Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DYLAN
She looks like someone just unplugged her.
I’m halfway across the room, post-game adrenaline still buzzing through my veins, when I see the shift in her. One second, she’s focused and snapping the lid closed on her kit bag. The next, she’s still. Like the breath’s been yanked out of her.
Mia Clarke doesn’t freeze. Not like that.
I hang back a beat, watching the way she squeezes her phone tighter in her hand, the way her shoulders lift slightly, like she’s bracing for a blow. She slips the phone into her pocket like it’s nothing, but it’s not. I know it’s not.
She doesn’t notice me watching her at first. She’s moving automatically, zipping up bags, and stacking ice packs like her brain is on a five-second delay. She doesn’t look up until I’m standing right in front of her.
“You okay?”
It’s a soft question. A loaded one.
She jumps slightly, her eyes flicking to mine like she forgot I was even here. “Yeah,” she says too quickly. “Just tired.”
That’s a lie.
It sits between us, obvious and sour, but I don’t push her on it. I’ve seen Mia retreat into herself before, seen that little wall come up. And if I’ve learned anything these past few weeks, it’s that you don’t tear down Mia Clarke’s walls, you wait for her to open the door.
So I keep my voice low. “Come back to mine?”
There’s a flicker in her eyes. She wants to. I can see it. But she hesitates.
“I need to check on a few things,” she says, distracted, glancing toward the door like she’s already halfway out of the building.
I don’t touch her, but I want to. Every nerve in me is lit up like a fuse box. “You want me to follow you home?” I ask.
She hesitates again, then nods, like it takes effort. “Yeah. That’d be good.”
I follow her tail lights through the half-empty streets, trying to ignore the rising churn in my gut. Something’s off, and I don’t know how to fix it without making her run.
When we pull into her street, she gets out quickly, unlocking her door with shaking fingers. I’m right behind her after parking my car and locking it up.
Inside, it’s warm and low-lit, like always. The smell of her wraps around me like a vice. But she doesn’t head straight for the kitchen or offer me tea like usual. She stops in the middle of the living room, arms folded across her chest, staring at the floor like it holds answers.
“Mia.”
She blinks slowly. “Sorry.”
I step forward and gently take the bag from her shoulder, setting it down on the sofa. “Talk to me.”
For a second, I think she won’t. Then she exhales, long and uneven, and finally looks up at me. “It’s my dad,” she says quietly. “My mum messaged. Said he’s been confused again. Badly. She thinks it might be time to talk about... next steps.”
Next steps.
I’ve never hated two words more in my life.
I reach for her hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t cry. She just swallows hard, nodding like she’s trying to keep everything inside.
“He has these days where he doesn’t know who she is,” she says, voice cracking.
“Last week he thought she was his sister. The week before that, he forgot where he lived. He just he fades in and out. And I keep thinking if I’m there more, maybe I can slow it down. Maybe I can... I don’t know. Undo it.”
“You can’t,” I say, softly. “I wish you could. But it’s not on you.”
She shakes her head like she’s trying to shake me off. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Not tonight.”
And I get it. I do. But I’m not walking away. I take her face gently in my hands, tilting her chin until she looks at me. Her eyes are shining and tired and guarded.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
She watches me for a beat. Then another. And then she steps into me.
It’s not a kiss, not at first. It’s a lean, a press of her forehead to my shoulder, her fingers curling into my shirt like she needs something to hold on to. I wrap my arms around her, I can feel the slight tremble in her body, and I press my mouth to her temple.
Her voice is small. “I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“Not just about him. About this. You and me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I know what I want but I have no idea what we’re doing.”
I smile, though it hurts a little. “Yeah. Me neither.”
We stay like that for a minute or two.
And then she lifts her head. Her eyes lock on mine. And she kisses me.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not careful.
It’s teeth and need and heat and the kind of desperation that comes from holding too much in for too long. Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer, and I go willingly, my heart thudding like a drum.
I walk her back toward the wall, my mouth hungry against hers, hands tracing the line of her waist, the curve of her hips. She gasps into my mouth, tilting her head, letting me deepen the kiss until we’re both breathless.
When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
“I need you,” I say, roughly.
Her eyes go molten. “Then take me.”
We barely make it to the bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in a trail behind us; shirts, joggers, her leggings inside out where she yanks them off with a low laugh. I kiss every inch of skin I can find. I want her to feel worshipped.
She’s soft and sharp in turns, her nails dig into my back, her lips trail delicate kisses along my neck, and her hips are arching against me like she can’t get close enough.
And I give her everything. Every slow thrust. Every whisper in her ear.
Every kiss between her breasts and on the curve of her knee.
When we come, it’s messy and raw and real.
After, she curls against me, sweaty and warm and silent.
I smooth my palm over her spine, trying to memorise this exact moment. Her breathing. The smell of her skin. The ache in my chest that’s not just from what we did, but what I feel.
She turns her face into my neck. “If they find out, if Jonno finds out, I could lose everything.”
My jaw tenses. “You won’t.”
“I might. It’s written in black and white in my contract.” I feel her heart rate increase beside me.
“Then we go grey,” I say, brushing her hair back. “We find the shade no one reads.”
She snorts softly, but it’s not a laugh. “You really think we can keep this a secret?”
“I think we have to try. I absolutely do not want you to be a dirty secret, but if that’s how it has to be for now, until we figure this out, then I’ll do whatever we have to.” I lift her chin, meet her eyes. “I’m not walking away, Mia. Not from you.”
Something flickers in her gaze. A crack in the armour. A flash of something that looks a lot like hope and she nods slowly.
And when she tucks herself back against my chest, I feel her settle in like maybe she believes me.
But I can’t ignore the coil in my gut. The tension winding tighter. Because secrets don’t stay secret forever.
And I’m not sure what scares me more; losing her if we get caught, or watching her fall apart if her world off the ice starts to crack too.