Chapter Fourteen
VICTORIA
The building is thunder.
My hands are pressed to the glass of the family suite as the final buzzer sounds, and I swear the vibration of it echoes through my chest like a bass drum. The crowd erupts in deafening cheers around me, and below, the team rushes the ice.
I thought I knew how loud an arena could get, but this is next-level.
“They did it!” Sabrina cheers, pulling me forcefully into a hug.
I feel like crying I’m so happy for everyone.
And Mason.
God, he was spectacular tonight. I’m a hockey fan for life now. I totally get the appeal. There’s action, drama, and such a grace to their movements. It’s a fast game, but that doesn’t mean every move doesn’t have intention.
I can’t make out too many details from up here, but I can imagine him grinning like a devil as he skates into a pileup with Max and Sidney. He’s easy to spot with “Warren” stretched across his back. His arms are raised, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
He’s never looked more alive.
And somehow, I know it’s not just the win.
When his head lifts, angling up in my direction in the family box, I just know he’s looking for me. I know the instant his gaze lands on me. He finds me like he always does. I wave, confirming it’s me.
I press my fingers to my lips, then to the glass, and he nods—just once—but it makes my stomach tumble like I’m mid-free fall.
God, I’m in so much trouble. The rules flew out the window weeks ago; I’ve just been pretending they’re still in place. Because the truth is, I’m in deep. I’ve fallen for him and broken the one rule Mason put in place—to talk to him if things change.
Boy, have they changed.
I’m in love with him. There’s no getting around that, no pretending.
What started out fake turned into something so real that it’s staggering to think of. He’s my best friend and the person I want to spend my days with.
Week after week, he’s shown me through actions and his promise that he would be there for me—whether it’s to sit quietly by my side as I figure shit out or spring into action to defend me.
I love him, and it’s time to woman up and tell him.
***
I don’t even hear the elevator ding. I’m pacing his apartment, full of nervous energy. I’m still in Mason’s Nighthawks hoodie, needing the comfort of the soft material, and I have my phone clutched in my hand.
I’m not sure what time Mason will be home. I’m not sure what his after-game celebration ritual is. The only thing we talked about was the fact that his roommates weren’t coming back to the condo for another month.
Max and Sabrina practically lived together at her place, Mason had commented with a sly grin, and apparently, Sidney had bought a house somewhere in the city but was keeping it hush-hush. So I don’t have to worry about any of his friends walking in when I make my big confession.
That only provides me minimal relief. I’m a mess of nerves and jumping at every sound I hear.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, going through variation after variation of what I want to say to Mason, that I miss the ding of the elevator.
The front door opens behind me.
And then he’s there.
The huge duffle bag he’s holding falls to the ground, just inside the door. His cheeks are flushed from the game, and he’s back in comfortable clothes that cling to his muscular body.
It’s his eyes, though, that once I catch, I can’t look away. They draw me in, blazing with heat and hunger like I’ve never seen before.
I don’t speak.
Neither does he.
He closes the door with a soft click, drops the rest of his things in the entryway, then crosses the room like he’s on a mission.
By the time he reaches me, I can barely keep my balance.
His hand lifts to my jaw, and I lean into it like I need him to hold me together. Because I do.
“Hi,” he says, voice hoarse.
“Hi.” I smile, though it wobbles a little. “Congrats on the win.”
“Thanks.” He pauses. “But that’s not why I came straight home.”
My pulse skitters.
He brushes a strand of hair off my face, his touch impossibly gentle for someone who I saw slam a guy into the boards like he was nothing less than an hour ago.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, stepping closer, so close I can feel the heat rolling off him. “And you’re not allowed to interrupt, okay?”
I nod, my voice suddenly gone.
He exhales, like he’s been holding this in for too long.
“I don’t want this to be fake anymore.”
I blink.
“I don’t want us to be temporary or under some agreement.
I don’t want out, and I couldn’t care less about getting my image back on track.
” He cups my face in both hands now. “Because somewhere along the way, pretending stopped being enough. And now, when I’m not with you, I feel like I can’t fucking breathe. ”
My lips part, but he shakes his head. “Nope. Still not your turn.”
I huff a little laugh that dies as quickly as it came, because his eyes—they’re so damn serious. So full of something that terrifies me and makes me hope all at once.
“I know what you’ve been through. I know how the media treated you, how people assumed the worst. You’re scared to trust this. To trust me. But I need you to know I’m all in, Victoria. I want you here. In my life. In my bed. In my future.”
The room spins, just a little.
“I want you when things are messy. When you’re writing till 3:00 a.m. and I have early practice. I want you when the world is kind to us, when it isn’t. I want you when you’re mad and sad and brilliant and sleepy and loud and soft. I just want you, Victoria Westwyld. Just you.”
The silence between us stretches long and delicate, like a thread about to snap.
He starts to back away, panic flickering behind his eyes, but I grab his wrists and step in.
My lips find his.
Soft at first. A breath. A question.
Then yes. A thousand yeses.
My hands slide up his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt. He groans into my mouth like he’s just barely holding it together.
When we break apart, both of us breathing hard, I press my forehead to his.
“Mason,” I whisper. “I’ve never felt this way before. And it scares the hell out of me.”
“Me too,” he admits. “But if I’m going to fall for someone—completely and recklessly—it’s going to be you.”
I nod against his lips, heart galloping in my chest.
“Then we’re not faking it anymore.”
“No, honey,” he murmurs. “This is as real as it gets.”