Chapter 20
TAYLOR
The whistle blew, and I dug in, my legs burning as I pushed through the final sprint.
I was exhausted, though it was the good kind for once.
Unlike last year, when every drill felt like I was dragging myself through mud, my body was responding the way it should—explosive, efficient, dialed in.
Then, I’d been sucking wind by the third rep, but now I still had gas in the tank.
Coach Hendricks stood at the boards with his stopwatch, nodding as I crossed the line. The rest of the guys finished their reps, breathing hard. Bell skated past and tapped my shin guard with his stick. “Looking good, T.”
“Thanks.”
He flashed me a grin. “All that self-reflection is really paying off, yeah?”
I narrowed my eyes at him in a “keep your fucking mouth shut” kind of look, but couldn’t help smiling.
Back in Vegas, I’d made a pact with myself: get my shit together or get out. And since I wasn’t ready to quit just yet, I’d thrown myself into this season with everything I had.
All the sex I’d had recently certainly hadn’t hurt, either. It was amazing what waking up sated and happy could do for a man’s outlook—and his game.
For the first time since my rookie season, it felt like my systems were firing on all cylinders, and I’d settled into a rhythm: early morning conditioning, film sessions analyzing our defensive pairings and zone coverage, then ice time focused on backwards transitions, gap control, and one-on-one battles along the boards.
The afternoons were focused on recovery—cold plunge, massage, and mat pilates sessions with a few of the guys.
Bell had pressed and cajoled until I agreed to go, giving him shit about it the whole way there. Now, I had to admit the asshole had been right. My hips felt more open, my lower back wasn’t constantly tight, and I could feel the difference in my skating with smoother transitions and a wider stride.
The only thing that hadn’t found its rhythm was Sebastian and me.
We exchanged a handful of texts each day, most of them brief. We’d had exactly one real phone call since he’d started with the campaign, and that had lasted all of twenty minutes before someone was calling his name from down the hall.
I told myself I understood. Reminded myself this was what I’d signed up for.
Still, it didn’t make it easier.
I missed him so fucking much.
I’d gone ten years without Sebastian in my life, and somehow in fourteen days, he’d become so essential to me that everything felt off now.
How had I ever functioned without hearing his voice?
Without his weight beside me in bed? Now that I knew what it felt like to have him, going back to life without him seemed impossible.
I shook off the thought and focused on what I could control.
I hit the gym for a bit, then spent some time in the cold plunge, forcing myself not to check my phone every thirty seconds. When I got out—my skin bright red and covered in goose pimples—I took a quick, hot shower and headed back to my stall.
Kramer, our defense coach, popped his head around the corner. “Hey, T. Hendricks wants to see you in his office.”
My stomach dropped. Being singled out by the head coach at this stage usually spelled bad news. The last time he’d pulled me aside like this was to tell me I was being moved down to the third pairing.
My mind raced through my performance this week, searching for what I might have screwed up, but I came up blank.
“Lemme just get dressed real quick.”
I toweled off quickly, threw on some sweats and a Marauders t-shirt, and headed down the hallway to his office. He waved me in without looking up from his tablet.
“Sit down, Morrison.”
I did, forcing myself to keep my hands relaxed on my thighs instead of balling them into fists or picking at my nails. To keep my breathing steady, even though my heart was trying to punch through my ribs.
Hendricks set his tablet aside and leaned back in his chair, studying me for what felt like ten minutes but was probably less than five seconds.
“First off, I want to say that whatever you did this summer to get into shape, keep doing it. Your conditioning testing is up across the board from last year. Your skating’s faster, endurance is better, and recovery times are down.
” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.
“But more than that, I’m seeing it in your game.
Your gap control is sharper, you’re closing on attackers faster without getting beaten wide.
” He tapped his desk twice for emphasis.
“You’re finally playing with confidence. ”
Relief flooded through me, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Here’s the thing.” He grabbed his tablet again and flicked it, swiping a few times. “Stevens got clearance to come back, but he and Monroe aren’t clicking. I want to try some new combinations, so I'm slotting you in with Monroe. See if you two have chemistry.”
I blinked, making sure I’d heard him right. Second pairing meant more ice time. A chance to prove I still belonged on this team. My hands went from relaxed to gripping my thighs before I consciously forced them loose again.
“Monroe is more offensive-minded,” he continued, ignoring the internal freak-out happening before him.
“He likes to jump in on the play, take chances. You’ve got a more balanced game, but your strength is your defensive positioning.
Could be a good complement—you can hold things down, let him take those risks knowing you’ve got his back. ”
I sat up straighter, meeting his eyes dead-on. “I’m ready for that,” I said, trying my damnedest to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through me.
“It’s not a done deal,” he cautioned me. “This is what preseason is for—experimenting, seeing what works. You’ll get your chance to prove you’ve got what it takes. But if it doesn’t click, or if Stevens comes back at full strength, we’ll adjust. Understood?”
I nodded once. “Understood.”
“Good. We’ll run it in practice to see how it looks. If things go to plan, we’ll test it against Cleveland.” He snapped the cover on his iPad shut and stood, signaling the meeting was over.
I thanked him, my legs surprisingly steady as I headed back to my stall. The first thing I did was reach for my phone. I couldn’t wait to tell Sebastian the good news.
On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up milk and a few other necessities, checking my phone constantly as I wandered the aisles, hoping Sebastian had responded.
He hadn’t.
By the time I walked in the front door, it was just after seven, and still nothing. I put my groceries away and decided to text again.
Me
Hey, just got home.
You going to be around tonight?
I reheated some food from my weekend meal prep, eating standing at the counter, ready to snatch up my phone the second it dinged.
An hour later, I jumped in the shower, threw on some sweats, and settled on the couch with some mindless TV.
At nine, I sent another text.
Me
You around?
I continued watching the show without really seeing it, my phone on the cushion beside me.
By nine-thirty, I’d given up expecting a response. This was how it had been all week—Sebastian buried under a mountain of responsibility, me waiting for scraps of his attention between campaign crises and strategy sessions.
I knew he was doing important work. I also knew he was exhausted, and probably hadn’t eaten a real meal all day, running on coffee and adrenaline alone. But knowing this didn’t make the silence easier.
At quarter to eleven, my phone finally buzzed.
Sebastian
Sorry. This dinner ran long, then I had to deal with a donor crisis.
Can I call you in 30?
I stared at the message for a long moment, my blinks turning longer and slower. I was dead on my feet, but I really wanted to talk to him.
Thirty more minutes. I could do that, even if I had to pin my eyeballs open with toothpicks.
Me
Yeah, I’ll be up. Call whenever.
I turned off the TV and headed upstairs, figuring I might as well get ready for bed while I waited. I brushed my teeth and climbed under the quilt with my phone in hand. At this rate, it was going to fuse to my body.
Thirty minutes became forty-five.
Then an hour.
At half past eleven, my phone finally rang with an incoming video call. When I answered, Sebastian’s tired, handsome face filled the screen. His tie was loose, and his hair stood up in every direction like he’d been running his hands through it all day. There were dark smudges under his eyes.
“Hey,” he said, his voice scratchy. “I’m sorry. I know I said thirty minutes.”
“It’s fine,” I said, scooting down and rolling onto my side. “Another crazy day?”
“You have no idea.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned.
“We’ve been going around in circles trying to figure out how to counter this misinformation campaign Merrick’s people are running without giving it more oxygen.
” He shook his head. “But I don’t want to talk about me.
How was your day? You said you had news? ”
The frustration I’d been holding onto all evening loosened slightly.
“Hendricks called me into his office to tell me he’s moving me up to the second pairing with Kyle Monroe for our upcoming games. Wants to see if we have chemistry together.”
“Chemistry, huh?” Sebastian’s eyebrow arched. “Should I be worried about this Monroe guy?”
I chuckled. “Not our kind of chemistry, asshole.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes roving over my face. “No one has our kind of chemistry.”
“Bet,” I agreed, feeling warmth spread through me.
Sebastian leaned back, tugging at his tie before pulling it off completely. “Tell me everything your coach said.”
I found myself grinning as I recounted the conversation—Hendricks’s comments about my conditioning, the tactical reasoning behind pairing me with Monroe, the experimental nature of it all.
“Taylor, that’s huge.” A wide smile broke out across his face, genuine and bright. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not a done deal yet. We’ll try it out in practice tomorrow, then I’ll get my first real test on Saturday against Cleveland.”
I wanted to ask if he’d be there. I didn’t even know if his schedule would allow it, but the thought of him in the stands cheering me on filled me with so much excitement it should be illegal.
Sebastian had gone to some of my games back in college before I'd been injured, but he’d never seen me play professionally.
Had never been there when he was really mine. Could I convince him to wear my jersey? Historically, I wasn't one of those players who got off on that, but I found I didn't hate the idea.
“Do you think you can come?” I loathed how needy I sounded, but fuck, I really wanted him there.
His expression softened. “What time?”
“Puck drops at four. I can leave tickets at will-call.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
We smiled at each other for a long moment until a loud bark of laughter in the background broke the spell. Sebastian’s eyes shifted to the right before coming back to me.
“Wait. Are you still at the office?”
He blew out a breath, his eyes dropping closed briefly. “Yeah. I’ll probably sleep here again tonight.”
“Again?”
Jesus. No wonder he looked so wrecked.
“Yeah. It’s easier than going back and forth when we’re working until two or three in the morning,” he said matter-of-factly, like this was a completely reasonable thing to do.
I wanted to point out that this wasn’t sustainable. That he needed to take care of himself. But even with his very obvious exhaustion, he loved the work. Who was I to tell him to pull back?
“Just don’t burn yourself out,” I cautioned instead.
“I won’t.” He fell silent, shifting until he was flat on what I presumed was some sort of couch, his arms extended to hold his phone above his face. “Fuck, I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I said, my voice cracking.
“I know this week has been …” He trailed off, seeming to search for the right word. “I hate that we haven’t been able to talk. That I can’t just come home at the end of the day and see you.”
“I know. Me too.” I hated how much I needed to hear his voice, how I spent every night waiting for these scraps of connection.
“It won’t always be this intense. Once I get through this initial push—once everyone trusts me—I’ll try to set more regular hours.”
I looked down, picking at a loose thread on the quilt.
I wanted to believe that. Wanted to imagine some future where I wasn’t constantly checking my phone, my heart leaping at every notification, only to crash when it wasn’t him or fall asleep with it clutched to my chest. But I couldn’t help but worry that as the election drew closer, Sebastian’s responsibilities would multiply, not diminish.
And soon, my own schedule would become a problem, too, creating a perfect storm of two people with no time to spare for each other—no matter how much we wanted to.
“How much more work do you have left tonight?” I asked, fighting a yawn.
“Probably another hour or two.”
Fuck. Another two hours after a day that had started at six o'clock in the morning.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” he said gently.
“I’m fine.” I was actually ready to crash, but if this was all the time I got with him, I’d find a way to power through.
“Taylor,” he said, his voice quietly chastising.
I blinked slowly, betraying myself. “Okay, maybe I am tired.”
“Go to sleep. I’ll text you in the morning.”
“I don’t want to hang up yet,” I whispered, my grip tightening on my phone.
The corners of his mouth turned up, his eyes crinkling. “You just blinked for five whole seconds.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat as my jaw stretched open in a yawn so wide it made my eyes water. I rubbed them with the heel of my hand.
“Okay,” I relented. “But call me tomorrow? Even if it’s late.”
He sat up, dragging his free hand through his hair. “I will, I promise.” His voice softened. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Goodnight.”
“Night.”
The screen went dark. I set the phone on my nightstand charger and rolled onto my side, pulling “his” pillow against my chest and burying my face in it. It still smelled like his shampoo, barely there, but lingering.
I fell asleep smiling.