Chapter Nine
MASON
The arena finally emptied sometime after noon.
The coaches disappeared into their offices to review practice footage, teammates drifted away in groups toward whatever plans they'd made for the rest of the day, and the building gradually returned to its usual Sunday quiet.
After spending nearly three hours on the ice, I should have been exhausted, yet I couldn't remember feeling lighter than I did walking across campus beside Jack.
We'd done the one thing I'd been dreading most since admitting how I felt about him.
We'd told Coach Callahan the truth, and instead of finding disappointment, we'd found acceptance.
It had been acceptance, support, and an understanding neither of us had dared hope for.
Every time I thought about his response, I found myself shaking my head in disbelief.
Jack nudged my shoulder, bringing me back to the present.
Hungry?
"I could probably eat enough for the entire team."
His thumbs moved across the screen again.
Good. I know a place that makes incredible burgers.
"Lead the way."
The restaurant was located only a couple of blocks from campus, tucked between a bookstore and an old brick building that had probably stood there longer than Evergreen itself. It wasn't fancy, and that suited both of us.
The lunchtime crowd kept the place busy without becoming overwhelming, but neither of us felt like sitting among dozens of other students. The smell of grilled beef and fresh fries greeted us before we'd even reached the counter.
"Want to take it back to my room?"
Jack answered with a nod before I placed our order.
We stepped outside to wait for our order, leaning against the brick wall beside the entrance while the lunch crowd came and went around us. Jack pulled his phone from his pocket, frowned briefly at the screen but didn't reply.
"Everything okay?"
Class group. They're already complaining about tomorrow's lectures.
"Medical students really do enjoy making each other miserable."
He shrugged in amusement before typing.
It's tradition.
"I'm glad hockey players only complain to each other's faces."
He raised an eyebrow.
Really?
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"All right...mostly behind Coach's back."
That earned me an exaggerated eye roll before he tucked the phone into his pocket when our order number was called.
Jack collected the bags while I carried the coffees, and together we made the short walk back toward campus. Sunday afternoons carried none of the weekday rush, leaving the paths almost leisurely by comparison.
We crossed the quad without hurrying, talking about nothing particularly important until we reached the residence hall.
As we stepped through the open door, our shoulders bumped lightly, neither of us bothering to apologize or move apart.
The corridor outside my room remained almost deserted.
Most students had disappeared into town or buried themselves beneath the mountain of reading already assigned during the first week of classes, leaving the floor unusually vacant.
I began unlocking the door, attempting to balance our coffees, until Jack rescued one from my hand.
We stepped inside and the familiar room greeted us with quiet afternoon sunlight spilling through the window overlooking campus.
Sunlight streamed through the window overlooking campus, illuminating the photographs above my desk, and catching the white trim on my Evergreen equipment stacked neatly in the corner.
It still amazed me that such an ordinary dorm room had become the place where my life had changed direction.
Jack unpacked lunch onto the small table beneath the window and for a little while we concentrated entirely on eating.
Conversation wasn't necessary.
Sharing the same space with him had already become enough.
When we'd finished, I gathered the empty containers and dropped them into the trash. When I turned back toward him, he was standing beside the window watching students crossing the campus below. The afternoon sun outlined his profile in gold.
He turned to face me and nothing needed to be said.
I crossed the room until only inches separated us. Then I reached for his hand.
Jack's fingers closed around mine without hesitation.
The simple contact carried none of the doubts that had marked our first evening together. We'd crossed that line already, first by trusting one another, then by trusting Coach Callahan with the truth. Walking out of his office had lifted a weight from both of us.
I drew Jack a little closer until barely a breath separated us.
"You know what I keep thinking?"
He tilted his head.
"If somebody had asked me a week ago what I'd be doing this Sunday afternoon, I would've given them a hundred answers." I let out a soft breath. "None of them would've included standing here with someone who already feels like the best part of my day."
A faint flush crept across his face as he reached for his phone.
I feel exactly the same.
My chest tightened.
"I don't think I've ever met anyone who can say so much with so few words."
His thumb hovered above the screen before another message appeared.
I've had a lifetime to practice.
"Well, I'm glad you did."
The corners of his mouth lifted in return before he slipped the phone onto the desk behind him. He didn't need it every second we were together. Sometimes a glance, the brush of a hand, or the smallest change in expression told me everything I needed to know.
Neither of us seemed interested in sitting down.
Instead, we wandered aimlessly around the room, pausing beside the shelves while Jack examined the framed photographs I'd brought from Florida.
The first one he picked up was of me with Mom and Dad after I'd won a junior ice hockey tournament.
"Mom and Dad."
He placed it back on the shelf and the next he lifted was of Emma and me standing ankle-deep in the Gulf on the same day.
"My sister," I explained.
He studied the picture before raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, she really is my twin."
His eyes widened.
"I know." I laughed softly. "Most people don't see it either."
Another photograph caught his attention. This one showed Corey and me outside Gulf Coast University's arena after our freshman conference championship.
"My best friend, Corey. He's studying to be an engineer. Hockey got him the scholarship he's on but he has no intention of continuing after university. We've known each other since middle school."
He nodded thoughtfully before placing the frame exactly where he'd found it.
"I'll introduce you properly one day."
His expression brightened at the thought.
"I think you'll like him."
The words had barely left my mouth before an uncomfortable feeling settled in the back of my mind. I hoped that was true. Pushing the thought aside, I crossed back toward him.
"Come here."
Jack stepped into my arms as though he'd been waiting for the invitation.
We stood together near the window overlooking campus, the afternoon sunlight stretching across the floor while students wandered between buildings completely unaware that my entire world had shifted during the space of a single weekend.
I rested my cheek lightly against his hair.
"Whatever happens next...I want it because it's what we both want."
His fingers slipped through mine before he guided me toward the bed. Jack grabbed his phone as we passed the desk. There was no urgency in either of us, only the unspoken certainty that neither wanted the afternoon to end.
I sat first, and Jack settled beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
We spent the next little while sharing stories about favorite places we'd visited as children, movies we'd both pretended to enjoy because everyone else loved them, and the little differences between growing up in Florida and Washington.
Eventually the conversation faded and Jack reached up and brushed his fingertips lightly across my cheek. I turned into the touch, lifted his hand to my lips, and kissed his knuckles.
His breathing caught as our eyes met.
Jack lifted one hand to the back of my neck. His fingertips settled there gently. Without another word, I leaned forward and kissed him, letting everything else disappear as the afternoon slipped onward.
He tasted faintly of coffee, and beneath that was something that was uniquely Jack.
The kiss was soft at first, a question and an answer all at once.
Then it deepened, and my palms lifted to cradle his face, my thumbs stroking the line of his jaw.
He sighed into my mouth, a silent, breathy sound that caused tremors to shoot through me.
Jack pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and full of a question I understood without difficulty. I nodded, and he smiled, a small, private smile that felt like it was meant only for me.
He shifted, turning to face me fully on the edge of the bed.
His hands gripped the hem of my shirt, his fingers brushing the skin of my stomach, making me shiver.
I raised my arms, and he pulled it off over my head, tossing it to the floor.
His gaze traveled over my chest with open admiration, as though he was memorizing every inch of me.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to the center of my chest, right over my heartbeat.
I reached for the buttons of his shirt. My fingers felt clumsy, thick with want, but he was patient, still.
He watched my face as I plucked each button free.
When the shirt fell open, I pushed it from his shoulders.
His skin was pale and smooth in the fading light, and I traced the line of his collarbone with my fingertips, then my lips.
We moved together, lying back on the bed, a tangle of limbs and uneven breaths.
There was no soundtrack except the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of the mattress, and the sound of our breathing growing gradually more ragged.
Every touch was a conversation. The press of his palm against my hip said stay.
The arch of his back as I kissed down his stomach said more.
When we were both bare, skin to skin, we paused and just gazed at each other.
The last of the sunlight gilded the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his waist. He was beautiful, grace and gentle strength.
He reached for me, his hand sliding down my side, over my hip, and pulling me closer until our bodies aligned.
What followed was a language of touch, a silent symphony.
The slow, deliberate slide of his hands learning the map of my back.
The way his breath hitched when I touched him, a sharp, soundless intake that I felt against my neck.
His eyes never left mine, wide and trusting, reflecting the storm of feeling I knew was in my own.
There was no rush, no frantic race. It was a slow, sun-drenched exploration.
A learning. When we finally joined, it was with a shared, shuddering breath that felt less like an ending and more like a beginning.
His body opened to mine, and I was lost in the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it.
His hands gripped my shoulders, not pushing or pulling, just holding on as we found a rhythm that was ours alone.
The world outside the window disappeared. The distant sounds of campus faded until all that remained was the warmth of Jack's body, the rhythm we shared, and the unwavering trust in his eyes.
It built slowly, a crescendo, a slow ache coiling deep in my belly, spreading outwards until my fingers and toes tingled with it.
I saw the same tension gathering in Jack, in the tight line of his jaw, the desperate clutch of his fingers.
I bent to kiss him, swallowing the sound he couldn't make.
It was the trigger. His body tightened around mine in a series of silent, rhythmic pulses, and I followed him over the edge, my own release crashing through me with a force that stole my breath and blurred my vision.
For a long time afterward, we simply lay tangled together, slick with sweat and spent. The afternoon light had softened into dusk, painting the room in shades of blue and grey. I could feel the frantic beat of his heart gradually slowing against my own.
I shifted just enough to pull the rumpled comforter over us. He turned into me, his head finding its place on my shoulder, his leg hooking over mine. He let out a long, deep breath that seemed to come from the very core of him, a sigh of pure contentment.
I pressed a kiss into his hair. No words were needed. The quiet of the room, the warmth of his body, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against my side felt like the first real page of a story we were only just beginning to write.
Together.