Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Sean
I walked quietly toward my room, trying not to wake Cassy or Mel.
I knew she was here—Abby had texted when she handed off the keys—but seeing the curve of her bumper in the driveway headlights still hit me with a jolt.
That kind of thrill you only get when you win two jackpots in one night: the woman asleep under my roof and the team headed to the Cup.
My muscles tightened sharper than they should at this hour.
I was exhausted but still jacked on adrenaline.
We were going to the Stanley Cup. The phrase kept looping in my head.
It’d been a crazy ride—hell, still was. I’d answered a flood of texts mid-flight, and my phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since.
I couldn’t even look at social media right now; it was probably wilder than the Wild West.
More than anything, I wanted to see Mel and share this win with her.
Her Game 6 text nearly wrecked me, yet it steadied me from inside out, all at once.
Who writes I believe in you more than anyone ever has and then threatens to kiss you win or lose?
My Cutie, apparently. And damn, I’d never admit it to the guys, but that barrette line carried me straight through the overtime grind last night.
I needed to find out where she was without waking her if she was out. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks, and padded down the hall. She wasn’t in Abby’s room, and Cassy’s door was cracked the way Abby liked it. That left the other two.
I opened the first door slowly, heart drumming a solo rock concert in my chest. Her silhouette rose from the bed. I stepped inside and shut the door softly behind me.
“Hi,” I whispered, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the mattress.
She pushed up onto her elbows, hair tousled. “Hi.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No. I’m so happy for you. Stanley Cup finals… That’s huge.”
I exhaled. “I don’t think I quite believe it yet.”
She reached out and pinched my arm. “Do you believe it now?”
I chuckled. “After promising to kiss me, win or lose, this is all I get?”
She smiled wider, sleep-soft and flushed, which broke something loose in me.
I didn’t reach for her, not this time. I’d kissed her in different ways—teasing, breathless, heat simmering—but she’d never been the one to initiate.
Now, something about her tousled hair and bare honesty told me it was her turn, and I was ready for it.
She sat up, shifted toward me, and lifted a hand to my face.
I stilled under her touch, feeling her hesitation.
Then came the softest press of her lips on my cheek, featherlight.
Then the other side, then my jaw. One kiss after another.
I didn’t move or speak, I let her keep going.
My breath slowed, heart pounding loud enough I was sure she could hear it.
Finally, her mouth hovered over mine, barely a breath of space between us. I tipped forward the smallest inch without pressure.
She kissed me.
Slowly, she moved her lips against mine. I kissed her back, answering every question she didn’t ask aloud. Yes, I feel this too. Yes, I’m yours if you want me.
Her fingers slid to the back of my neck, warm and sure.
My hands locked on her waist, pulling her closer.
Her tongue darted into my mouth, and I met it, sliding mine against hers, coaxing, stroking.
Suddenly there was no space left, her body pressed fully into mine, our mouths moving with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs.
A groan rumbled out of me, swallowed by her kiss.
My chest burned, but I didn’t care. Every second with her was oxygen enough.
When we finally pulled apart, I let my forehead rest against hers.
“You always initiate,” she whispered, breathless.
I smiled. “It was yours to give. Now I get to grade you.”
She laughed softly. “So? How did I do?”
I pursed my lips, mock serious. “I was distracted and missed some key technique. You might need to give a second performance.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You screw up your own assignment?”
Then she playfully but firmly pushed me back with both hands on my chest. I let myself fall, chuckling, and pulled her down with me. She landed on top of me, our faces inches apart. The mood shifted. The teasing gave way to tension, the kind that holds everything still. Our eyes locked.
“Cutie, for the record, you were perfect,” I murmured, brushing her hair back.
Then I kissed her again, and we picked up where we left off, like pressing play after the best kind of pause.
My hands traced the curve of her hip, her arms looped behind my neck pulling me closer until I rolled us, settling her beneath me, and kissed her even deeper.
Soft, breathy sounds escaped her and damn near undid me.
The Cup was everything this season was about. For a man who lived for that thrill—she was better.
“Mel?”
We froze. Cassy’s voice floated in from the hallway.
“Hey, Cassy. I’ll be there in a sec,” Mel called out.
“Okay.”
We listened to her footsteps fade. Mel let out a breath, eyes closed. I dropped my head to her chest, resting there, feeling the rapid drumbeat of her heartbeat under my cheek. Good, I wasn’t the only one.
I stayed like that. She smelled of morning breeze and worn cotton.
My pulse couldn’t find its rhythm. I’d fallen for her somewhere back when, and this attraction was maddening—not only in looks, but who she was.
The way she made me feel lighter, how we teased, the pieces of our lives we’d handed over…
we were slowly fitting into each other’s world.
And underneath all of it, I knew she might not be ready for everything this was becoming.
But I’d wait as long as it took, because every day with her pulled me deeper.
I pressed a slow kiss below her collarbone, then met her eyes and mouthed “later” before sliding out.
In my room, I stripped to my boxers as the sun peeked through the curtain.
I’d celebrated our ticket to the Stanley Cup Finals in the best damn way.
Forget champagne or confetti, Mel was enough.
Her kissing me was the real victory parade, and no one even spilled beer on me.
She steadied something in me that the win alone hadn’t touched.
I lay in bed trying to sleep. But the soft movement in the kitchen, low whispers, faint clatter of dishes, and Mel and Cassy trying to hush were as distracting as raccoons with secrets.
I gave up on sleep, threw on shorts and a T-shirt, and went to meet them.
Cassy spotted me first.
“Uncle Sean! Look, it’s Mel! Do you remember her?” She perched at the kitchen island with a coloring book.
I chuckled. “Yeah, Sweet, I remember.”
Damn right I did. I remembered every single scoop.
Mel didn’t turn around. She was at the stove flipping something in a pan, hair up in a loose twist, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, looking perfectly at home.
“Mel and me, we watched you on TV last night, in hockey,” Cassy added helpfully.
I grinned and crossed the room. “Yeah? And guess what? We won.”
Cassy held up her palm, and I gave her a high five.
“So, what’s for breakfast? Smells delicious,” I said, stepping up behind Mel and peeking over her shoulder.
She glanced sideways but didn’t meet my eyes. “Rustic omelet: tomatoes, onions, a little cheddar. I hope you’re not allergic to flavor.”
I grinned. A little dig, but a playful one.
“They definitely hired you in the wrong department,” I said. “Players would love you in nutrition.”
She smiled. “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. I already like all of it.”
That got her. She finally looked at me—and yeah, I wasn’t talking only about the omelet.
Mel set down plates and poured orange juice into mugs I’d forgotten I even had. We sat at the island, the three of us, sunlight crawling slowly across the hardwood floor.
“Are you going to show my mom how to make it? I like the colors red and yellow,” Cassy said, mouth full.
“You do? Does it taste good?” Mel leaned toward her, smiling.
Cassy nodded hard, cheeks puffed with food.
“Then I’ll give her the recipe.” Mel said, then turned to me. “So, did they settle on the Stanley Cup date?”
“June twenty-eighth. We’ve got two weeks.”
“That’s a long break. Is that… ?”
“Yeah. Eastern Conference got backed up, weather delay, plus a whole thing about injury-recovery windows. They pushed the schedule so their key guys could heal.”
“Does that usually happen?”
“If there are a lot of injuries, yeah. The League’s trying to avoid another short-roster disaster like four years ago. I’m not mad about it; my guys could use the rest. But two weeks off, you worry about losing the lead.”
“I can imagine. The momentum last night was off the hook.” She paused before adding, “Though only a few people touched the trophy. That was weird.”
I swallowed a bite and wiped my mouth. “Superstition. For the Campbell Bowl on the West and the Prince of Wales on the East, it’s a thing. You win, but you don’t celebrate too much. Because that’s not the trophy you’re after. The real prize is the Cup. Touch anything before that, you jinx it.”
Mel lips curved, she tilted her head. “So you just stand near it, as if it’s radioactive?”
“Pretty much. Captains might pose, but they won’t lift it. Not until the real thing.”
“That’s oddly romantic,” she murmured. “Like holding your breath until it’s really real.”
Our eyes met again, a breath snagging between us.
“Uncle Sean, can I touch the trophy when you win it?”
Mel kicked my ankle gently under the table, then mouthed, “Sorry.”
I smiled. “Yes, Sweet, if your parents bring you to the game.”
“My dad’s coming today with Mom,” she told Mel.
Mel nodded, mouth full.
It was ridiculous how good this felt, so domestic, so damn comfortable. Playoffs without Mel in the mix didn’t compute anymore, maybe because she worked with the team, but she’d quietly rearranged everything. My work and love life had always been separate. Until her.
I didn’t want to blink and miss any of it. I wanted to savor every second.
After we finished eating, Cassy darted off to change into clothes that didn’t belong to a stuffed animal. I stood to clear the plates.
“Go shower, Coach. You smell like victory,” Mel waved me off.
I leaned closer, dropped my voice. “You mean sexy, and you still let me sit at your table?”
Her eyes flicked to mine, teasing. “Just barely.”
“And you smell like omelets. That drop of food on your chest is begging for you to take a shower too,” I said, brushing the crumb from her shirt and leaning in like I might kiss her.
“Sean!” she hissed, voice low. “We’re in the kitchen, and Cassy is down the hall.”
Her cheeks darkened in color. My favorite caffeine.
“So, you’re saving it all for later?” I whispered.
“Get out of here!” She playfully shoved my arm, but her eyes held a spark.
“At your order, Cutie.” I kissed her cheek and headed for my room, leaving her with a promise hotter than the coffee she hadn’t finished.
The water hit my back, hot and hard, loosening every muscle. My mind ping-ponged between my pillow and the woman in my kitchen. The way Mel looked at me when I told her I liked all of it—she knew what I meant.
I hadn’t let myself picture this kind of joy since Evie. Back when it felt solid until the work trips and the fling cracked it wide open. That loss left a fault line I’d been careful not to step on again.
But Mel had been chipping away at that fault line since the night she stumbled into my life with a twisted ankle at the rink.
And this morning, standing there in loose pants, making omelets and bossing me around, something tipped over.
It felt like I’d known her for more than a few months, and she never flinched at my scars any more than I did at hers.
Still, an uninvited voice reminded me that trust had blindsided me before. The thought lingered, but I shoved it down. Mel wasn’t Evie. She was different in every way. And I wanted to keep laying bricks with her, see if what we built could stand.
I shut off the water, dried off, and sat on the edge of the bed.
I wanted mornings like this, hearing Mel in the house.
How would she feel about that? Ruby’s voice barged in, reminding me of how she swapped me for Vince as if I was a bad deal.
My blood boiled. I wanted to pull Mel out of there.
How would she feel about that? But she deserved to break out on her own, I had to trust her to kick ass on her terms, and I’d be there to celebrate every damn victory.
I slid under the sheets, leaning back into the pillows. Even with the history and hard stuff still to unpack, her sass and the way she softened for Cassy settled into me like the best kind of calm. I was hooked.