Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
DYLAN
The buzz of game day is like electricity in my blood, impossible to ignore. Morning skate has just finished, and I’m dripping with sweat, stripping off pads in the locker room while the rest of the team argue about pre-game rituals and who’s buying the next round of protein bars.
“Winters,” Jonno calls from across the room, clipboard in hand. “Physio room in ten. You’re tight through your shoulder again.”
“Told you it’s from carrying this bloody team,” I shoot back, smirking.
Murphy snorts from his stall. “It’s from carrying all that pent-up sexual tension, mate.”
I flip him off as I pull on my base layer and grab a towel. But I’m already halfway out the door, because I know Mia’s in there. And I’m not even trying to hide how fast I’m walking.
She’s at the counter prepping equipment, in that fitted black team shirt that somehow looks like sin and salvation all at once.
“Hey,” she says, not looking up.
But I don’t wait. I’m already behind her, arms sliding around her waist, nose brushing her temple. “You planning to actually treat me today or just ruin me with those legs?”
She hums, amused but unshaken. “You’re very clingy when you’ve had a good skate.”
“I’m clingy when I haven’t had you in two days.”
At that, she turns. There’s a moment, this charged, unspoken thing where our eyes lock and the air thickens. Her hand grazes my chest, like she doesn’t mean to, but I feel it all the way to my spine.
“You know we can’t do this here,” she whispers.
“Sure we can. You just haven’t tried hard enough.” I pull her in close to my body. Not caring that I’m sweaty and probably stink to high heaven.
“Dylan.”
I grin, tightening my grip on her. “No cameras back here. Door’s locked. Team’s eating. You’ve got ten minutes before Jonno comes back.”
Her jaw tightens, like she’s trying really, really hard to be the professional. But her body betrays her first. Her hips shift slightly, and her breath hitches when I press a kiss under her ear.
“Mia,” I murmur, “I dream about you in this room.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re pretending you don’t want this.”
That’s all it takes. She fists her hand in my shirt and pulls me in like gravity. Our mouths crash, all heat and hunger and two days of teasing texts and unsaid things. Her hands are under my shirt before I even register movement, her palms hot against my skin.
I lift her easily onto the treatment table, and she lets out this soft gasp when I press between her thighs.
“You’re trouble,” she whispers.
“I’m yours.”
It’s fast, and it’s frantic, like we’re stealing time from something bigger. But the way she moans my name when I slide inside her? The way her hands grip my shoulders like I’m her anchor in a storm? It feels like worship. Like coming home.
And even as we fall apart together in the quiet of the physio room, I know this isn’t just lust. It hasn’t been for a while.
Afterwards, she’s still perched on the edge of the table, legs swinging slightly, face flushed as she smooths her shirt back into place.
I lean against the counter, watching her with that gnawing ache in my chest I can’t shake when I’m near her. Want and need and something deeper I can’t put words to.
She clears her throat. “I need to tell you something.”
My stomach drops like a puck in overtime. “That’s never a good start.”
She gives me a look. “It’s not bad. I need to go home for a couple of days.”
I straighten. “Home as in…”
“I need to go to my dad’s appointment for the dementia tests. They moved it up to Tuesday. Mum asked if I could be there. I think she needs a little support and my brother, Ben, well he’s a bit useless at this sort of stuff.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You should go.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, hesitant. “I already spoke to Jonno. Told him everything.”
My brows lift. “Everything?” My heart rate spikes a little. I’m all for having this out in the open but I don’t want her to throw herself under the bus. Not until we’ve figured out her options.
“About my dad. Not about us,” she adds quickly. “I wouldn’t do that without talking to you first.”
I move toward her again, running my fingers through her hair and letting my hand rest at the nape of her neck. “You can tell him. If you want to.”
She searches my face. “Sophie’s having someone look at the wording in my contract, until I’ve heard back from them, we need to keep a lid on this. I don’t want to make this harder than it already is. I cannot lose my job, my livelihood.”
Mia lowers her head as the realisation of the gravity of her words hit home.
There is so much at stake here. Not only her job but my career too.
Because in this male-dominated world, I know she’ll come off worse in this whole thing.
I might get a slap on the wrist, but there’s also a chance they’ll transfer me. That’s a thought I don’t relish.
I shrug. “You being here is the only thing that’s not hard right now.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m in love,” I say, so quietly it barely comes out. I’ve never said those words before. They’ve been on the tip of my tongue for days, and I can’t hold them back any longer.
Her breath catches. She doesn’t say it back. Not yet. But her hand finds mine and squeezes tight.
And I don’t need words to know what that means.
Later, I pass Murphy in the hallway and linger near the exit.
“She’s leaving to go home for a few days. Some family thing.” I say casually, even though nothing about this feels casual.
“Yeah,” Murphy says, arms folded across his chest. “Does she need anything? I mean can I help, she’s one of the good ones and if she’s hurting, I want to help.”
“She’s not one to ask for help,” I say.
“She shouldn’t have to.”
There’s a second of silence between us.
“I want to go with her,” I admit.
Murphy’s eyebrows rise. “Does she want you to?”
“She says no. But I’m not sure that’s the truth.”
Murphy claps a hand on my shoulder. “If you care about her, and I can tell you do, give her space. Let her come back to you.”
“I just…” I scrub a hand through my hair. “What if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
And somehow, I trust him.
After warmups, the crowd’s already filling the rink, and I spot Mia near the bench, clipboard in hand, headset on. She looks calm, and focused, the consummate pro.
But when I skate by, she glances up. And that look, that soft flicker of something that belongs only to me, it settles the storm in my chest.
For now. Because I know what I have to do. I have to let her go and trust she’ll come back.