Chapter 5
Chapter Five
DECLAN
The rink is empty. Silent except for the sound of my blades cutting across the ice.
It's after seven. Everyone else left an hour ago. Even the janitor gave me a weird look on his way out, but he didn't say anything. Just locked up and left me here with my key card and my thoughts.
I don't want to go home. Don't want to lie in my bed staring at the ceiling, wondering if Sutton read my letter. Wondering if it made any difference.
So I skate.
I push myself harder, faster, until my lungs burn and my legs shake. I push myself until all I can focus on is the physical exertion, not the hollowness in my chest.
I run drills. Work on my stick handling—practice shots on the empty net.
Anything to avoid thinking about how badly I've screwed everything up. If I don’t have Sutton, nothing is holding me back from going pro.
Except me.
I don’t want to think about that right now.
It was never Sutton holding me back. It’s always been me.
Maybe hockey has always been the way for me.
And if it is, then I’m going to be the absolute best. I’m going to fill every space in my head with hockey.
There will be no room for Sutton, Bree, or any other woman.
I don’t want to think about my future dreams.
All hockey.
But Bree crept into my thoughts.
She was always flirty—I knew that. But I never realized how aggressive she was being. How calculated.
I never saw the pattern because I wasn't paying attention.
I take another shot. The puck slams into the back of the net.
Sutton saw it. She felt it. She tried to tell me.
And I made her feel crazy for it.
I made her doubt herself when her instincts were screaming that something was wrong.
I'm lining up another shot when I hear it.
"Declan."
Her voice.
I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.
Sutton is standing at the boards, wearing jeans and a hoodie. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. No makeup. She looks exhausted.
Beautiful.
I skate over slowly, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it over the sound of my blades.
"Hi," I say when I reach the boards.
"Hi." She's gripping the edge of the boards like she needs something to hold onto. "I got your letter."
"Oh." I don't know what else to say. "Did you read it?"
"Three times."
"And?"
"And I needed to see you." She looks down at her hands. "To hear you say it. Not just read it."
"It's all true. Every word." I lean against my stick. "I was a fool, Sutton. I didn't realize Bree was that nuts. I should have listened to you. You tried to tell me, and I made you feel like you were overreacting."
"You did." There's no accusation in her voice—just sadness.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." I wish I could touch her. Reach across the boards and pull her close. "You were right about all of it. And I was too stupid to see it."
"You're quite a prize," she says with a sad smile. "Maybe I should have done the same thing. Fought harder for you."
"You don't have to fight for me." The words come out urgent. Desperate. "I'm yours, Sutton. I've always been yours. I don't want anyone else. I never wanted anyone else."
She looks up at me then, and I see tears in her eyes.
"I want to believe you."
"Then believe me." I set down my stick and grip the boards. "I love you. Not Bree. Not anyone else. You."
“Declan, why does this keep happening?” Her voice is a whisper laced with pain.
I lean closer. "Nothing happened. I walked her to her room and left. That's the truth."
A tear slips down her cheek. "I've been so angry."
"You have every right to be angry."
"And hurt. And confused." She wipes at her face. "Everyone keeps telling me I'm overreacting, that I'm insecure. That it was just a photo."
"It wasn't just a photo. It was a betrayal. I betrayed your trust by not taking your concerns about Bree seriously."
"You did make me feel crazy."
"I know. And I'm sorry."
She's quiet for a long moment. Just standing there, tears streaming down her face.
"I don't know how to trust you again," she finally says.
"I'll prove it to you. However long it takes. Whatever you need." I lean even closer. "Just give me a chance."
She looks at me for what feels like forever.
Then she walks around to the bench entrance.
My heart stops as she steps onto the ice in her sneakers, walking carefully toward me.
I meet her halfway.
We're standing inches apart. I can smell her vanilla body spray. I inhale like a freak because I have missed that smell so much.
“I realized something." She looks up at me. "Bree wanted to destroy us. She tried so hard. Manipulated everyone. Set up that perfect moment."
"Yeah."
"But she can't destroy what we have unless we let her." She reaches up and touches my face. "I don't want to let her win."
Relief crashes through me so intensely that I feel dizzy.
I nod because I’m afraid to say anything and screw up the perfect moment.
"I'm still hurt. I'm still angry, and we have a lot to work through."
"I know."
"But I don't want to give up on us because some manipulative bitch played games."
I cup her face in my hands. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too, even when I hate you."
I laugh through the emotion clogging my throat. "Fair."
"If you ever—and I mean ever—dismiss my instincts again—"
"I won't. I swear. I'll listen. I'll pay attention. I'll take every concern seriously."
"Good." She slides her arms around my neck. "Now kiss me before I change my mind."
I don't need to be told twice.
I kiss her like I'm drowning and she's oxygen.
She kisses me back just as desperately, her fingers tangling in my sweaty hair, pulling me closer.
I forget we're on the ice. Forget I'm still wearing skates. Forget everything except the feeling of her in my arms.
"Locker room," she breathes against my mouth. "Now."
I don't question it. Don't hesitate.
I grab her hand and pull her toward the bench. I step off the ice and walk with her to the locker room.
The locker room is empty. Dark except for the emergency lighting.
The second we're through the door, she's on me again.
I back her against the wall, my mouth finding hers. Her hands slide under my practice jersey, her fingers cold against my overheated skin.
“Maybe we should get my skates off,” I whisper.
“Sit.”
I do, and she kneels in front of me, jerking at the laces. I cup her face, forcing her to look up at me and damn near weep with relief.
With my skates off, it’s game on.
We strip quickly. Frantically. Her sweatshirt. My compression shirt. Her jeans. My practice pants.
I've never needed anything more than I need her right now.
When she's finally in just her bra and underwear, I pull her onto my lap on the bench. She straddles me, her thighs bracketing mine. The feel of her skin against mine makes me groan.
"I missed you," I murmur against her throat, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. "I missed this. Missed us."
"Show me." Her voice is breathy. Demanding. "Show me how much."
My hands slide up her back, finding the clasp of her bra. I unhook it and let it fall away. I take my time, relearning every curve, every soft place I've been dying to touch for nearly a week that felt like three years.
She arches into me as my mouth finds her breast, her fingers threading through my hair. The small sounds she makes drive me insane—little gasps and sighs that tell me exactly what she likes.
"Declan." My name is a plea on her lips.
I hook my fingers in the sides of her thong, sliding it down as much as I can with her sitting on me. She lifts up, helping me remove them completely, and then she's reaching for my boxer briefs.
I lift my hips, and she helps me push my boxer briefs down. The second I'm free, she's positioning herself over me, her eyes locked on mine.
"I love you," I say, needing her to hear it again.
"I love you, too."
She sinks down slowly, and I have to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation. She feels perfect. She always feels perfect.
"Look at me," she whispers.
I open my eyes and meet hers. There's still hurt there. But there's also love, want, and trust that she's choosing to give me despite everything.
We move together slowly at first. Her hands are on my shoulders for balance. My hands are gripping her hips, guiding her. The locker room is silent except for our breathing and the quiet sounds of our bodies moving together.
She tilts my face up to kiss me. Her tongue tangles with mine. I’m almost embarrassed by how quickly she’s brought me to the brink. I’m so desperate for her.
I tighten my grip on her hips, pulling her closer, deeper. She gasps, and her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat.
I kiss her there, tasting the salt on her skin, feeling her pulse racing under my lips.
I can feel her body tightening and nearly whoop with relief that it’s not just me. I move her against me, harder and faster, until we’re both crying out.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close to me. Our hearts are beating fast, our breathing heavy.
And then she laughs.
I pull back a little to look at her. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s the sound a guy wants to hear after sex.”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at us. Anybody can come in.”
“We’re alone. The janitor already left.”
“Still, maybe we could put our clothes on and go home? Doors that lock and all that.”
“I like the sound of that.”
She climbs off me, and we both hurriedly dress. I’m worried she might change her mind if I don’t get her home and naked again. I have no qualms about sexing my way back into her good graces. If multiple orgasms are the way to do that, I’m up for the task.