Chapter 33
SET FACEOFF PLAY: A REHEARSED PLAY FOLLOWING A FACEOFF WIN
Iwake up before Brennan does.
That alone feels different. Before, he was always the one who leapt out of bed for practice. Now, it’s me who wakes because the sun has reached the edge of the curtains and I’m used to being up this early for work.
I feel the warmth of his body curling around me.
Behind me, Brennan’s chest rises and falls steadily.
His arm curved around my waist like he’s guarding something precious instead of claiming it.
Reminding me why I feel both sore and invigorated in the best ways as I recall the number of times Brennan reached for me throughout the night.
My lips curve as I remember the feel of Brennan on me, below me, behind me.
I don’t want to move an inch if that means losing the tangible proof that we’re here. Together.
His being asleep gives me time to think about what’s happened between us. How far we’ve come since he moved to town.
Then I think about our coming together last night. The emotion in every touch. The trust we both handed to each other.
I should be scared, but I’m not. It just feels right. Waking up in his arms makes me feel content in ways I can’t easily explain.
Shifting slightly, I feel his arm flex instantly. His forehead nuzzles into my shoulder, breath warm against my skin.
He doesn’t wake and for the moment, I’m grateful for that.
I think back to everything I lost and it wasn’t just my reputation. It was the simplicity of a man who holds me tight against him as if he’s afraid of letting me go.
Turning carefully in his arms, I face him.
Brennan looks different asleep—more relaxed. The tension lines near his eyes have smoothed out. His jaw is unclenched. He looks like someone who fought a battle and finally has returned to his safe place to rest.
I stare at his handsome face, but he’s sleeping like the dead and doesn’t feel the intensity of my gaze. I reach out before I can stop myself, tracing my finger lightly along the scar near his temple—the one caused by his injury. His brow furrows, lips parting slightly.
Then his eyes fly open.
For a split second, panic flashes across his face—pure instinct. Then recognition. Relief.
“Hey,” I whisper. “What caused that reaction?”
He blinks a few times, then exhales like he’s been holding his breath all night. “You’re actually here. I thought it might be a dream.”
Something inside me softens. “Yes, I am.”
His shoulders sag in visible relief, and the sight of it makes my eyes burn. “I wake up every day afraid you might think I’ve crossed a line,” he admits. “That I took something you weren’t ready to give.”
I shake my head. “Last night wasn’t something you took.”
He watches me closely.
“It was something I chose to share with you because you showed me I could believe in this—us—again. You didn’t ruin anything.”
“I’m still terrified I might do something wrong and hurt you.”
I give him complete transparency. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was too.”
He props himself up against the headboard. I snuggle into his arms, against his broad chest. There’s no noise other than the sheets shifting as we both get comfortable. Within our warm cocoon, we’re opening up to invite honesty and truth instead of hurt.
“I don’t want to pretend that we’re completely fixed.”
“I still have to do the work.”
“We still have to put in the work,” I correct him. Before emotions flow over, I need him to appreciate where my head and heart are at. “Because whatever we do going forward, we do it together.”
“Even if it’s messy?”
“Especially then.”
“I don’t care if things get messy as long as I know there’s an us,” he declares.
I draw a breath. “Okay. Then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you feel in here,” I lay my hand over his heart. “What are you feeling?”
He looks down at me like I’ve hung the moon even as he’s bracing himself for it to all fall apart. “I’m afraid.”
My brows wing upward. “Is that all? Join the club.”
Then I realize how serious he is when he continues, “My biggest fear is that one day, you’ll decide being with me is no longer worth it to you. Because getting a second chance with you?” He shakes his head. “It means so much more than hockey ever did.”
I twist so I can meet him head on. “You’re serious.”
“As another concussion.”
“Don’t joke about that. It was awful to watch.”
A flicker of surprise passes through his eyes. “You watched that game?”
Uncomfortable, I admit, “Just because you were on the team didn’t mean I stopped being a Kings fan.”
“That’s generous especially since I ruined us to earn that spot.” He tucks me against him before admitting, “I’m afraid no matter how careful I am, I’ll end up hurting you.”
Before I can get a word in, he goes on, raw and unguarded. “I’m afraid the choice I made in the past will always haunt us,” he concludes. “That you’ll see him every time I make a mistake.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Brennan…” I whisper.
“I’ve been going to therapy because I couldn’t carry inside me the man who would deliberately hurt someone for control. For accolades. So, maybe it wasn’t directly to get you back, but the way I hurt you has come up a lot,” he says quietly.
My breath catches.
“I started with one session,” he continues. “But somehow…you came up in the first ten minutes.”
My chest aches at how vulnerable he’s making himself.
“I told him about the photo. About leaving. About choosing hockey. My therapist asked me a question that wrecked me.”
“What question?”
He swallows. “He asked me ‘Whose future did you risk?’ when I explained the reasons I left. Saying yours made me nauseous.”
I feel the last bit of tension buried inside my heart unravel at his words.
Brennan continues, voice rough, “I realized I protected my future, my image, my fear. But not you. Never you.”
Tears spill down my cheeks freely now. He uses his thumb to wipe them away. “I didn’t know how to live with that,” he says. “So, I stopped hiding behind excuses.”
My fingers are going to leave marks on his chest. I reach for his hand and hold it to my face. “You’ve changed.”
“I hope in a good way.”
A watery laugh escapes. “Yes. I think so given our present location.”
“I wrote letters,” he admits. “To people I hurt. To you and to myself, but I haven’t given you yours.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to give you more to carry. This was about my accountability for my choices.”
I drop his hand and cover my mouth, a sob breaking free.
“I realized there was a very real chance you might never speak to me again,” he continues. His eyes are soft, “And if I had to see you happy with someone else, that’s all that would have mattered—your happiness.”
“I never thought of it that way,” I whisper.
“I just knew I needed to become someone who deserved to breathe the same air as you.”
I let my tears fall. I’m shocked when I feel a few wet drops on my shoulder. He rasps, “OKC was wrong without you. I’d wake up in the morning and think of you. I’d realize I was alone even if I was in the middle of some party. It took coming here to figure out why.”
He presses his lips against the crown of my head.
“One thing we’ve been working on in therapy is that love isn’t about admiration or control.
It’s about presence. About choosing to stay when it would be easier to back away.
Letting someone see you when you don’t have answers and trusting them not to leave because of it. ”
“Those are good things to learn,” I rasp.
His arm tightens around me. “And I’ve also come to the conclusion real love is about conquering demons together—not doing it alone.”
I let his words sink in, knowing his actions over the last several months give me proof of his intentions.
“Even if you can’t forget the past, that’s okay,” he says softly. “I need you to know the man I am now isn’t running anymore. Even if the road for us is long and bumpy. I just plan on enjoying the ride.”
I lean forward and press my forehead to his, shaking. “I didn’t know you’ve been working through all of that.”
“I needed to work through it,” he replies. “But after last night? I don’t want to hide anymore.”
I wrap my arms tight around his shoulders. It doesn’t take him but a second to pull me into him before burying his face against my neck.
His breath shudders, voice cracking. “After that first night when I told you I knew, I thought I lost you forever. I would have deserved it.”
I hold him tighter, my own tears soaking into his hair. “That’s why it’s a relationship. It’s something we figure out together.”
He pulls back slightly, eyes vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. “But you’re with me?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not boxing up the past like it didn’t happen.”
“I couldn’t even if I tried.” My voice is slightly reproachful, “You’re not the only one who’s been in therapy.”
Hope flickers in his expression. “Then…we’re okay?”
“I can’t promise I won’t need reassurance.”
“I’ll give you all of it,” he says. “And if I mess up, I’ll own it.”
“If we mess up, we’ll take responsibility.”
He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a firm kiss on the back. “We’ll continue to learn from each other.”
“Okay. We move forward. Carefully. Honestly.”
“Together?”
“Yes,” I say. “Together.”
He exhales, forehead resting against mine again, and for the first time, the fear doesn’t feel like a warning.
It feels like we’re choosing what we never should have lost all along—our relationship.
Only this time, we’re choosing it without any outside interference.
Hopefully.