Chapter 12 Roman
The puck came off the boards clean. I caught it on my backhand and carried it through the neutral zone, reading the gap before it opened.
Grady held the blue line. He didn't look at me. Didn't need to.
I drove wide left, pulling two defenders with me. Grady stepped up at the exact moment I needed him to, and I slid the puck cross-ice. He one-timed it through traffic.
Goal.
The lamp lit. Roars erupted from the stands.
I skated toward Grady and bumped his glove with mine. He pulled away half a second faster than usual.
I noticed.
We lined up for the face-off. The Rangers were down by two with twelve minutes left in the third. They were pressing hard, close to cracking.
We didn't give them room to breathe.
Three shifts later, I stripped the puck at their blue line and fed Seb for an empty-netter. The game was over. We'd won 4-1.
Noise rose from every corner of Lakeshore Forum as we skated to center ice. Carter grabbed my helmet and shook it. Seb slapped my back.
Then my name.
Not from one section. From all of them.
"WIL-DER. WIL-DER. WIL-DER."
The chant built like a storm front gathering momentum. I raised my stick once, acknowledging it, then skated toward the bench.
Grady was already there. Standing at the gate. Watching me.
The media scrum was bigger than usual.
I'd showered and dressed. My hair was still damp when I walked into the hallway outside the locker room, where reporters waited with recorders and cameras.
Usually, a regular-season win in late February didn't draw this much attention. But we'd won four straight now. The playoff picture was tightening, and I'd scored three points tonight.
I paused when they wanted to photograph me. Smiled the way I'd learned to smile. Made eye contact with the first reporter who spoke.
"Roman, that assist on Grady's goal, you two didn't even look at each other. How does that chemistry develop?"
"Reps," I said. "We've played a lot of minutes together. Knowing where the other guy's going to be turns into a reflex."
"Is it fair to say you've become the offensive catalyst for this team?"
My expression remained neutral. "We've got a lot of guys contributing. Tonight was a team win."
A woman from the Tribune stepped forward. "You're twenty-six now. Three years in the league. Do you feel you're stepping into a leadership role on this team?"
I chose my words carefully. "I'm learning from the veterans in the room. Guys like Grady, Luke, Carter. They set the tone."
"But you're part of the core now, right? The future of this franchise?"
"I'm focused on right now," I said. "Winning games. Making the playoffs."
Another reporter jumped in. "Simon Kavanaugh wrote this week about the natural progression of leadership in this league. Younger players stepping up. Do you see yourself in that conversation?"
I clenched my teeth momentarily. Then forced my jaw to relax.
"I see myself as a player trying to help this team win. That's it."
I scanned the hallway reflexively. Looking for an exit. Looking for—
Grady.
He stood near the locker room entrance. Twenty feet away.
He looked at me.
The pressure in his gaze nearly knocked the air from my lungs.
I looked back at the reporters. "Anything else about the game?"
"One more," someone said. "You're on pace for a stellar year. Points. Ice time. Plus-minus. It's only your third in the league. What's the formula?"
"Confidence," I said. "And quality linemates."
I stepped back. The scrum broke apart.
As I walked toward the locker room, Grady remained where he was, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
I stopped next to him.
"You handled that well," he said quietly.
"Did I?"
He didn't answer.
I wanted to tell him I didn't ask for those questions. Didn't care about leadership conversations when all I wanted was—
"You have plans?" he asked.
"No."
Grady pushed off the wall.
"Come by," he said.
Not a request. A decision already made.
We walked through the arena corridors side by side. The building was emptying out. Staff members nodded as we passed. A few fans lingered near the exit, holding jerseys and Sharpies, but security kept them back.
I expected Grady to peel off toward the players' garage. Take his car. Text me later with some excuse about being tired.
Instead, he stayed beside me.
"You parked in the garage?" Grady asked.
"Yeah."
"Me too."
I wanted to ask what he was thinking. Wanted to reach over and touch his arm. Something that would close the distance that widened even as we walked in step.
When we reached the garage, Grady stopped next to his car. He unlocked it with his key fob.
"You know how to get to my place."
I nodded. "Yeah."
"See you there."
He climbed into the driver's seat and closed the door. I watched his taillights as he pulled out.
My car was four rows over. I walked to it slowly, processing.
Grady hadn't asked if I wanted to come over. He'd told me to. He decided for me before I even knew I had options.
I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat. The engine turned over. Heat blew through the vents.
I put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot.
I knew I could say no. Could have asked for clarity first.
I chose not to.
Whatever this was, Grady was choosing me.
And I was choosing him right back.
I gripped the wheel and kept my speed steady.
My phone sat in the cupholder, screen dark. No texts from Grady. No confirmation that this was actually happening.
The light ahead turned yellow. I slowed and stopped. A couple crossed the street in front of me, hands linked, heads bent toward each other against the wind. They moved like one unit.
The light turned green, and I turned onto Grady's street. Found parking half a block down. I typed a message:
Here.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
23rd floor. 2312.
The hallway on the twenty-third floor was quiet. Carpeted. Lights recessed into the ceiling.
As I raised my hand to knock, I thought about how Grady had looked at me in that hallway outside the locker room. The pressure in his eyes.
I didn’t know what he wanted from me tonight.
I only knew he wanted me here.
After knocking twice, I heard footsteps. The lock turned.
Grady had changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked more relaxed than he had at the arena, but tension remained around his eyes.
"Come in," he said.
He closed the door behind me, and the lock clicked.
I didn't make it past the entryway.
Grady's hands were on me. He kissed me hard. No preamble.
His lips pressed against mine, urgent and insistent, with his fingers gripping the back of my neck.
I kissed him back. Let him set the pace.
He stepped into me, pinning me against the wall. Grady reached for my jacket, shoving it off my shoulders.
"Grady—"
He kissed me again, swallowing whatever I'd been about to say.
His palms were hot against my ribs as he slid them under my shirt. Thumbs pushed into the divots between bones like he was trying to count them.
I reached for him too, fingers sliding under the hem of his t-shirt, feeling his muscular abs. He was warm. Solid. Real.
Still, something was off.
The urgency didn't feel like desire. It was more like desperation.
He pulled my shirt over my head and hungrily kissed my throat, teeth scraping skin. I tilted my head back to make it easier.
He unbuckled my belt. Rough. Impatient.
"Bedroom," I breathed.
Grady grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hallway.
He turned and kissed me again before we reached the bed. With both hands, he pushed my jeans down. I kicked them off along with my shoes.
After stripping his own clothes, he was on me, pushing me back onto the mattress.
Grady's weight settled over me. Chest to chest. His breathing came fast and ragged, cock hard against my thigh.
I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into another kiss.
He slowed down… only for a moment.
Then he was kissing his way over my body, stopping for a flick of his tongue over a nipple. He traced my ribs and hip bone with his fingers.
I let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan.
"Roman," he murmured against my mouth.
"I'm here."
Grady wrapped his fingers around my cock. The grip was firm and possessive. He stroked me slowly, watching my face, whispering, "Yes."
I reached for his cock. Wrapped my fingers around it and matched the rhythm. He rocked his hips forward and back.
"I need—" Grady stopped and clenched his jaw.
"What do you need?"
"To stop time—fuck."
I understood.
He reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out lube and a condom.
He slicked his fingers and reached between my legs. A finger pushed inside, slow and careful. He was going to turn things around and top. I exhaled and relaxed into it.
"More," I said.
He added a second finger. Then a third. His other hand gripped my thigh, holding me open. Holding me steady.
Grady's thumb pressed into my muscle, finding the exact spot that was still sore from blocking a shot two nights ago.
He knew.
I watched his face. The concentration. The control barely holding.
He pulled his fingers free and rolled the condom on. Slicked himself up. Positioned himself between my legs.
I hooked my ankles around his lower back and pulled him closer.
"Fuck me," I whispered.
He pushed inside.
The stretch burned for a moment, then gave way to that feeling of fullness. He didn't stop until balls deep. Then he stopped moving, breathing hard, forehead pressed to my shoulder.
He exhaled against my collarbone. The warm breath made me shudder.
He used controlled thrusts. Measured. Until they weren't. When he sped up, the guardrails disappeared.
He fucked me deliberately, every thrust claiming something. He gripped my hands, moving my hips in rhythm with his thrusts.
I watched his face the entire time.
His eyes were closed. Jaw clenched. Breathing ragged.
The lamp from the hallway cast a slant of light across the bed, catching sweat on Grady's shoulders, turning his skin gold.
I reached up and cupped his face. "Grady. Look at me."