Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
MIA
The rink slowly empties. The adrenaline bleeds into the air, leaving behind the heavy scent of sweat, discarded tape, and cheap coffee. Most of the team have already trickled out, congratulating each other, faces still bright with the buzz of winning.
I’m still here, checking ice packs, clearing away strapping tape, and making sure no one’s trying to sneak out without proper cooldown stretches. Part of me doesn’t want to leave yet so I’m stalling and dragging my feet. Because tonight is different.
Tonight Dylan’s mum is here. Tonight isn’t just about sneaking away to be with him. It’s about being invited in.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Dylan: Come over when you’re done, Trouble. Mum’s excited to see you again. Me too.
A warm flush spreads through me.
I tap back a quick reply.
Mia: On my way soon.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I tie up the last rubbish bags and head out into the cool night air, with my heart hammering harder than it should.
By the time I pull up outside Dylan’s house, my hands are sweaty on the steering wheel. I wipe them off on my jeans and grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat. The one I packed earlier without even thinking twice. Before I can even knock, the door swings open.
Dylan stands there, hair damp from a quick shower, a soft long-sleeve tee clinging to his chest, sweatpants riding low on his hips. And that smile, the one he saves for me when no one else is around, lights up his whole face.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and warm.
“Hey,” I whisper back. He steps forward, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me, soft and slow, right there on the doorstep. No hiding or pretending. When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against mine. “Missed you.”
“You literally saw me an hour ago but I missed you too,” I say, my voice catching. From somewhere inside, I hear a gentle laugh; his mum. Dylan tugs me inside by the hand, like he can’t stand to let me go.
Maggie is curled up on the couch, with a mug of tea in her hands, her face lighting up when she sees me. “Mia, love! Come sit,” she says warmly, patting the sofa beside her. I smile and drop my bag discreetly by the stairs, kicking off my shoes before crossing the room.
She pulls me into a tight hug, the kind that is deeply, achingly maternal. “Congratulations,” I say when we pull apart. “He played like a machine tonight.”
“Doesn’t he always?” she says proudly, giving Dylan a pointed look. “No thanks to those terrible ankles he keeps breaking.”
Dylan groans and flops onto the armchair, throwing an arm over his face. “Mum. Please.”
I laugh and settle beside her on the sofa.
It’s easy, sitting there with them. Talking about the game, about the town, about silly things like Dylan’s childhood antics and how he once glued his fingers together trying to build a model plane.
He’s relaxed in a way I’ve only seen glimpses of before.
Like he can breathe easier with her around.
And somehow, tonight, with me around too.
It fills up something hollow inside me I didn’t even know was there.
It’s late by the time his mum finally stifles a yawn and stands.
“I’m going to head up,” she says, pressing a kiss to Dylan’s hair as she passes. “Don’t stay up too late, you two.”
Dylan smirks but doesn’t argue. “Night, Mum.”
“Goodnight, Maggie,” I say softly. She squeezes my shoulder and disappears up the stairs. The second her footsteps fade the air shifts. It’s just the two of us now.
The whole house hums with it.
Dylan crosses the room in three long strides and sinks onto the couch beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine.
“You okay?” he says, voice low. I’m better than okay.
I feel alive. Happy in a way that feels almost too big for my chest. Instead of answering, I trail my fingers down his forearm, feeling his muscles jump beneath my touch.
He catches my hand, turns it over, and presses his mouth to my palm. My breath stutters. “You’re dangerous,” I murmur.
He smiles against my skin. “So are you.”
We end up sprawled sideways on the couch, me half on top of him, my face tucked against his neck. Dylan runs his hands up and down my back in slow, soothing strokes, his touch leaving trails of heat that sink into my bones. “I’m glad you came,” he says quietly.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
“I wanted you here,” he says. “Not just for me. For her too.”
I lift my head to look at him. “She’s amazing,” I say. “I can see where you get it.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear. “You being here, it just made everything feel right.” I press a kiss to his jaw, slow and lingering. He tilts his head slightly, letting me, his hands tightening around my waist. “You feel like home,” he murmurs against my skin.
The words hit me right in the chest. I pull back just enough to look into his eyes, dark and wide and so full of love it makes my whole body ache. “I love you,” I whisper, the words spilling out easier than breathing.
He grins, slow and devastating. “I love you too, Trouble.” And then he’s kissing me; hungry, deep, and tender, like he’s been waiting all night for this.
We end up in his bed somehow, though I barely remember how we got there.
All I know is the way he touches me; it’s like I’m something precious.
He looks at me, like there’s no one else in the world.
It’s slow tonight, not rushed or frantic.
Just this endless, burning kind of connection that builds and builds until I feel like I might break apart from how much I feel.
He takes his time, learning every inch of me, making sure I know exactly how wanted I am. And I return every touch, every kiss, pouring every unspoken thing into him, into us.
Later, wrapped in the sheets, our bodies still tangled together, I trace idle patterns over his chest with my fingertips. He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. “Stay,” he murmurs.
I smile, sleepy and sated. “I’m not going anywhere.” And I mean it, for tonight, for tomorrow. For however long he’ll have me. He tucks me closer into his side, his heartbeat steady under my ear. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I fall asleep knowing exactly where I belong.