39. Dalton
THIRTY-NINE
DALTON
YES, I KNOW IN HOCKEY THEY WOULD HAVE MORE THAN ONE PRESEASON GAME, BUT COME ON, WE BOTH KNOW THIS IS FICTION AND YOU’RE HERE FOR HOT FICTIONAL PEOPLE.
We’d won the preseason game 2–1. It wasn’t perfect, but I felt good about our performance on the ice. Nashville was a solid mid-tier team, and it’d been a good gauge of where we needed to tighten up before the season opener against San Jose in a week.
The first goal had come off a setup from Jimenez. A crisp tape-to-tape pass from the blue line to Roberts, who read the play perfectly and deflected it past their goalie. Ari would be pumped to know that Monroe took her advice and put him in. Watching the rookie celebrate with the stupid goofy grin that could split his face in two was a highlight of the night.
Second one was a dirty goal from a scramble in front of the net.
I was tied up with their center, but Stephens fought through the traffic, poked the puck loose, and slammed it into the back of the net. The bench erupted in cheers when he threw his arms in the air and yelled like we’d won the damn Stanley Cup.
But there were cracks we couldn’t ignore.
Our transition game was sloppy at times, and we struggled to connect on some breakout plays. Nashville didn’t capitalize on it, but a team like San Jose would eat us alive in those situations. If we could work out the kinks in practice, we’d be ready to make waves this season.
The game had gone well, but a rock was still in my stomach.
The walk to my apartment was torturous, and I stretched my arms over my head, trying to release tension in my shoulders and neck.
What if she wasn’t there? What if she’d moved out?
I’d been too chicken shit to ask her before boarding my flight.
Those worries disappeared when I pushed the door open, but a whole new set of emotions I hadn’t anticipated facing soon took their place.
Now I wished she’d left.
Rejection hit me in the solar plex, all the heat leeching my body, leaving nothing but a cold shell.
It was like the night I’d come home to the note from Emma breaking things off with me, yet somehow so much worse. A million different scenarios had run through my head on the plane of what I’d find when I came home, but none of them were of me stopped dead in my tracks, listening to Ari’s grunts and moans coming from my living room.
Sounds that I wanted to be the one to pull from her pouty lips .
Not whoever the fuck it was she had in there with her. I was stripped raw at the idea of her with someone else. I’d thought I’d had more time to convince her to give us a real shot. Thought I’d notice a change in our relationship. But apparently I was seeing things that weren’t there—hoping for things that weren’t real.
The pathetic part? I still wanted to convince her to give me a shot.
Pain radiated from where my nails bit into my palms as I stood there trying to decide if I should barge in and break up whoever she was with or turn back around and go black out at a bar. My jaw ticked when another grunt taunted me.
Fuck that.
There was no way I was letting another man fuck her in my house.
“Ariella!” My voice boomed through the apartment, and I stormed toward the source of the sounds, practically putting my feet through the floor with each step. Asshole better start running because when I got a hold of him, I was going to put my fist into his face. “I know you might not think we are really dating, but you’re mine, and I thought I’d made that fucking cle?—”
Oh.
There she sat in the living room, legs sprawled out in front of her on the floor, her long hair pulled up in a knot on the top of her head, showing off the long line of her neck, staring up at me with wide eyes, two little lines creased between her brows.
She wasn’t with someone .
She was alone, if you didn’t count the foam roller, and in my shirt.
Instead of the possessive feelings subsiding, it was as if they’d gathered momentum at the sight. I fisted my hands at my side, but not out of anger. Now, it was to try and control the urge to reach for her. To trace my hands along the tan, muscled lines of her legs.
“What the hell are you going on about?” she asked, pulling out one of her earbuds, oblivious to the emotional roller coaster I was currently riding.
I hoped to god she hadn’t heard me because I didn’t know if there was anything more embarrassing than trying to explain that I thought she was banging someone in my apartment when all she was doing was foam rolling out her muscles.
I rubbed the back of my neck, pulling my eyes away from her bare legs. “Uh, nothing. I was yelling to see if you were home.” My smile felt too big for my face. The arch in her brow confirmed it looked as guilty as it felt. But before she could question me, I pointed at the knobbed thing, spouting out, “Those things hurt like a bitch, huh? That’s what you were doing in here…alone. Like by yourself…no one else here…”
I’m an idiot.
Ari looked at me like I’d grown a second head as she turned over, propping up on her stomach, her black spandex shorts poking out from under my college tee, the hard foam roller placed under her quad. Of all the positions she could have gotten in, of course she chose the one that looked straight-up pornographic when she moved. With every roll, she sent her hips and ass back, taunting my self-control. She started moving and let out the same moan that had caused all my problems from a moment ago.
I’d like to identify as that foam roller.
My lids fluttered closed. I had to run a hand over my face to try and hide the reaction the sound caused. The only problem? Hearing it with my eyes closed was ten times worse. My brain provided the image of her bent over the couch as I drove into her wet pussy like I had with my fingers back in her office.
“Thatcher?” Her tone kicked me out of my fantasy. “Did you get a concussion during the game or something? Because you’re acting weird.”
“Huh? Concussion? No, I didn’t get one. I’m just tired.”
She was no longer lying on the floor but standing beside me, a yoga mat tucked under her arm. She chuckled, shaking her head.
“So, you’re acting weird for no reason, got it.” She moved past me, tossing the mat into the second bedroom—her bedroom—before moving toward the kitchen. “You hungry? I made you dinner.”
My brows hit my hairline. I hadn’t expected her to say that. Other than my mom, I didn’t think anyone had ever made me dinner before.
“Why?” I winced when the word left my mouth. It sounded so rude, which wasn’t how I’d meant it. But based on the narrowing of her eyes and the slight downward pull of her lips, that was exactly how she’d taken it.
My hands were on her shoulders in two steps, holding her in place before she disappeared into her room .
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I’m not sure how many other ways you could have meant why .” The hurt in her tone made my chest ache and my need to explain myself that much more pressing.
I tilted her face to mine. “I’ve never had anyone besides my mom cook for me. I wasn’t sure why you’d want to do something like that for me.”
We locked eyes for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything.
“You’re not the only one who can care for someone, Dalton. Let me take care of you, too.”
She moved away, oblivious that she’d put my heart in a vice grip with her words.
If I didn’t think it would freak her out, I’d ask her to marry me right then and there because my tastebuds had never been as happy as they were shoveling down her food. Leaning back, I patted my stomach—not a brilliant idea given I’d eaten my weight in enchiladas.
“These are the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life. I didn’t realize those were made any other way than a Pyrex dish in the oven.”
I laughed at the look she shot me from where she stood on the other side of the island.
“What are you talking about in the oven? Like to keep them warm?” The confusion on her face made me laugh even harder.
“No, some people cook them in there,” I explained, using my hand to hide my smirk when her confusion morphed into what could only be described as disgust.
“Oh, that’s just…” she shook her head, bringing another forkful to her mouth. “If you think this is good, wait ’til you have my mom’s cooking when we’re in San Jose.”
I froze. Heart beating faster.
“Is that an invitation?”
She stood there, mouth slightly open like the words had slipped out before she could think it through. Disappointment slammed into my chest because, for a moment, I’d thought maybe she’d been serious.
“Don’t worry about it, Sunshine. You can bring me back leftovers.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to focus on anything but the look on her face.
“Dalton.” I lifted my head. She had a soft smile, and her chin rested in the palm of her hand as she leaned on the counter. “No. I don’t want to just bring you back leftovers. I want you to come…to meet them.”
I stood and walked over to her, loving the way her breath hitched when I caged her in with my arms. The little moles dotting her clavicle killed me. I wanted to run my tongue along them, connecting them. To see how much faster I could get her chest to rise and fall.
Instead, I squatted down and cupped her face with my hands. “Are you sure? Because I don’t have to come if that makes you uncomfortable. I’ll go out with the guys or relax in the hotel room while you’re out.”
She peered up at me, vulnerability shining in her eyes as she picked at her callouses. “I panicked because my inside thoughts made it out of my mouth before my head could filter what to say.” A stab of sadness hit me, knocking some air from my lungs. But I couldn’t say I was surprised. She gripped my hand with hers when I started to pull away, keeping it on her cheek. “Wait, let me finish. I’m glad it slipped out, because that’s what I want, Dalton. I want them to meet you.”
The weight of her admission settled in the air between us.
I pressed a kiss to her mouth, loving the way she melted under me. “I would love to meet them. I’d love to be a part of anything you’ll let me, Ari.”
My heart raced as her wide eyes locked on mine, and then, almost instinctively, she glanced toward the hallway.
She was going to run.
I could see it in the way her chest rose and fell, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. My stomach twisted, regret and fear clawing at me for saying too much.
“We should probably get to bed,” she said, her voice softer, almost unsure. “You’re probably tired from travel and all that…”
“Yeah, right,” I managed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Her coconut scent taunted me. “Night, Sunshine. I’ll clean up from dinner. Sweet dreams.”
She hesitated, looking up at me with a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Night, Thatcher.”
And just like that, I stepped back, and she stood and walked down the hallway.
The knife in my chest twisted deeper with every step she took away from me. It took everything in me to let her go, to stay rooted to the spot as she slipped out of sight .
Two steps forward and three steps back.
I ran a hand through my hair, blowing out a breath as I stared at the now-empty kitchen. What the hell was I doing? I’d been hooked on her from the start, yes, but this wasn’t some fleeting infatuation. This was more.
This was everything. She was everything.
My world felt brighter when she was around. The weight of expectations, the pressure of my career—it all faded when she was near. She made me feel seen, like I wasn’t just Dalton Langley, star hockey player, or the guy trying to prove himself to his father.
With her, I was…me.
I wanted her to let me in.
To let me see all the parts of her she tried so hard to keep guarded. To stop running—not just from me, but from the idea that we could be something real. Something worth fighting for.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, debating if I should go after her. Tell her everything. That I wasn’t just playing house, that this wasn’t some fake relationship anymore.
That I’d fallen for her. Hard.
But the thought of pushing her, of scaring her off completely, kept me frozen in place. Grabbing the dishes and carrying them to the sink, I sighed, the ache in my chest refusing to fade. I’d give her space, but one thing was for sure—this wasn’t over. Not for me.
I just had to hope that when I told her, it wouldn’t be over for her either.