Cayden
ELEVEN
I told myself I was going to keep my distance. Scarlett’s dance class could be controlled—easier to distract myself from what I feel when I’m around her.
Here, though, every movement, every breath…
every slight touch of her hand can be felt a thousand times over.
I wanted to stay away—even canceled my appointment, but I needed to see her before I left for Chicago’s away game this week.
That alone should have me running in the opposite direction, but here I am, tethered to her and unable to fully sever the tie.
She’s invaded my thoughts all weekend. Soft at first, like a whisper in the background, quietly calming the storm inside me. For the first time since Jules’s death, I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.
The last few nights, though, are what have my head in a tailspin. The whispered thoughts have become louder and more intense as I lie in bed at night.
Dreams that were once of violent car crashes and a death I couldn’t escape, no matter how hard I tried, are now replaced with urgent touches and the sound of my name being moaned from soft, pink lips.
Instead of waking up in a cold sweat from the horrors of a nightmare, I wake up in a ferocious need to sate the hunger coursing through my body.
My dick straining against my sheets, begging for her touch, ending with me giving in to her image, as I bring myself to a violent release that can no longer be controlled.
Then the guilt comes as if I’m cheating on a ghost, starting the vicious cycle all over again. The constant war raging inside of me, making me doubt every single thing I thought I knew and wanted.
Taking a deep, controlled breath, I force myself to relax and trust that I made the right call showing up today.
She works quietly, adjusting my posture when needed, letting me sit in silence. Her touch is steady and strong, relaxing parts of me I never knew were coiled tight until I feel the unseen chains break free, allowing me to lean more into the pose—more into the light.
“Did you feel that?” She asks softly, her hair brushing against my arm. She’s wearing it in a ponytail again, the brunette waves cascading down her back. The pull to sink my fingers into it is almost unbearable, but I resist the urge.
No matter how much my body wants her, I can’t afford to let someone in again, and I know without a doubt she would crash through my barriers if I let my guard down.
“Yes. My hips feel softer somehow—more fluid.”
“You’re releasing the stuck energy,” she smiles. “And before you roll your eyes and say it’s nonsense, it’s not.”
“I’m starting to believe you are right,” I grunt, holding the pose she has me in and feeling the proof of my hips loosening. I haven’t been able to get this deep in a hip stretch in a long time. Not even my trainer could make my body feel relaxed enough to let go like this.
“I know I am,” she responds with a cheeky grin. “Let’s work with a few more poses that I think will help before we end in stillness.”
She guides me for the next few minutes, putting various straps on my body and having me hold certain positions, each one releasing something unseen that can’t be explained, but is felt deeply.
My body feels lighter somehow—less weighted down. The more pressure she applies to the straps, the more my body sinks further into the mat.
When the session is over, she leads me into a silence that doesn’t seem so scary anymore. I’m less resistant to any emotions that want to rise, and instead of letting them tear into me and bleed me wide open, I let them be. I still feel them, but I’m not consumed by them.
I finally open my eyes when we are done and sit up beside her.
Handing me a water, I reach out and take it, feeling her finger brush against mine. The familiar spark crackles between us when we touch, just waiting for the right moment to engulf us in flames.
“Thanks,” I scrape out past the tightness in my jaw. Unscrewing the cap, I take a deep pull of the cool water before grabbing the hem of my tee and wiping the sweat from my brow.
“You did good today. I can tell you’re making progress.
” She takes a sip of her water, and my eyes follow the movement in her throat as she swallows.
“You should start to notice small differences. Like less pain and more fluid movement in your hips…better sleep too,” she continues, as I watch her tongue swipe her bottom lip, catching a drop of water.
Her movement stills when she notices me watching her.
Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches out to touch a strand of her hair that has escaped her ponytail.
I hear her breath slightly hitch as I run my fingers through its softness.
There is a curl to them, and I find it incredibly cute and sexy all at the same time.
My gaze meets hers, and for a second, I forget all about the pain of my past and all the reasons I swore to myself that I would never let myself feel again.
In this moment, I’m just a guy sitting across from a girl desperately wanting to kiss her.
My palm makes contact with her cheek, causing her eyes to briefly close, sinking into my touch as if she craves it just as much as I do. When her lips part on a sigh, my body instantly reacts, snapping me back to reality as I reluctantly drop my hand.
The selfish part of me wants to sink into her and take what I desperately want, consequences be damned, but she deserves better than just some quick fuck to sate my needs.
A girl like her will get her heart involved, and I know I’ll never be able to give her all of me.
Not when part of me is still chained to another, forever bound by a promise I can never break.
“I should go,” I say, abruptly, standing up and putting some space between us. “Thanks for whatever you did,” I wave at the mat and chuckle slightly. “Not sure exactly what you are doing, but I can feel a difference in hockey practice.”
“I’m glad it’s helping,” she softly says, letting out a slow breath before getting off the mat as I get ready to leave. I know if I stay here any longer, I won’t be able to stop myself from touching her again. “Cayden…” Her voice breaks through my thoughts, forcing me to look at her again.
Questions hang in the air as her beautiful eyes search mine for answers I don’t have the strength to face. She hesitates before a smile lifts at the corner of her mouth. “Same time next week?” she asks instead, leaving the unanswered questions alone where they need to stay.
“I’ll be here.” Giving her what I can, my lips turn upward in a slight smile before I walk away, wondering how the hell I’m going to wait a full week until I see her again.
Because whether I like it or not, she’s finding cracks I sealed shut a long time ago, and if I’m not careful, the whole damn wall is going to come crashing down on me.
The arena is ablaze with energy. Chicago fans came out in full force tonight, wanting a win. Feet stomp at their seats, and hands ricochet off the glass as another fight breaks out on corner ice.
I watch McCormick land a good one before bringing the Chicago player to the ground. The refs immediately descend, jumping on them and breaking it up.
Lifting my mask, I squirt some water on my face to wash away the sweat and reset my mind. The cold water immediately jolts my overheated skin, giving me a nice energy boost that I needed.
This game has been long and brutal from the beginning. The shots on goals have been consistent, and I’ve worked my ass off keeping all but one out of my net. The boys have been giving them hell on the other side of the rink, netting two in the last period to give us a lead.
With fifteen minutes still left in the third period, it’s still anyone’s game, but Chicago is going to have to work harder if they want to get another one past me.
Flipping my mask down, I tap my stick to either side of the goal post and hunch down into position as Stone gets ready for the faceoff just to the right of me.
The crowd disappears around me as I block out all distractions and noise. My breaths are steady and calm as I grip my stick, honing in on the puck that suddenly drops.
Stone wins the faceoff, taking control of the puck as he shoots it over to Hayes, who sends it sailing down the rails toward Kane. He battles for control of the puck, struggling against the glass with another player as their sticks clash together in an attempt to break free.
Kane finds an opening and whips it to Stone, who is ready and waiting for it as he scoops it up and stick handles like a pro down to the other side.
Easing up a bit on my stance, I take this slight reprieve to relax my guard, never fully, just enough to loosen my muscles a bit.
My mind, though, never falters as I study every move of the other team, looking for any telltale signs that will help me understand their movements. The more I know about each one of them and what they like to favor, the better I can stop them.
Foxx takes a shot at the net, but it’s deflected off the goalie’s stick, sending it back to their player. He skates quickly back toward center ice, and I’m already in position, keeping track of the puck as they pass it to one another.
I get low protecting the left side of the net with my leg pad as the puck bounces off, but they quickly recover with a rebound hit.
I see the curve of the stick and the stance of the player at the last minute and know it’s going high.
My glove shoots out in the upper right-hand corner, twisting my body for the reach on the opposite side of my net that I was protecting, catching it with a thud against my palm.
Holding on to it, the whistle blows signaling the save.
“Fuck,” I hear the player who just took the shot mutter.
“Easy save,” I grin, not being able to stop myself from getting a little dig in.
“You got lucky,” he bites back, before skating away.
“Damn, that was a good catch,” Stone grins, coming to a halt in front of me.
“Could have done it in my sleep,” I smirk, causing Stone to laugh.