Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MIA
My lips are still tingling.
The game is over and the adrenaline’s worn off. The sting of cold air clings to my jacket as I step onto the coach, but none of that matters.
Because all I can feel is him.
Dylan Winters. Diesel. The man who kissed me like he couldn’t stop himself, then pulled away like he remembered he should.
Goodnight Mia and then he was gone, leaving me with nothing but confusion and desire all rolled into one.
How was I supposed to deal with that? Had he expected me to run after him and beg him to do it again?
Because that is not what happened next. Nope, I watched him walk down the corridor towards the lift and then he disappeared out of sight.
And, like the good girl I am, I closed my door, turned the lock and slid the security back into place.
Once I was safely back under the covers, I switched off the light and lay there in the dark.
Hours passed as I replayed the moment over and over again in my mind.
Fast forward a couple of hours, and now we’re all waiting to board the coach home. And I’m strategically trying to avoid the powerhouse that is Dylan Winters. Thankfully, he’s making it easy for me as he’s currently late.
The coach rolls to a standstill in front of us and there’s a quiet movement to find a desirable seat.
I settle into a seat near the middle of the bus, tugging my coat tighter around me like it’s a shield.
My mind is a tornado of thoughts, none of them helpful.
The inside of the coach hums but not with the usual post-match noise, the players obviously celebrated the win a little too hard last night.
Although, I can hear Danny trying to convince Murphy he should’ve been captain years ago.
But all I can focus on is the weight of that kiss.
I press the heel of my hand to my chest like I can steady the wild pulse there.
What are we even doing? I’m his physio. A professional.
I’ve fought hard to be taken seriously in this job, to earn respect in a world that was never built for women like me.
And yet every time Dylan looks at me, touches me, speaks to me in that low, raspy voice, my entire body betrays me.
I can’t stop replaying the look in his eyes right before he leaned in. Like I was the only thing in the world that made sense to him. And God help me, I felt the same.
There’s a last-minute flurry of activity and the aisle fills with movement as the last few players pile on board. I sit up straighter, schooling my expression into something neutral.
And then I see him.
Dylan climbs on last, shoulders slightly hunched, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. His face is unreadable; broody, tired, and maybe a little stormy. He glances down the length of the coach, scanning for a seat, and his eyes land on mine.
My stomach flips.
He doesn’t say a word. Just moves, slowly and deliberately, until he drops into the empty seat beside me. I keep my gaze out the window, but my heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid someone will hear it.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low.
“Fine,” I say quickly, too quickly.
We sit in silence as the coach pulls away from the hotel and back onto the road home.
Rain spatters against the window, and the scenery blurs into long, golden smears.
I can feel the heat of his body and the subtle shift of his leg against mine when the coach jolts around a bend. He’s too close. But I don’t move.
His voice breaks the silence again. “About last night…”
I close my eyes. “Don’t.”
“Mia.”
“I can’t do this here. On the coach. In front of everyone.”
His jaw tightens. I can see it in the edge of my vision. That signature Diesel clench. The one that usually precedes a fight on the ice. Or an internal one in his head. “Nothing’s happening,” he mutters, sitting back slightly. “Nobody’s watching.”
“That’s not the point,” I whisper, finally turning to look at him. “I’ve worked my arse off to be taken seriously by this team. I can’t risk throwing it away because I can’t think straight when you look at me.”
That shuts him up and the silence stretches between us. And then he says softly, “You think I’d let anyone disrespect you?”
I bite my lip. “It’s not about what you’d let happen, Dylan. It’s about how things look. How fast reputations are made and broken. I’ve worked too hard to have mine reduced to a punchline in the locker room.”
He looks past me and out of the window now, his jaw tight again. “You think I don’t get that?”
I swallow. “Do you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales slowly. Then, quietly, “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve wanted something that isn’t just noise. And then you show up and it’s like something finally cuts through it all.”
My chest tightens. The way he says it, like it costs him something to admit it, undoes me a little. But still, I have to be the level-headed one here. “This job is everything to me,” I whisper. “I can’t mess it up. I won’t.”
We fall into silence again, the kind that’s awkward and heavy with everything left unsaid. He shifts slightly in his seat, angling his body toward mine just enough that his knee brushes mine again.
His mouth curves into the barest smirk. “I’m not giving up on this. On you. You might want to pretend there’s nothing here, but we both know that’s a lie.”
My cheeks burn, but I don’t pull away. I don’t argue because he’s right. There is something here. Something dangerous and unstoppable. Like gravity.
But I can’t fall. Not yet.
Not when everything I’ve built could come crumbling down.
At the rink last night, I couldn’t think straight. He was everywhere; on the bench, on the ice, in my head. The way he looked at me before he got up from that hit…
I didn’t sleep last night, not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him again, with his jaw tight, and his hand gripping my waist like he needed something to hold onto.
And then the kiss.
God, that kiss.
Half restraint, half promise. Every nerve in my body was singing. I’d leaned in without even meaning to, instinct pulling me toward him like a magnet. If he hadn’t stopped it, I don’t know where it would’ve gone.
And that’s what terrifies me most.
Because I don’t trust myself when it comes to Dylan Winters.
Not when his voice gets low and sincere like it did last night. Not when his eyes go soft in moments no one else sees. Not when he makes me feel like maybe I do actually matter.
And I want it. That’s the worst part.
I want him. Not just the cocky exterior or the flirtation that drives me mad. I want the version he shows me when no one else is around. The one who asks if I’m okay and means it. The one who kisses like he’s trying to rewrite every bad thing that’s ever happened to me.
But I also want this job. This career. This respect.
And I don’t know if I can have both.
The coach rolls on through the morning, the interior quiet now as the team settles and some of them try to catch up lost sleep. Someone’s playing music softly through a tinny speaker. Danny’s snoring two rows back and Murphy’s tossing popcorn into Ollie’s hood.
Dylan shifts beside me, his arm nudges mine. I glance down to see his pinkie barely grazing my hand on the seat between us.
I don’t move.
We sit like that for the rest of the ride.
Not touching.
But not apart either.
Somewhere in the middle of everything we want, and everything we’re afraid to lose.