Epilogue
Hayden
My eyes can barely stay open by the time I’m finishing the report on Kirkland’s updated conditioning plan. I send it off to the rest of his care team before packing up and heading out. Thank God my apartment isn’t far. I’m ready to crash. Hard.
I leave the locker room with my bag slung over my shoulder, stopping short at the rhythmic sound of blades on ice. Something tugs in my chest. Longing. Nostalgia. Loneliness. It’s only been eleven days since I was last in the same zip code as Ethan Pope, but it’s the longest we’ve gone in months. I pull out my phone, wondering if he’s still awake. Maybe we could fall asleep on video again tonight. I love doing that. I love watching how peaceful he is these days in our big king bed in Detroit, fluffy blankets up around his shoulders, messy hair on his forehead. I love waking up to him—sometimes just as peacefully asleep, sometimes awake and taking a turn watching me.
I pause after entering my passcode on the lockscreen, wanting to say goodnight to whoever is here night skating.
The player is across the stretch of ice, too far for me to identify, but he’s about to turn and race toward me. I wait, resting my hip against the boards.
He turns, his movements sharp and elegant and— familiar .
There’s a backward cap on his head—beat-up and gray. His black sweatshirt has the Devils’ logo across the front, not the Storms’. His skates have the bright pink laces he’s been sporting since the breast cancer awareness game earlier this month.
He stops pumping his legs, soaring across the ice toward me. His smile is brilliant, all white teeth and deep dimples. The lights above catch in the green of his eyes.
“You work too hard,” he says as his skates bring him right up to the boards in front of me.
I release a shuddering breath, feeling a little dizzy with him suddenly so close. “You’re supposed to be in Detroit.”
“Am I?” he tilts his head, his grin playful, mischievous, sexy as hell. “You gonna spank me for that?”
“Ethan…” I try to keep myself in check, wanting to be responsible. It’s difficult. I can smell him, that stupid cheap cologne he still insists on wearing despite all my bitching about it. My cock hardens at the first inhale. “You have a game tomorrow, baby.”
He leans his elbows on the top of the boards, bringing his face close enough to kiss if I allowed it. “Hurricane in Florida. Game’s postponed. Home arena is de-iced for a concert. Nowhere for us to go. So sad. Forty-eight hours free. Superior here I come.”
The knowledge that he hasn’t made a stupid decision—either out of love or a depression swing—is all I needed. I surge forward, grabbing a fistful of his sweatshirt and the side of his neck to slam our mouths together. All of that cocky swagger and dominance fades, the hockey player version of him switching out for the good boy he always is for me.
I kiss him slow and dirty, until he’s whimpering and pressing his front against the boards like he’s going to start humping it.
His eyes are foggy when I pull back, his lips slack and glistening with spit. He exhales shakily.
“Will you do something for me?” he whispers.
“Anything.”
His eyes clear, going nice and bright with excitement. “Come skate with me.”
I laugh.
He doesn’t.
“Ethan, you know I don’t skate.”
“Don’t you trust me? I won’t let you fall.”
“Baby…”
“I’d never let you fall,” he promises, cupping my cheek. “Please?”
Goddamn him.
“Fine. But if I fall on my ass, I will spank you before fucking you straight through the mattress. And I won’t let you come, no matter how pretty you beg.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t back down. “Fine.”
I start toward the opening of the boards before pausing. “I don’t have skates.”
“Brought you some.” He nods at the bench where his duffel is. “Just your size.”
“You planned this?”
“Yup. Come on. I have a whole thing planned. Hurry up.”
A whole thing? Yuck. I was really hoping we’d do a few little shuffles and call it good. It’s late and I’ve missed him. I want to bring him home, fuck him hard, and sleep like a fucking baby. Is that too much to ask?
The skates really are the perfect size, though a little stiff from being new. I keep that in mind. I’ll be able to complain that they’re going to give me sores if I use them too long. That should get me out of this soon-ish, at least.
He’s kind enough not to smirk as I wobble over to the door he’s holding open for me. It’s the only reason I don’t glare at him.
“Alright, take my hands,” he instructs as I’m about to take the first step onto the ice. “And don’t panic. I’ve got you.”
I shoot him a warning look, mostly just to make myself feel better, and place my hands in his. His fingers are cold from being out here without gloves, but the familiar weight and shape and calluses on them are remarkably comforting. “Step out, one at a time.”
I watch my feet, doing the left foot, then the right. My legs are already shaking like I just ran a marathon.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, slowly pulling me along now as he moves backward. My skates swivel a little, nearly running into each other, but I manage to straighten them out. “See? There you go.”
“I’m going to die.”
He chuckles. “No, you’re not.”
I stare wide-eyed at our skates as he continues pulling me. I truly hope he doesn’t want me doing anything more than this because this is terrifying enough.
“I had that interview this morning with the magazine.”
“Oh! That’s right! How—ahhh.” I squeeze his hands hard enough to make him grunt, my legs locking as my balance wavers. He steadies me by pulling me to him and wrapping one arm around my waist. I suck in a gasping breath, trying to calm myself down. His eyes are warm with amusement and fondness as he gazes down at me. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my misery.”
“You’re not miserable, you’re scared. Take a breath. Trust me.”
I fight the urge to growl at him. I do trust him, but skating is terrifying. I’d much prefer being out here in my sneakers.
He slowly removes his arm from around me, taking the hand he had dropped and guiding me again. My heart pounds, but I put on a brave face.
“It might help if you shuffle your feet a little, like you’re skating too. Then you’ll feel more in control than just being dragged.”
I eye him, not sure if I believe this, but it’s worth a shot.
We start slow, me only shuffling every few feet, but it’s not long before it feels natural enough to follow him nearly move for move.
“The interview,” he says eventually.
“Right. How—how’d it go?” I ask, trying to look at him before immediately dropping my gaze back to our skates.
“It went great. I got to talk about my mental health and how great of a support system I’ve had with the Storm and the Devils. Even told them about you, just a little.” He squeezes my hands. I can hear the smile in his voice, but I’m not brave enough to try looking at him again. “They asked this question though. A throw away question, really. But it got me thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“They wanted to know what my favorite part of a game is. The first puck drop, scoring a goal, a great play, whatever.” He slows his skating a little until we’re perfectly matched up. Despite him slowing, us being matched actually moves us more easily, making it seem like we’re actually gliding across the ice now. It’s exhilarating. “It was an easy answer—same thing as it’s always been. A breakaway.”
I nod, having mostly picked up on that. He loves imitating breakaways when he skates on his own. Considering how much he loves the feel of ice beneath his blades as he flies down a rink, it makes perfect sense.
“There’s something so freeing about them, you know? It’s just you and the ice and the wind on your face. The whole world falls away as you fly.” He squeezes my hands. I feel brave enough to look at him now. I realize my cheeks hurt. They hurt because I’m grinning. I’ve been grinning. I’m skating. “I told them a breakaway, Hay. But I didn’t tell them what other thought popped into my head at that moment. This huge realization, really.”
“What was that?”
He tugs me closer to him before steadying us until we’re standing still. I realize we’re at the very center of the rink, right where the puck drops the first time in a game. His eyes are wild.
“Ethan?” I ask, my voice wavering a little.
“You’re my breakaway.” He laughs softly, shaking his head in amazement. “I didn’t realize it for a long time. But the way you pulled me out of the darkness when I was drowning in it. The way you practically saved my life. The exhilaration I feel whenever you’re nearby. Hell, whenever I even think about you.” He presses our chests together. “The breathlessness I get when you touch me. The weightlessness I feel as I fall asleep in your arms. It’s all skates on ice and wind on my face, just you and me, the world falling away.” He tilts his head down, forehead pressing to mine. “You’re my breakaway, Hayden Wallace.”
I suck in a shaky breath, tightening my hold on him. “Well, that’s just not fair, baby.”
His expression shutters. “What?”
“I have a ring in my underwear drawer that would have went perfectly with that speech.”
Pope barks a soft laugh before sliding one hand from mine and reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a box—black as opposed to the blue one I have at my apartment. His cheeks are pink, his green eyes locked on the box instead of chancing a glance at me. “A ring like this?” he asks as his trembling fingers pop the lid.
The ring is a classic yellow gold, matte instead of shiny, with a thin black groove near each edge. Elegant.
“Well,” I begin, taking the ring with the hand he had stopped holding. My legs are shaking, which is probably a terrible thing to be happening with the whole being on ice in skates thing. “Not a ring like this , but close.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm.” I run my thumb gently along the outside of the ring, wanting more than anything to put it on. “You got a question to ask me, sweetheart?”
He finally looks at me again, his green eyes impossibly bright and hopeful. “What would you think about maybe being married to an adorable, charming, hot mess of a hockey player?”
“I think that’s just about the best way I can imagine living the rest of my life.”