Chapter 19
Cillian
Las Vegas, Nevada.
THE RENEGADE RETURNS.
The headline's been everywhere for three days, scrolling across my phone in a dozen fonts above a dozen photos of me celebrating.
We played game five a few nights ago, my first game back, home ice, and I put two goals past Vegas in a building that started the night undecided about me and finished it chanting my name.
Now we're in the visitors' room under their arena, suiting up for game six.
Win tonight and the series is ours. Lose, and we drag it home for a game seven nobody wants.
And past all of it, Brennan is looming. New York is carving through the East while we grind through the West, and if we both keep winning, the Final is only weeks away. Good. I'll be fucking ready for him.
My game is back. All of it, the touch, the vision, the cold quiet in my head that went missing for a year. I don't know how much of that is Margot and how much is just a man with nothing left to hide, but I feel alive out there again, and I've stopped interrogating it.
Margot: In our seats! Brittany says hello and has already made friends with an entire bachelorette party. Vegas is A LOT. Can't wait to watch you. Fingers crossed tonight goes as well as the last one!
I'm glad the two of them have hit it off, even if some small part of me is nervous about what my current girlfriend and a woman I've a bit of history with might find to talk about over a few drinks in Vegas. Mostly, though, I'm just so fucking happy Margot's here.
We've been back from Ireland barely a week, keeping things discreet while the media cools off, but we've been essentially glued to each other anyway. She stayed at my apartment a few nights in San Francisco, and when the series shifted here, I flew her out for tonight.
I'm smiling at the screen as I type back something quick, and it settles into me the way it always does now: she's out there.
Knowing it anchors me. That calm I used to own under pressure, the thing I never once had to think about until this last year, is finally back, and when she's in the building, the last of the noise just melts away.
Betts laughs from across the row. "Look at that grin. Is your secret girlfriend in her seat then, lover boy?"
I roll my eyes. It wasn't exactly a challenge for the squad to figure out the situation, but thankfully the media hasn't caught a sniff of us yet.
"Aye, she's here. And funnily enough, she's hanging out with Brittany."
"My Brittany?" His whole face lights up.
"The very one."
Brittany and I had a brief, casual thing a few years back. She and Betts had recently begun seeing one another, and he'd actually reached out to confirm I wasn't bothered by it while I was away in Dublin. Which, naturally, I wasn't in the slightest.
The truth is I'd drawn a complete blank on who she even was, and it was Margot, of all people, who had to remind me, sitting up in bed looking scandalized on Brittany's behalf.
Not that I'll be admitting that to Betts.
"Small world." Betts grins, going back to his laces.
"I'm telling you, man, there's nothing better than a woman who just goes after what she wants.
No games, no guessing. She told me straight out she'd had her eye on me for ages.
" He points a skate in my direction, looking insufferably smug.
"Guess you just weren't enough for her, star boy. "
"Aye, I suppose I'll just have to live with the rejection," I say, laughing as I reach for my jersey.
"Thank god you found Margot anyway," he adds. "Though how you convinced a woman that smart to settle for someone like yourself is the real mystery of the season."
"Believe me, I'm well aware I'm punching above my weight class," I grin. "And I'm not about to be the one to remind her."
The lads had officially met her when the Solstice crew came by for the post-game mixer, and she'd had the whole room charmed in minutes, showing up with homemade banana bread and that sharp, sweet wit of hers.
Jonesy had spent the entire evening shooting me shit-eating grins and flashing a thumbs-up sign.
"We're going somewhere fancy after the series. Brittany’s pick,” Betts continues. “She knows more about my own zone exits than I do, I swear to god. She’s the real deal."
Jonesy drops onto the bench beside me, already taped up and grinning at my phone. "Look at you two romantics, swapping scouting reports on your love lives."
"You're only sour,” I say, “because your longest relationship this year is with a podcast."
"Bold words from a man whose longest relationship before this month was with his stick tape." He snorts. "Anyway, you're playing like a man possessed lately. Keep that up and I reckon the city will forgive you for just about anything."
I grin, though my expression goes a touch more serious. "I know I said it when I got back to the room, but I truly appreciate you lot for having my back."
Betts waves a hand. "Don't wear it out, O'Rourke. We get why you did it. Admirable and all that shit. Just next time, fucking wave security over like a normal person, okay?"
"Deal. Next time I'll send you into the stands instead. You're scarier."
"Damn right I am. It's the beard."
Jonesy laughs and knocks his shoulder into mine. "For the record, I wanted to fucking kill you for about two days. Tom nearly wore a hole in the hotel carpet." He pulls his laces tight and shrugs. "But I'm just fucking glad to have you back, man."
Above us, the crowd is already a dull roar through the concrete.
Officially, I've a room at the team hotel. Unofficially, Margot's hotel is four blocks off the Strip, and I've a well-documented reputation for long late-night walks.
The plan was airtight. I'd handle my media obligations, put in a respectable appearance at the team dinner, endure exactly one champagne toast from Betts, who despite his tough-guy persona never fails to get sentimental after a win, and then sneak back to her.
We'd avoid being seen in the same place together, the media would stay oblivious, I wouldn’t get in trouble with the team, and we'd get to keep our bubble a little longer. And yet somehow, we've timed our arrival in the lobby of her hotel at the exact same second.
Margot is waiting by the lifts, oblivious to me, and my whole chest goes warm at the sight of her. She’s just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but somehow she makes it look unbelievably sexy and sends a fresh jolt of possessive heat straight through me. I start navigating the crowd to reach her.
Even at midnight, the lobby is vibrating.
Slot machines chiming away in an alcove off reception, a bachelorette party negotiating loudly with the front desk, that faint ghost of cigarette smoke even the non-smoking parts of Vegas can't shake, and the low, tireless chatter of people with no plans to sleep.
Vegas doesn't believe in bedtime, apparently.
I approach the brass elevators, cap pulled low for discretion, and slide in next to Margot. She turns at the sound of footsteps, sees me, and her eyes widen in alarm. I can't help but stifle a laugh.
My adorable little rule-follower.
She snaps her gaze back toward the elevator doors and attempts to look casual, which she performs with the rigid shoulders of a woman being held at gunpoint.
"Oh my god," she whispers frantically. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the team dinner still."
"I was," I murmur, leaning in as a group of tourists wanders past. "How did you manage to stay out this late?"
She scans the lobby before looking up at me. "Brittany was incredibly convincing. She insisted I needed a real Vegas experience before she met with Betts, so she dragged me to some crazy bar with a massive dance floor. She was actually a pro at it."
"Wow, out seeing the sights without me.” I smile. “And did you dance?"
"Believe it or not, I attempted a round," she says.
"Christ, and I missed the performance?"
"Well." She studies the elevator panel with intense focus. "If you behave, I might give you a private demonstration later."
"I'm certainly looking forward to that," I say, my voice dropping.
“This is the slowest elevator on the planet.” She returns to her frantic surveillance of the room. "Isn't this place meant to be luxury? What if someone spots us? I mean, we could claim it's a wine strategy session, but meeting in hotel rooms at midnight looks a touch suspicious."
"Oh, come on, Ace. Use your imagination. It's a bit thrilling, isn't it?" I watch the floor numbers crawl down. "The sneaking around. We could even try some roleplay. Really lean into it."
"Roleplay?" A small, amused smile tugs at her lips.
"Absolutely. Strangers in the night. A scandalous tryst. All the classics."
The doors finally slide open. We step into the empty car, and she glances over at me with a mischievous spark in her gaze.
"Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm spoken for," she says in a low voice. "My boyfriend is enormous and insanely jealous, and he just won a playoff series, so his confidence is at record levels. He'll punch a guy just for looking at me wrong."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Sounds like a great guy. Handsome, I'd wager."
"He's alright."
"Just alright?" I echo as the doors slide shut.
"Yeah, I mean, I keep his ego at a manageable size. It's a public service, really, someone has to?—"
My mouth is on hers before she finishes, backing her into the corner rail and kissing her deeply, and she's giggling and breathless as she kisses me back, her hands sliding up into my jacket.
I bite her lip gently and squeeze her ass, and she makes one of those soft little sounds that drive me out of my mind.
The lift dings at our floor and we pull apart, both grinning like idiots as the doors slide open on a blessedly empty hallway.
"Easy," I say, my hand resting at the small of her back. "Not a soul in sight."
"You're a real adrenaline junkie, you know that?" she laughs as we walk toward the suite, our footsteps muffled by the carpet.
"I think you secretly love it." I give her another playful swat on the ass, earning a small, startled gasp.
We reach her door and she rummages through her bag for the key card, produces it with a triumphant little flourish, and I pluck it straight out of her fingers.
"Maybe a little," she says. "By the way, you were incredible on the ice tonight. I was really impressed."
"Oh? Even for a violent hockey brute who solves his problems with his fists?" I lean against the door, making no move for the lock.
"Yes, bastard, even for that." She plants her hands on her hips. "Now are you going to unlock the door, or just stand there being smug?"
"I dunno. I'm debating just having you right here."
"Well, that would be very indiscreet."
"Aye, that's the point, Ace." I laugh as I tap the card and push the door open, stepping back to wave her in.
The room is dark except for the Strip glowing neon through the sheer curtains, the whole skyline out there blinking away. I flip on a light as we move inside, past the carry on she must have dropped earlier.
Margot's checked luggage was apparently swallowed by the airline and never even cleared California, which is just my luck.
She'd mentioned that she luckily has a few spare items and the basics since she's a committed "carry-on packer," but she did look a bit unraveled at the prospect of missing her extensive nightly routine.
She walks further into the room and stops dead at the edge of the bed. Laid out neatly is a bottle of lavender pillow spray, a stack of extra pillows, and a new pair of slippers, all arranged in a tidy row.
"The spray and slippers were in the bag I lost." She stares at it. "And I hadn't even called down for extra pillows yet. What on earth..."
I step up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her head. "Aye, but you can't sleep without the routine, can you? Your travel insomnia?"
"No," she says softly, leaning back into me. "I really can't."
"Well, it's not your exact stuff, but being a minor celebrity has its perks, so I put in a call from the arena and had someone pick up replacements and make sure they beat us here. The concierge thinks I'm developing strange new sleep habits mid-playoffs, but it's all sorted."
She turns around in my arms, looking up at me. "You had a playoff game tonight to worry about."
"I did. Won it, too, you may have heard."
"How did you even know what to get?"
"You told me in Dublin about your hotel routine, Ace." I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I forgot I'd even mentioned that." She shakes her head slowly. "I've been stressed about tonight since the airport. I can't believe you remembered."
"Like I told you at our first tasting." I take her face in my hands. "I like hearing you talk. So I listen very closely."
A slow smile spreads across her face. "Are you trying to seduce me right now, O'Rourke?"
I lean down until I'm an inch from her lips, close enough to feel her breath catch.
"Very much so. Though seduce is putting it lightly." My fingers trace slowly across her cheekbone. "I'd say I'm attempting something greedier than that. Is it working?"
"It's working," she whispers.
And then she pulls me in and kisses me, and the rest of the world finally falls away as I carry her toward the bed.