Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DYLAN
Jonno’s idea of a “light session” is clearly some sadistic inside joke. My legs are already screaming, and we’ve only just finished warm-ups. We’re running suicides across the rink like it’s pre-season all over again.
Murphy skates past me, backwards, naturally, with that shit-eating grin of his.
“Oi Diesel,” he calls, loud enough for half the team to hear. “You skate like you’re carrying the weight of a thousand feelings on your shoulders.”
“Piss off,” I grunt, pushing harder. My thighs are burning and I’m gasping, but I’ll be damned if I let Murphy lap me again.
“Oh no,” he yells dramatically, “he’s brooding. Watch out lads, someone probably kissed him and said something emotional.”
Laughter echoes off the rafters. Ollie nearly trips over his own skates from laughing too hard. Even Jonno’s struggling to keep a straight face behind his clipboard.
I don’t rise to it. I just push harder. The jokes sting less than the truth of them.
It was emotional. It was a kiss that lingered longer than it should have. It was her asking me to stay like she didn’t know how to be alone with her thoughts anymore. Like I’m not the only one struggling to breathe when she’s near me.
By the time we’re done with drills, my hoodie’s soaked through, my muscles are aching in that good way.
The kind that says you’ve worked hard, but also reminds you you’re not eighteen anymore.
I drop onto the bench and rip my helmet off, rubbing at the back of my neck.
Murphy flops down beside me, breathless and smug.
“So…” he says, all innocence and smiles. “You gonna tell me why you were radiating ‘I’ve been emotionally compromised by a woman’ energy all session?”
I shoot him a look. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Mate,” he says, deadpan. “You’re playing like your heart’s been shattered into approximately twelve jagged pieces and you’re skating on the remains.”
“Remind me why I talk to you?”
He smirks and grabs his water bottle. “Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth. Also, I’m delightful.”
I grunt a laugh despite myself and lean forward, elbows on my knees.
He’s not wrong. I am distracted. I haven’t stopped replaying the way Mia looked at me when I touched her cheek this morning, soft and unsure like the ground might vanish under her.
And the kiss last night, her mouth hot and urgent on mine, like she’d reached some breaking point and let go.
The scariest thing? I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to leave her flat. I liked waking up in her bed. I liked the feel of her leg brushing against mine beneath the sheets and her sleepy voice saying my name.
It’s new. It’s addictive. And it’s absolutely a terrible idea.
After training, I hang back in the changing room. The others slowly file out, ribbing each other on their way to showers or lunch. Murphy claps me on the shoulder on his way out.
“Tell Mia I said hi. And that she clearly has terrible taste in men.”
“You’re a dick,” I mutter, chucking a roll of tape at him.
Once it’s quiet, I dig my phone out of my locker and scroll to her name. The screen lights up with that picture of her I snapped during team physio day, her laughing at something Ollie said, hair tied up, eyes crinkling. She didn’t even know I took it.
I hit the call button, trying not to second guess everything.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey.”
Her voice is soft, but wary.
“Hey,” I say, pressing a hand to the back of my neck. “Training ran over. Just finished. You still want a lift to get your car?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I’ve been staring at my inbox for an hour pretending I’m not waiting on your call.”
That makes me smile. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
It’s late afternoon by the time I pull up outside her flat. The rain’s stopped but the sky is still bruised grey, threatening to pour again. Mia’s already waiting near the entrance porch, arms crossed over her chest, her coat tugged tight against the wind.
She climbs into the passenger seat and fastens her seatbelt in silence.
“Everything alright?” I ask as I pull away.
She nods. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Always thinking. Overthinking, if we’re being honest. Which makes two of us.
The garage where my mate’s working on her car is just down the block, so I asked him to drop her car back at the rink when he’d fixed it.
He’s left it round the back, behind the rink where the players’ cars get parked and the maintenance vans are kept.
Her hatchback’s there, tucked in one of the back spots.
I shift into park. “Give me a sec. I’ll check the keys are where he said.”
I hop out and grab the spare from the lockbox tucked in the fence behind the rink, then turn to head back, but she’s already out of the car, arms folded again, watching me with that unreadable expression.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. Just this feels weird.”
“Weird how?”
She steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of her shampoo again, something citrusy and clean. “Like we’re on the edge of something and pretending we’re not.”
Her words hit low and direct. And I don’t know whether to kiss her or run.
“I’m not pretending,” I say quietly.
She searches my face like she’s trying to decide if she trusts me. And then, just like the night before, she reaches for me first.
Her hands find my jacket, fingers curling in the fabric, and then she’s kissing me. Fierce, like she doesn’t want to second-guess it this time. Like she’s tired of her own rules.
I grip her waist and press her back against the side of my car, kissing her deeper.
My body’s already pulsating, like she’s plugged me into the mains.
Everything about her is hot and real and terrifying.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath, after a brief glance at the floor, she looks up and me and smiles wide.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she whispers.
I brush her hair back behind her ear. “But you do.”
She nods, slow. Her eyes flick down to my mouth again, and then widen in horror.
“Oh God,” she mutters. “Murphy.”
I turn my head. Sure enough, Murphy’s halfway across the lot, frozen mid-step, mouth open like he’s just walked in on a live soap opera.
“Really?” he calls out. “You couldn’t wait five minutes until I left?”
Mia groans and hides her face against my chest. I laugh, low and rough.
Murphy grins and throws us a thumbs up. “Finally,” he yells. “Now maybe Diesel will stop being a tragic fucking poem!”
And with that, he saunters off toward his car, whistling like the smug bastard he is.
Mia sighs against me. “He’s never going to let this go.”
“Nope,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I’m not going to, either.”
She looks up at me, and this time, there’s no fight in her eyes. Just that quiet, bone-deep truth I’ve been waiting to see.
“I’m scared,” she admits.
“So am I,” I reply. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
And for the first time in a long time, I actually think that’s enough.