Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
STEPHANIE
Wednesday Night
S omething’s off with Tank.
On the surface, he’s doing everything right—following my cues, moving through the poses with the laser focus I’ve come to expect from him. But there’s a rigidity in his shoulders that has nothing to do with his old injury, and his jaw is clenched so tight I swear I can hear his teeth grinding together from across the room.
Every time I glance his way, hoping to catch his eye and offer a reassuring smile, his gaze is locked on his mat like it holds the secrets of the universe.
No, more like it’s a screen playing a highlight reel of whatever’s eating at him over and over again on repeat…
“Now flow into warrior two,” I guide the class, making my way toward the back of the room where Tank is set up in his usual spot. “Let your shoulders soften away from your ears. Remember, we’re not at war with our bodies or with this moment. We’re not here to control. We’re here to allow, to soften, to explore what’s possible when we stay present with our breath.”
Tank’s shoulders shift about a millimeter south.
Progress, but not much.
“Beautiful, everyone,” I continue. “Now sink a little deeper into that front leg, remembering to keep your knee tracking over your ankle. Feel the strength in your foundation as you reach through your fingertips, creating length through the arms.”
As I pass behind Tank, I pause to rest light fingers between his shoulder blades. His muscles are rigid beneath my palm, but he doesn’t flinch away. If anything, he seems to lean into the contact, his body instinctively seeking support. Comfort.
My heart squeezes. Whatever’s bothering him, I hate seeing him like this. The Tank I’ve come to know may be gruff and guarded, but there’s also a quiet peace about him. A grounded, solid quality I admire.
This tightly-wound, churning energy isn’t like him at all.
When we finally reach savasana, his hands curl into fists at his sides and his jaw is still balled up tight. Even Mr. Sniffles seems to sense something’s wrong. Instead of cuddling up next to Tank the way he usually does, my normally chill pup crouches anxiously near his mat, casting worried glances my way.
I guide the class through their final relaxation, but my focus keeps drifting to Tank. By the time I rub the singing bowl to signal the end of practice, I’ve made up my mind—I have to say something. Even if Tank were just a student, I’d feel obligated to reach out.
But he’s more than a student; he’s the man I’m dating.
And no, we haven’t been dating long, but that doesn’t matter. I still care about him, probably more than I should after just a few dates.
After exchanging the usual small talk with the other students as they gather their things in the lobby, I ease back into the studio, where Tank is methodically wiping down his mat and returning his props to their homes.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”
He glances over his shoulder from the blanket shelf with a sigh. “Sorry. I was trying to breathe through it, but…” His forehead furrows. “Did I harsh your vibes?”
I smile. “Nah, my vibes are good. I’m just concerned. What’s going on?”
He sighs again, a heavier sound this time. “Bullshit. Bullshit is going on. Want to take a walk maybe? Get some fresh air while I fill you in?”
“Sounds good,” I say, touched by the fact that he’s so willing to share. When Drake was in a mood, he would either brush me off or lash out, taking his anger out on me without ever saying what was bothering him. But even just a few dates in, it’s obvious that Tank isn’t anything like Drake. He’s a grown-up who’s worked on himself and is continuing to learn and evolve.
It’s…so hot.
Nearly as hot as the way he wraps an easy arm around my shoulders, hugging me against his side as we head for the lobby, leaving Mr. Sniffles napping on his bed.
A few minutes later, we’re strolling down the quiet street, the summer evening warm and welcoming around us. The breeze carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine and yummy smells from the restaurants down the block, and I send out a silent wave of gratitude.
It’s a good night to be alive with a man who makes silence feel easy.
I don’t push him, sensing he’ll speak when he’s ready.
Sure enough, about ten minutes in, he says, “I saw Garcia, the backup goalie, talking to the assistant General Manager outside the arena last night. I know it sounds paranoid as hell, but Stone warned me that Garcia has his sights on me. And Hartley, the assistant GM…” He trails off, his jaw working before he adds, “Let’s just say he’s made it clear he doesn’t think guys like me deserve second chances.”
“Guys like you?” I echo.
Tank’s steps slow and his expression tightens. “Guys with a history of substance abuse. Guys who fucked up their first shot at the big leagues by getting high and wandering into the street in front of a drunk driver.”
My breath catches—the thought of him being hit by a car affecting me in a visceral way. “Oh my God, Tank. That’s intense. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
He stops beside me, his brows drawing together as he asks, “Did you really not google me?”
My pulse picks up. “No, I didn’t. But I did ask Bree about you. She mentioned that you’d been through some stuff, but she wasn’t specific. She was trying to respect your privacy while also...” I bite my lip as my cheeks heat. “While also making sure I knew what I was getting into if I decided to date you. I’m sorry if that feels like I went behind your back. It was the night we kissed for the first time, after the food trucks. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a mistake to have the feelings I was starting to have for you.”
To my surprise, his features soften with understanding instead of irritation. A confession like that would have had Drake fuming, but he just murmurs, “You don’t need to apologize. I get it. Stone and I were talking last night about what pieces of shit most men are. You’re smart to be careful.” He frowns as he adds in a gruffer voice, “And you should have googled me. Your safety is more important than my privacy. I could have been a serial killer.”
I smile, more charmed than I can remember being in a long time. “You’re not a serial killer.”
“No, but I’m…problematic,” he says with a sigh.
“No, you’re not. You’re Tank, and I think you’re pretty great. I’m sure Hartley will, too. Just give him time, and a chance to get to know you. You’ll make a good impression, no doubt in my mind.”
“I appreciate that. A lot.” He stretches his neck to one side, rubbing at the tight muscle there. “But I’m no angel, Teach, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. The only woman I was ever serious about…” He clears his throat. “I fucked things up with her. Big time.”
My brows drift up my forehead. “Yeah?”
“Long story short, I made her promises, broke those promises, betrayed her trust, and by the time I finally pulled my head out of my ass and tried to get her back, she was pregnant with another man’s baby.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. He was an asshole and a criminal and dragged Michelle down with him. Eventually, they both ended up in prison for dealing, though I doubt she had much to do with it.” His gaze remains fixed on the ground between us as he adds, “Their kid ended up in the system.”
“That’s a really sad story,” I say softly.
“It is.” He runs a hand over his hair to curl around the back of his neck. “And if I hadn’t broken her heart and my word, none of that would have happened. She’d still have a life, a future.”
“Hey.” I reach for his free hand, twining my fingers through his. “You can’t blame yourself for other people’s choices, Tank. It’s not your fault that she chose the wrong rebound guy.”
“No, but I wasn’t there when she needed me. And after all that went down…” He squeezes my hand. “That’s when I really started to spiral. You don’t want to know how many pills I was taking every day by the time I finally realized I had to get clean. I’m lucky I didn’t end up in prison myself. Or dead.”
Silence settles between us again, a much less comfortable one this time. I honestly don’t know what to say. My relatively sheltered life hasn’t given me a whole lot of context for this kind of thing.
Finally, I ask, “How long have you been clean?”
“Two and a half years.”
“Are you in a recovery program?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, that didn’t work for me. I’m not a joiner. I just made a choice to stop and did it. Cold turkey.”
“Impressive,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “Not really. It was hard as hell at first. Messy. Ugly. But then, I got into coaching kids, then adults, then other pro players. I started rebuilding my skills and realized I might still have a shot at the NHL. Aiming myself at that took me a long way. Then, eventually, I woke up one day and realized I was never going back to that dark place. Not ever again.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “So…what do you think? If you’d rather just be friends after all that, it’s okay. I wouldn’t blame you. Or be a little bitch about it.”
A smile curves my lips as I squeeze his fingers. “You’re the farthest thing from a ‘little bitch.’ Seriously.” I take a beat, composing my thoughts, wanting to meet his honesty with as much of my own as possible. “So, here’s what I think… Your past is part of your story, for sure, but it’s not who you are. I see how much you care about living your life with integrity and kindness, Tank.” He frowns, but I push on, insisting, “You are kind. The way you interact with the other students, with Mr. Sniffles, with me...” I cup his stubbled cheek in my hand. “You’re a good man trying to live a life you can be proud of in the here and now. That’s who you are. That’s the guy I admire and love spending time with.”
His eyes lock with mine, dark and intense in the fading light. “You’re the fucking sweetest, you know that?”
“I do,” I tease. “But feel free to keep telling me.”
He smiles before sobering. “I’m serious. Most people hear about my history and they… Well, let’s just say Hartley isn’t alone in believing once a loser, always a loser.”
“I’m not most people.” I lean in closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. “And you’re definitely not a loser.”
“No?” His voice drops to that gravelly register that makes my toes curl.
“No. I think you’re a survivor, forged in fire, and a more compassionate person than you would have been if your life had always been easy. You bring good things to the table, and you deserve to be judged on your present not your past. Anyone who doesn’t realize that is a poop face.”
His lips twitch. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that sends shivers racing down my spine. “Seriously, thank you,” he whispers against my skin. “I don’t know what I did to deserve woman like you in my life, but I’m not going to fuck it up, Teach. I promise.”
I meet his gaze and something electric passes between us. Something that makes my heart race and my breath catch.
And then he’s kissing me, deep and sexy and sweet, like he’s trying to pour everything words can’t say into the press of his lips against mine. I wind my arms around his neck, melting into him as the shadows lengthen and night falls, feeling beautiful and appreciated and…home.
That’s not a thing that’s happened to me with a man before, especially not one I’ve been dating for less than a week, but I’m a person who believes in miracles.
In magic.
In cosmic connections and Fate and things that have been written in the stars.
And I’m starting to think this man might be written in mine.