Chapter 48
HAILEY
Oh God, what the hell did I just do ?
Of course, it wasn't like I didn't know what I'd done—the evidence of it was dripping from my fingers; thick white viscous fluids that dropped to the tiles with obscene tap, tap, tap sounds that sounded like one big accusation.
Heart in my throat, ears ringing with a silence so loud it was a literal screech, I stared at Lively, at the way his golden hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, at the vulnerable flush spreading across his cheeks, at his mouth; that mouth that had started all of this.
He looked wrecked, shattered, and beautiful . And I had done that to him.
It felt like I was lucid dreaming or something, as if I was watching my own self from somewhere outside my body, and everything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes was nothing but a fever dream. Because it sure felt like that.
The last thing I consciously remembered were his drawled words: “I’m hard because of you, Hailstorm. Wanna check how hard?” And everything after that was a haze of red and velvet that I could barely recall the words that'd come out of my mouth at all now.
All that was left now were the emotions that’d pushed me to find him in the first place, all of it one big jumbled mess inside my chest. Everything was twisted together like barbed wire: the anger that had driven me to find him, the need to apologize that I’d swallowed for weeks, and this new, terrifying awareness of him as something other than just my rival.
Even more jumbled because of the persistent throbbing between my legs, my body very interested in the sequel of what we’d just done.
Heat continued to simmer low in my belly, a molten want that made me want to clench my thighs together, seeking friction I couldn’t afford to pursue.
Not here. And certainly not right now. No matter how much I wanted to.
No. Get your head on straight, Baleman . I told myself sternly, even as my clit throbbed.
Because this wasn't what I'd come here for.
I'd followed him to talk, to explain, to make him understand why I'd acted the way I did at Blackwater…to ask him what he’d meant by last night’s kiss…
I'd come to apologize , for god's sake—not to.
.. not to...clamp my claws around his cock like a harpy in heat.
But when he’d dared me in that moment, I’d let my competitiveness win over rational thought, unwilling to lose to him even as that underlying desperation propelled me forward.
It was an impulsive decision that I now had to grapple with in the silent aftermath, where the only sounds were our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the building's ventilation system.
Hell, I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, so loud I was convinced he could hear it too.
The quiet was suffocating, pressing against my skin like a physical weight.
I wanted to say something— anything —to break it, but my throat felt sealed shut.
What were you supposed to say after you’d just had your hand milk the cock of the guy you recently just realized you really, really liked?
Oh God, it sounded so much worse when I thought of it like that.
Just as I opened my mouth—to say what, I had no damn clue—Lively moved.
He grabbed my wrist without warning, his fingers warm and sure around my bone, and wordlessly pulled me along with him.
My legs followed mechanically, my mind still stuck in a loop of what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck . His touch was gentle but firm, like he was handling something that might break if he wasn’t careful. Or maybe he was the one who might break. I couldn’t tell anymore.
He walked me into the showers section of the locker room, his stride purposeful despite the obvious embarrassment radiating from every line of his body.
The tiles echoed our footsteps, the sound stark and too loud in the emptiness.
He quietly pulled me until he had my hands positioned under the tap of a washbasin. Then, he turned on the tap.
The water was cold at first, making me gasp and try to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep me in place.
I could feel his hands shaking slightly as he guided my fingers under the stream, and I snapped my eyes up to his profile, only to be greeted by the hard set of his jaw, and the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, hiding his eyes.
He was mortified. We both were. The total silence that encompassed the activity was proof enough of that.
But there was something almost... tender about the way he washed my hands, his fingers careful and thorough as he worked soap between my fingers, scrubbing away his cum that’d started to cake on my skin.
I still didn't know what to say. Everything was totally fucked now, nothing had gone the way it was supposed to, and I didn't know what words could possibly fix this mess. But I didn’t even have the time to think of anything because he turned off the tap some minutes later and, after a brutally efficient hand drying, he was leading me toward the door of the locker room.
His movements were wooden, mechanical, like he was operating on autopilot.
My heart sank as I realized he was kicking me out, but I didn’t even get the chance to dig my heels in before I was standing on the other side of the door. It shut behind me with a soft click that somehow felt more final than if he’d slammed it.
All without a word. All without meeting my gaze once.
But I didn’t move from my spot outside the door.
Damn it, this couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be how it ended.
Hands clenching into tight fists at my sides, the cool metal was a shock against my overheated skin as I leaned back against the closed doors, determined to wait him out.
He would have to come out eventually, and when he did, we were going to have the conversation I’d come here for in the first place.
He wasn’t running today. I was not going to let him.
The halls were strangely empty, with none of his teammates coming to clean up or anything.
Usually, the guys would be trickling out by now, their voices echoing off the walls as they discussed the scrimmage or made plans for later.
But today, the corridor was silent except for the distant sound of our teams still on the ice.
And I knew those little shits were in cahoots, deliberately giving me time to confront Lively. Not that I blamed them, really. Having both their Captains acting the way we’d been acting would no doubt have left them in a very awkward situation.
The doors pulled inward behind my back suddenly, and I staggered, starting to fall backward into the locker room. But then Lively was there, catching me with his hands on my shoulders, strong and steady, and I fell against his chest instead of the floor.
I turned, ready to launch into the speech I'd been mentally preparing, but the words died in my throat when I saw his face.
He looked even calmer now, dressed in spare pants and a fresh t-shirt, his hair still damp from what must have been the world's fastest shower.
But his jaw was set in a hard line, his blue eyes still averted, still shining with embarrassment that matched the burning I felt in my own cheeks.
It was so awkward, the two of us just standing there like two strangers who'd accidentally brushed hands on the subway.
It was so awkward, in fact, that I expected him to try to bolt, to get as far away from this situation as he possibly could.
I was ready to block his path if necessary, but instead, he wrapped his fingers around my wrist again; a gesture that was becoming distressingly familiar, and began walking, pulling me along with him.
I was still in my skates because I'd hurriedly followed him before, so I just kind of thudded along behind him, the wheels digging into the rubber mats as he led me wherever he’d decided we needed to go. The silence between us was heavy and oppressive and charged with everything we weren’t saying.
We walked like that until we reached the rink, where our teammates were still conversing in small groups scattered across the ice. They looked almost normal—like we hadn’t been bitter rivals for over two years, like sharing ice time was the most natural thing in the world.
When Lively and I walked in together, though, the rink went quiet.
Not completely silent, but that pointed kind of quiet where conversations died mid-sentence and heads turned in our direction. I could feel all their eyes on us, curious and knowing and way too interested in whatever drama they thought they were witnessing.
My jaw clenched automatically, and I tried to summon my best ‘fuck off’ expression, the one that usually sent people scattering. But I couldn't contain the burning spreading across my cheeks, the heat so intense I was surprised steam wasn't rising from my skin.
Without even looking at me or at our teammates, he walked past them toward where my gear bag already sat waiting in the stands. Brow arched in surprise, I cut a glance at my teammates only to find them watching us with cheeky smiles and their thumbs up.
Ah, shit. They were totally enjoying this.
Lively led me toward the stands where my gear bag waited. Without a word or even a glance in my direction, he sat me down on the lower deck and squatted in front of me, reaching for my skates.
The gesture shocked me into breaking the silence.
“Hey, I can do it myself—” I started, but Lively had already made quick work of loosening the laces. The skates came off easily, and then he set my regular shoes in front of me.
When I stood, he snatched up my gear bag and slung it over his shoulder before I could reach for it. His hand found my wrist again, and he pulled me with him, matching his pace to my shorter stride as we headed for the exit.
The silence of the rink was excruciating as our teammates watched us leave, their interest practically radiating from their bodies in waves. And, as the doors swung closed behind us, I could hear them start talking again, their voices excited and amused and way too damn loud.
I risked a glance at Lively, but his expression was shuttered, his jaw still quivering, like he was doing his damnedest to keep his emotions in check. He obviously didn’t give a shit about whatever chaos was unfolding behind us.
It wasn't until we were in his car—after he’d carefully strapped me in, leaning close enough that I could count each individual eyelash framing those impossibly blue eyes—that I found my voice again.
“Where…” I had to clear my throat and try again, the words coming out rough and uncertain. “Where are we going?”
His ears were still tinged crimson, but his voice was flat when he answered, “You wanted to talk. So, we’re going somewhere we can talk.”