe I will go to home games. I’m cleared to watch from the bench.”
“We’re out,” Micah said. He didn’t sound as upset as I would have been. And I’d been noticing he’d been edging around the fact that he was caring less about the game. “Ben’s kind of pissed, but I think he knew it was coming. The Legends got a wild card spot.”
“I heard. Jonah was happy. He’ll be occupied while Alexio is in terrible mood for the rest of the season,” I said on the edge of a sigh.
Micah snorted. “So glad I don’t have to deal with his shit attitude this season.” He went quiet for a moment, then rolled a little further into my arms. “I, ah—I think…”
I stayed silent. I could tell he was fighting with the words he wanted to say.
“You think I play good hockey, right?”
I frowned. “Yes. Play best hockey. So good goalie. Better than me.”
“Different than you.” He always said that. “It was just hockey, right? I mean, I know all of us are, like, weirdly sexually attracted to competence and gameplay. But it was more than that, right? That made you fall for me?”
“You want list?”
“It couldn’t hurt to hear.”
Grinning, I picked up his hand and brought his fingers to my mouth so he knew I was smiling at him. “Okay. Here is list. First—amazing at air hockey. And top-tier chirps. Make amazing soup, especially when I’m having bad day.”
“Vanya—”
“Quiet. I’m making list. Okay, so there is…how you are very organized. Which I know, I know, you must. But it help me be less of a pig slob.”
“That’s…okay. Sure.” He was laughing now, and it almost felt better than holding the fucking cup.
“You have most pretty eyelashes. I am obsessed.” I ran my thumb over them, and he sighed quietly, leaning into the touch. “And such pretty freckles.”
“Do you have any?” he asked, bringing his fingers to my cheek.
I let him explore, though the few small moles that could be considered freckles weren’t something he’d be able to feel. “Not really. Not really run in my family, you know?”
“Russian?”
“And Pakistani. My mama from there.”
Micah froze. “Right, right. Why did I forget this?”
“You under so much stress,” I murmured quietly. “And is not something I talk about too much. She pass when I was just little.”
He twisted in my arms and let his fingers brush my jaw. “If I could see, would I have known?”
I knew what he was asking, so I pressed his palm to my cheek and shook my head. “Most people don’t see it. Maybe sometimes. I look like my father mostly. I have my ammi’s dark hair, dark eyes. But am very Russian. At least, is what most people say. I wasn’t trying to keep secret.”
“No,” he breathed out. “That’s not what I was thinking.” He settled back down against me. “Sorry, I’m in my head a bit right now.”
“Is okay. Whatever you need—”
“I’m quitting hockey,” he blurted.
I froze. I had expected him to say many, many things. That was not one of them. I took a moment to process, and things started to make sense. The way he’d been feeling, the way he’d asked me if it was more than hockey.
“Because of Hunter?”
“There’s a lot of reasons,” he said after a small pause.
“Hockey was an escape for a long time. I never thought…” He trailed off for a moment.
“I didn’t expect it to consume my whole life.
I just wanted to be independent from my mother.
I grew up shit scared that I would try and fail to be taken seriously in any job I went for and would end up back under the heel of her fucking boot. ”
I held him a little tighter. The pain in his voice was so raw.
“I used to have nightmares that I was in her house and she was forcing me to do video after video, and every time I’d try to run away, she’d steal my cane or chop off my legs or tie me to the bed.” He let out a shaking breath. “Ridiculous, I know, but—”
“No. It isn’t.”
I knew a lot about his mother from my friendship with Jonah. I knew the pain she caused all three brothers. I knew how much strength it had taken all of them to break free of her.
“Hockey gave me freedom, but I don’t love it the way Jonah does, or Bodie. Or even Tucker.” He turned his face into my chest. “Or you. I’m good at it, but I feel like it should mean more to me, you know?”
“I know.” And I did. If I didn’t love every second I spent on the ice, crouched in the crease, defending my boys, I wouldn’t continue to put myself through this.
It wasn’t worth it.
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I think next season will be my last.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
He tilted his head up, brows furrowed. “Yeah? I mean, what if I can never get another job?”
“I will take care of you,” I told him. I was smiling, but I meant it. “And you are not poor, pretty little goalie.”
“I—well. Yeah. That’s fair. I can live comfortably for a long, long time.”
I tilted his chin up and leaned down so I could kiss him. He tasted like coffee and mint gum, and I let myself indulge for a long, lush minute. “You will find something you love as much as you love me.”
“Woooow,” he said. “Your ego is so huge even I can see it.”
I laughed and nipped at his fingers, which were tracing my smile. “Yes, yes. Because I am best. But so are you. And you will be best at whatever you want. Maybe try school? Or design homes for blind people? Teach skating to kids?”
“Uhg, no. I tried that with Jonah a few years ago. Kids are not for me.”
I kissed the top of his head. “You have time. We get through this moment, and next ones, and then you will figure it out.”
“I love you,” he murmured very, very softly. “Like, a lot. You know that, right?”
I settled against him, curling into him more. I could feel his heartbeat against my ribs, and I counted each one for what felt like a short eternity. “Yes,” I told him eventually. “Even when you don’t say, you show. And I hope you see my love too.”
“I do. Always have,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes, sharing in his darkness, taking the comfort in it that he felt. We weren’t home yet.
But we would be.
And we were happy.