Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
MIA
By the time I pull up outside Dylan’s house, the sun’s slipping low, washing the sky in streaks of pink and gold. The unicorn is crammed into the passenger seat next to me, its ridiculous pink horn bent at an awkward angle. I can’t believe I actually brought it. I can’t believe he wanted me to.
I grab the unicorn by its neck, laughing under my breath, and climb out of the car.
The second I knock, the door swings open and there he is. Barefoot, in grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, fresh from the shower. His face breaks into the kind of slow, devastating smile that punches all the air from my lungs.
“You actually brought it,” he says, grinning. I shove the unicorn into his chest.
“You demanded it,” I say primly. He catches it easily, tossing it onto the sofa behind him before reaching for me. And just like that, I’m in his arms, my face pressed against his chest, the scent of his clean skin, and soap, wrapping around me like something I’ve been missing my whole life.
“I missed you,” he murmurs into my hair.
“It’s been six hours,” I tease.
“Still missed you,” he says, his voice that familiar rough tone.
God, I missed him too. I missed the way everything in me settles when I’m near him. The world can spin however it wants but I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. He kisses the top of my head, my temple, my jaw. Soft, greedy presses of his mouth that make my knees weak.
“C’mon,” he says, tugging me gently inside. “Let’s eat before I end up taking you apart instead.”
The words spark through me, hot and bright.
But I follow him into the kitchen, heart hammering stupidly.
He’s got takeaway containers spread across the counter.
Thai food from the good place near the rink.
A bottle of wine breathing on the side, and two glasses already set out next to dinner plates.
“Look at you,” I say, smiling. “Practically a domestic goddess.”
He snorts. “Hey, I cooked last time.”
“You microwaved a pizza.”
“Same thing.”
I laugh, and the sound feels easy. God, it’s been a long time since I felt this.
We eat perched on the sofa, cross-legged, picking from each other’s plates, making a mess. Dylan tells me about Murphy nearly starting a brawl at training today because Jacko stole his water bottle. I tell him about Sophie’s latest Tinder disaster.
And underneath it all there’s the constant hum between us.
Every glance, and brush of his fingers against mine.
All the slow, wicked smiles he shoots me from under those stupidly long lashes.
The tension is there, crackling like static.
But it’s different now, too. It’s layered with something heavier.
Something that feels dangerously close to love.
I know he’s said it, and I’m aware I haven’t.
It’s not that I don’t feel it, and more that I don’t want to admit just yet.
Because what happens if that gets ripped apart and I’m left trying to pick up the pieces?
After we’ve eaten, I curl up into his side, and he wraps an arm around me, holding me close. He’s quiet for a long minute. Then he says, “My mum’s coming down.”
I tilt my head to look up at him. “Yeah?”
“Day after tomorrow,” he says. “Finally convinced her to come to a game.” His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it; a tightness around the words that makes me nudge him gently.
“You nervous?”
He lets out a soft breath. “Yeah. She’s not seen me play in person since I turned pro. She’s only watched the games on TV. And she’s going to be staying with me for a few days.”
I feel his heart beating under my hand, it’s fast and uneven. “And you want me to meet her,” I say, it’s not a question.
He looks down at me, something raw and uncertain flashing through his eyes. “I do,” he says. “I really do. But I get if it’s too soon, or if it’s too much.”
“I want to,” I cut in before he can spiral. “I want to meet her, Dylan.”
The relief that crashes over his face guts me. “Yeah?” he says softly.
“Yeah.”
He kisses me. It’s a slow, searching kiss that feels like a promise.
I kiss him back, threading my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. The air shifts, thickens. He deepens the kiss, pulling me into his lap, hands gripping my hips, anchoring me to him like he can’t bear to let me go.
I press my forehead to his. “If we’re actually doing this, this thing. I should probably warn you,” I murmur.
“About what?”
“I’m kind of a handful.”
He grins against my mouth. “Good. I like having my hands full.”
I laugh, and he kisses me again, harder this time, like he’s trying to brand me. I let him. Because this, it’s worth the risk.
We tumble back onto the sofa, tangled together, mouths and hands everywhere.
Clothes tugged aside but not removed, as if neither of us can stand the thought of being separated even for a second.
Every kiss, every touch, every breath shared between us feels desperate and tender at the same time.
Like we’re building something too fragile to name but too important to let go.
Eventually, we slow, breathing hard, hearts pounding.
I lie sprawled across him, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns up and down my spine.
“We need to be more careful, at the rink, I mean.” I murmur into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.
He hums. “I know.”
“If Murphy saw us the other day, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does.”
“Let them,” he says fiercely. I lift my head to look at him. His jaw is set, and his eyes are burning. “I’m not ashamed of you, Mia,” he says. “I never will be.”
“I know,” I say, and I do. “But if it gets out my career and everything I’ve worked for is at risk.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, gentling. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallow hard. “Neither am I.”
He pulls me closer, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “We’ll be smart,” he says. “No more sneaking around the rink. No more impulsive physio room incidents.”
I flush hot, remembering.
“No more stealing kisses in corridors,” he adds.
“That was your fault,” I grumble.
He grins wickedly. “Pretty sure it was mutual.”
I can’t argue with that. “We’ll be careful,” I say again, mostly to reassure myself.
“And Sophie’s friend is helping me look into the contract. There’s a loophole. It’s thin, but it’s there. I just need to make sure we’re watertight before we figure out the next step.”
“Good,” Dylan says fiercely. “I don’t want you risking everything for me.”
I touch his face, and let my thumb brush over his jaw. “You’re not just ‘for you’ anymore,” I say softly.
He turns his head, kisses my palm. “You’re it for me, Mia,” he says. And God help me, I believe him.
We stay curled together on the sofa until the sky outside turns from pink to deep velvet blue.
We talk about everything and nothing all the stuff in between.
Planning stupid future dates we’ll have to hide.
Joking about renting a fake office so we can make out during lunch breaks.
Dreaming out loud in the way you only do when you’re falling so hard it terrifies you.
And through it all, the quiet, unshakeable truth, I’m his and he’s mine. Whatever happens next, we’re in it together.