31 - Michael
Michael
The glass in the front door of the Leaky Faucet rattled in its frame as I shoved it open. It was well past midnight, the neon "Open" sign had been dark for an hour, and the only light inside came from the glow of the back-bar spirits and the flickering blue of a TV muted in the corner.
Kayla was behind the bar, her hair pulled into a messy knot, her face pale and lined with a fatigue that went deeper than bone. Gabe sat on a stool, his left arm immobilized in a bulky black sling, his face tight with the kind of throbbing pain that made every breath a chore.
The moment they saw me, the air in the room turned to lead.
"The bar’s closed, Michael," Kayla said, her voice a flat, warning note. She didn't look up from the glass she was polishing, but her hands were shaking. "Go home."
"I’m not going home," I said, stepping further into the room and letting the door heavy-thud shut behind me. "I’m not going anywhere."
Gabe’s head snapped up. Even through the haze of whatever pain meds they’d given him at the ER, his eyes burned with a cold, sharp loathing.
"You heard her. Leave. Haven't you done enough?
You got what you wanted. You don't have to suck up to me anymore.
The mentorship is over, Michael. You can stop pretending. "
"I wasn't sucking up to you, Gabe," I said, my voice rising, the frustration I’d been stifling since the rink finally beginning to boil over. "And I wasn't pretending."
"The hell you weren't!" he shouted, trying to stand up, but the sudden movement made him hiss in pain as his shoulder jolted.
He slumped back, his voice cracking. "You used me. You saw a stupid kid who wanted to play pro and you used that to get to my mom. You manipulated everything—my school, my drills, my head—just so you could look like the hero. Was it worth it? Was she a good lay?”
“Gabriel!”
But I held up a hand to stop Kayla. “It’s fine. He’s allowed to be mad at me.” Then I turned my attention to the kid almost in tears. “But you don’t disrespect your mother. You hear me?”
His cheeks blew up as he deflated into a sulk.
"Gabe, stop it," Kayla pleaded, stepping out from behind the bar, her hands out as if she could physically catch the insults flying through the air. "Michael, please, just go. You’re making it worse."
"No.” This got both of them staring at me again as if I were crazy.
Maybe I was, but I wasn’t about to leave things like this.
“I’m not making it worse, I’m making it honest," I snapped, turning back to the kid. "You think I spent six weeks of my life, in the middle of a playoff run, babysitting a teenager’s edge-work just to get a date? You think I’m that desperate?
I have a life, Gabe. I have a career. I didn't need to use you for anything. "
"Then why did you?" he yelled back, his face flushing a deep, angry red. "Why all that talk about being friends? Why the advice about Maya? Why act like you cared if I made the scouts' list or not? It was a bribe! It was a goddamn down payment!"
"It was because I saw myself in you!" I roared, my voice echoing off the walls, silencing the room. I was at my wit’s end, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I saw a kid who was talented and angry and needed someone to tell him that the world wasn't out to get him. I cared because you’re a part of her, and because you’re a kid worth caring about.
But mostly? Mostly I did it because I didn't know how else to be near her without scaring her off. "
"See?" Gabe sneered, though his eyes were brimming with tears. "It’s always about her. It’s always about what you want."
"Yeah, it is about what I want." I stepped into his space, my breath quick and shallow, the facade completely shattered.
I didn't care about the press, the finals, or the status of being a couple.
I was done overthinking. I was done playing it safe.
"I wanted to be in this room. I wanted to be on that ice with you. I wanted to be the guy who sticks around when the mess starts, because I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want this family. "
"You don't even know what that word means," Gabe spat.
"I know exactly what it means," I yelled. "It means I’m not leaving just because you’re being a brat, and I’m not leaving just because she’s scared. I’m staying because I’m in love with her! I’m fucking in love with you both, goddammit!"
The words hit the room like a physical shockwave.
Gabe froze, his mouth hanging slightly open, the fire in his eyes flickering out into pure, unadulterated shock.
I was out of breath, my chest heaving, the confession hanging in the stale bar air like a banner. It felt like I’d just taken a hit from a freight train, but for the first time in months, I could actually breathe. The truth was out. There were no more plays to call.
Slowly, I turned my head to look at Kayla.
She was standing by the beer taps, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. She looked stunned, terrified, and so fucking beautiful all at once. The silence in the bar was deafening.
"It’s true," I said, my voice dropping to a low, steady thrum that vibrated in my own throat. I looked her right in the eyes, ignoring the kid, ignoring the pain, ignoring the mess. "I’m in love with you, Kayla. And I’m not going anywhere."
The silence that followed was heavy, pressurized by the hum of the beer coolers and the sudden, stunned stillness of the two people who meant the most to me. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
"I’m not a gambler," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet, lower now but no less intense. "I don’t play games with people’s lives, and I sure as hell don’t fuck around with their hearts.
I’ve spent years being disciplined enough to reach the top of this sport, and I’m applying every bit of that discipline to this. To you."
I looked at Gabe, whose face no longer hid his true feelings. The boy was hurt. The fury hadn't vanished, but the wind had been knocked out of it. He looked at me, then at his mother, his throat working as he tried to find a retort that wasn't there.
Without a word, he reached out with his good hand, snatched his leaking ice pack off the bar top, and turned. He didn't yell. He didn't throw a punch. He just trudged toward the door, the rhythmic thump of his footsteps echoing until it clicked shut behind him.
The lack of a parting shot felt like a victory, however small.
Now, it was just the two of us, and the bar felt cavernous, shadows stretching long across the floorboards. Kayla was still standing by the taps, her hand frozen near her throat, her eyes wide and shimmering with a terror that made my chest ache.
"Michael," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You... you don't mean that. You're just caught up in the moment. The adrenaline, guilt over Gabe’s shoulder... you're mistaken."
"I'm not mistaken, Kayla."
"You are!" She finally moved, pacing a small circle behind the bar. "You don't love me. You barely know me. You know the woman who pours your drinks and the woman you spent one night with in a hotel. That isn't love, Michael. That's... that’s chemistry. It’s physical attraction."
I didn't argue from across the room. I all but vaulted the mahogany bar to join her on the other side, stepping into her workspace, her sanctuary.
She tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go.
I reached out and took her hands. They were ice cold and trembling so hard I could feel the vibration in my own arms.
"I know enough," I said, pulling her hands up to my chest so she could feel the urgent, honest thud of my heart. "I know the way you look when you’re defending your son. I know the way you breathe when you’re finally letting yourself relax. I know that you’ve built a life out of iron and grit, and I know that I want to be the person who helps you carry it. "
"No," she sobbed, shaking her head violently, her eyes squeezed shut. "No, no, no. You can't. It’s too much. I can’t do this, Michael. I can't be the person who breaks your focus, and I can't be the woman who loses her son because she wanted something for herself."
"You aren't losing him," I implored, leaning down, my face inches from hers. I began to kiss her face with short, desperate pecks on her forehead, her tear-stained cheeks, her temples. "He’s scared, Kayla. Just like you. But I’m not fighting him, and I’m not fighting you. I’m fighting for you.
For us. I know you feel this. I felt it on that rooftop.
I felt it in that hotel. Admit it. Just once, stop fighting the current and let it take you. "
She remained frozen, her body rigid in my arms. It was like holding a statue made of glass. Beautiful, but one wrong move away from shattering into a thousand pieces. She didn’t withdraw from me, but her mind raced a mile a minute as she tried to find the exit.
"This was a mistake," she rambled, her words coming out in a fast, panicked blur. "The date, the hotel, all of it. We have to stop. Right now. Before Gabe gets worse, before the press finds out, before you lose your head in the Finals. We’re breaking this off, Michael. It’s over. We’re going back to being—"
I didn't let her finish the lie.
I reached out, cupping her face in both hands, and pulled her into a kiss that was meant to silence the world. It wasn't gentle, and it wasn't a request. It was a passionate, bruising claim, a desperate attempt to drown out her panic with the undeniable reality of how much I needed her.