Chapter 45 Carl
CARL
The locker room still reeks of defeat and frustration from last night’s game.
I can’t shake the image of my players struggling with rental equipment that didn’t fit right, skates that were too loose or too tight, and sticks that felt foreign in their hands.
We played like shit, but hell, who could blame them?
I run my hand through my silver hair, feeling every one of my forty-eight years weighing on my shoulders.
The guys in charge of loading our gear swore up and down they’d secured everything properly and locked the bus compartment tight as a drum.
But when Ash and I inspected it this morning, the evidence was clear as day.
Someone had tampered with that lock.
The scratches around the mechanism, the way it hung slightly askew. This wasn’t some random theft or accident.
I’m sick to death of whoever’s doing this crap to us.
“Coach, you coming out with us tonight?” Jake appears in the doorway, his green eyes bright with anticipation despite yesterday’s loss.
He’s already dressed to kill in dark jeans and a button-down that probably costs more than most people make in a week.
“New Year’s Eve, man. Time to forget about all this bullshit and have some fun. ”
Behind him, I can see Ash adjusting his collar, looking uncomfortable in anything fancier than his usual jeans and t-shirt.
The team captain catches my eye and shrugs. “Might be good for morale, Carl. The guys need to blow off some steam.”
I shake my head, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into my bones. “You boys go ahead. I’m too old for that scene, and frankly, I’m too tired to pretend I give a damn about watching a ball drop on television while surrounded by drunk twenty-somethings.”
Jake grins, those dimples making an appearance. “Your loss, old man. We’ll drink one for you.”
“Make it two,” I mutter, but there’s no real heat in it.
After they leave, the hotel settles into a quieter rhythm. We’ve ditched the cabins for Trisha’s safety, but now we’re back in the risk of hotels.
I’m contemplating ordering room service and falling asleep to some mindless television when there’s a soft knock at my door.
My pulse quickens before I even open it, because I know that knock.
Gentle but confident, just like the woman behind it.
Trisha stands in the hallway wearing a simple black sweater that hugs her curves in all the right places and jeans that make her legs look endless.
Her dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and those blue eyes of hers are bright with something I can’t quite read.
“The girls are settled with the sitter,” she says, stepping into my room without waiting for an invitation. “She promised them they could stay up to watch the ball drop if they’re good.”
“And you’re not going out with the boys?” I ask, closing the door behind her and trying not to notice how her perfume fills the space between us.
She shakes her head, settling onto the edge of my bed like she belongs there. “I don’t want to go somewhere with cameras in my face. If Mica sees photos of me out partying…” She trails off, but I understand.
“So what did you have in mind for tonight, Trisha?” Her full name rolls off my tongue the way it always does. I’ve never been one for nicknames, especially not with her. She deserves the respect of her complete name.
She looks up at me through those long lashes, and there’s heat in her gaze that makes my blood run hot. “I thought maybe we could have our own celebration. Just the two of us.”
I move closer, close enough to see the way her breath catches, close enough to smell that intoxicating scent that’s purely her.
She closes the distance between us until her body is almost touching mine.
When I cup her face in my hands, her skin is soft as silk beneath my calloused fingers.
She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and I’m lost. Completely and utterly lost.
Our lips meet in a kiss that’s hungry and familiar. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
“I need this tonight,” she whispers against my mouth, her voice thick with desire. “I need you.”
“You have me,” I growl back, my hands already working at the hem of her sweater. “You’ve always had me.”
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist in a move we’ve perfected over these past weeks.
She fits against me like she was made for my arms, and when I lay her down on the bed, she’s already reaching for my belt buckle with practiced fingers.
“God, I love your hands on me,” she breathes as I trail kisses down her throat, hitting that spot just below her ear that always makes her come undone.
We shed clothes with the efficiency of lovers who’ve mapped each other’s bodies, who know exactly how to drive each other wild. When she arches beneath me, it’s with the confidence of a woman who knows her power, who knows what we do to each other.
“Carl,” she moans, and the sound goes straight to my dick. No matter how many times I hear her say my name like that, it never gets old.
We come together with the passion of people who understand this might be stolen time, that tomorrow could change everything.
She meets me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my shoulders as we lose ourselves in the rhythm we’ve built together over all these secret nights.
When we finally collapse together, breathless and sated, it’s with the contentment of lovers who know each other’s bodies as well as their own.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers combing through her hair. The hotel room is quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of celebration from the streets below.
“Happy New Year, Carl,” she murmurs against my skin.
“Happy New Year, beautiful,” I reply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
My phone dings from the nightstand, breaking the peaceful moment. Trisha reaches for it automatically, handing it to me with a sleepy smile.
But as she does, I see her eyes focus on the screen, see the way her expression changes.
“This number’s been calling you a lot,” she says, and there’s concern in her voice now. “Who is it?”
I hesitate, looking at the missed call notification. Dr. Martinez. Again. The weight of what I’ve been avoiding crashes back down on me, heavier than ever in this moment of perfect intimacy.
“Carl?” Trisha’s voice is gentle but insistent. “Who keeps calling you?”
I meet her eyes, seeing the worry there, the care that makes my chest tight. “It’s my oncology doctor,” I say finally, the words feeling like stones in my mouth. “He needs me to come in for another test. To see if I have cancer.”
The words hang between us like a death sentence, and I watch as the color drains from her beautiful face.