11. Chapter 12
Dane
I already know what Bowman is doing before anyone says a word.
Mara's team program ends in a week. Pending a "restructuring review." Cal Bowman's language, which means it's not about restructuring anything. It's about sending a message to Coach Ellison. Use his daughter to make him feel he could be next, then smile through the whole thing.
I've been handled by GMs before. I know exactly what this is. Stick the knife in and then slowly twist it.
I’m heading to an evening film review. I find Bowman outside the coaches' wing, iPad under his arm, looking like a man who just won something small and is very pleased about it. He sees me coming and adjusts his expression. Not worried. Just prepared.
"Dane." He says my name like we're buddies. "Heading to film room?"
"What did you do?"
"Routine adjustment to the conditioning staff." He shrugs one shoulder. "Budget review, restructuring."
"Don't." I stop three feet from him. Close enough. "You’re pulling her off the program to push Coach. That's what that is."
Bowman tilts his head. Patient, like he's talking to someone slow. "I’m pulling a staff member off a program to prevent a distraction. You're the distraction, Kincaid. Not her." I don’t believe him.
"Then this is about me. Not her."
"It's about the optics." He almost sounds reasonable. "Her contract renewal was always conditional. I just moved the timeline."
I stare at him.
He stares back.
"You’re playing games with her contract to get at coach," I say, "stop using her like this or I'll make sure every media outlet in this city knows exactly what kind of GM you are."
Bowman's smile doesn't move. "That would be a breach of your NDA. Don’t be late for film review."
He walks away. Neat as a penalty call that goes the other way.
I so want to deck him, instead I grit my teeth until the urge passes.
After film I find Mara in the east equipment hall. She had another late afternoon skater session.
She's standing with her back to the wall, phone in her hand, jaw set. She's been crying. Not now, not in front of me, but recently. Her eyes are dry but her lashes are still dark at the corners.
She looks up when she hears my footsteps. Her chin lifts immediately. Like armor.
"Don't." She holds up one hand. "Whatever you're about to say."
"He did it to get at your father."
"I know what he did." Her voice is certain. Low. "I've been doing this my whole life, Dane. I know every move these men make."
"Then let me fix it."
She laughs. It's not a happy sound. "Fix it how? You threatened him already, didn't you."
It's not a question.
"Because you can't threaten someone like Bowman with just words." She pushes off the wall and starts walking. "He wants chatter. It gives him something to point at."
I fall into step beside her. We're walking nowhere, both of us too wired to stop.
"I'll talk to your father."
"No."
"Mara."
"You can't fix my father." She stops walking and turns to face me.
Her eyes are certain but her hands are shaking.
"That's not how my dad works. You can't reason him into something.
You can't apologize your way in. He built a box around me twenty years ago and I've been living in it ever since.
" She presses her lips together. "He doesn't mean to.
That's the worst part. He genuinely thinks he's protecting me. "
I don't say anything.
She keeps going. "And now the program is going to end next week. Which means I lose the income. Which means I'm more dependent on my skating clients, which means I need Julie Vale's not to pull Tessa." She stops. Exhales. "It's a chain, Dane. One pull and everything rattles."
I watch her put herself back together. Deep breath. Squared shoulders. Chin still up.
It's the most controlled grief I've ever seen.
"Tell me what to do," I say.
"Nothing." She shakes her head. "There's nothing to do tonight."
"That's not good enough."
"I know." She looks at me. Really looks at me. "I know it's not."
We're standing ten feet from the equipment room door. The building is mostly quiet this late. Film review ended twenty minutes ago and most of the team has headed out.
I've been careful around her. Deliberately, consciously careful. Every time I wanted to push, I pulled back. Every time she needed distance. I gave it.
Right now she's not asking for distance.
She's looking at me like I'm the only solid thing in a building full of everything that keeps going wrong.
I take one step toward her.
She doesn't move back.
"If you want me to walk away,, "say so."
She doesn't say anything.
I reach out and touch her jaw. Just my thumb, just the edge of her cheek. She closes her eyes for exactly two seconds.
Then she opens them and says, "I need you, equipment room."
The door locks shut behind us.
It's dark except for the strip of light under the door and the exit light. Rubber mats and tape and the smell of cold metal. Not romantic. Not soft. Both of us too tightly wound to care.
I reach for the wall switch and she catches my wrist.
"Leave it."
She finds me first.
Her hands fist into the front of my shirt and she pulls me down to her mouth, and there's nothing tentative about it.
She kisses me like she's been making this decision for weeks and she is done waiting on herself.
I walk her backward until her shoulders meet the shelving unit and the whole thing rattles but her grip only tightens.
I break the kiss just long enough to ask. "Tell me what you want."
"Everything." Low. Certain. "I'm done being careful tonight."
I drag my mouth down her throat and she tips her head back, fingers sliding into my hair. I take my time there, teeth grazing the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, and she makes a sound she immediately tries to swallow.
"Dane."
I pull back just enough to see her face in the thin line of light. Lips parted, eyes dark, chest rising fast. I run my thumb along her lower lip and she exhales against it. "Still with me?"
"Yes." Zero hesitation. "Don't stop."
I start on her shirt buttons. Slow, deliberate, one by one, watching her face the whole time. She makes a frustrated sound by the third button.
"You're doing that on purpose."
"Yes."
"Dane."
I slide the shirt off her shoulders and she goes quiet.
I reach around and unhook her bra in one motion and she inhales sharply, like she's surprised by her own reaction.
I pull back to look at her and she lets me.
No moving to cover herself. No hesitation.
She just watches me look at her with that direct gaze she turns on everyone, except right now it's stripped of every wall she usually keeps up.
"Take this off." She reaches for my shirt.
I pull it over my head and drop it. Her hands are on my chest immediately, palms flat, running slow from my pecs down to my stomach like she's memorizing the map of me. Her fingers trace the edge of a tattoo along my ribs and every muscle in me goes tight.
I reach for her and she steps into me without hesitation, bare skin against bare skin, and the low sound that comes out of me is not something I planned.
I walk her backward to the equipment table along the far wall, and she hops up onto it before I even ask. Eye level now. Her legs wrap around my hips and she pulls me in and I kiss her again. This time, deep, taking my time, until she makes a frustrated noise against my mouth.
"I want you." she says.
"I know."
"Dane." My name in her mouth is not a warning. It's a demand.
My hands move to the waist of her leggings. I pause there, fingers at the hem.
"Yeah?" I ask.
She lifts her hips in answer.
I pull them down and off and run both hands back up the length of her thighs, breath change with every inch. She's gripping the edge of the table and her knuckles are white.
I take care of her first. Thoroughly. My mouth at her throat, one hand spread warm across her stomach, the other slides between her thighs, she starts shaking and she's saying my name into my shoulder over and over, quiet as she can manage, which is not very quiet at all.
When she finally comes apart she buries her face against my neck and holds on.
I hold her through all of it.
After a long moment she lifts her head. Her eyes are glassy and her hair is loose around her shoulders and she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, including every good thing that has ever happened to me.
"Your turn," she says.
She reaches for my belt and I let her. She works it open and I help her with the rest, and then there's nothing between us and she wraps her hand around me and my forehead drops to her shoulder.
"Mara."
I reach past her for my wallet on the table where I dropped it with my keys, and she waits, her hands running up my back. I take care of what needs taking care of and then I'm back between her thighs and she tips her chin up to look at me.
"Yes," she says. Before I even ask.
I push forward slow. Her breath leaves her in a rush. I stop, check her face. She nods once, sharp. I keep going until I'm all the way there and we both go still for a second, adjusting, feeling the weight of it.
"Okay?" I manage.
"More than." Her legs lock tighter around me. "Move."
I move.
It's not quiet and it's and it doesn't take long to be completely beside the point. She meets every motion, her hands gripping my shoulders, nails pressing in. I get a hand in her hair and tip her head back and kiss her jaw, her throat, the corner of her mouth.
Every sound she makes I want to keep.
She gets close again and I feel it. The shift in her breathing, the way her hands grip harder. I don't let up. I keep the pace and let it build until she breaks apart for the second time, shaking, her face pressed against my shoulder, saying my name like it's the only word she has.
I follow her over the edge about thirty seconds later.
After, we stay tangled together on the equipment table for longer than is smart. Her head on my chest, my arms around her, both of us just breathing.
She pulls back first. Finds her bra then the buttons on her shirt by touch and does them up in the dark.
I watch her, even though I can barely see her.
She's still putting herself back together. Still, always, pulling herself into order. But her hands aren't shaking anymore.
"Mara."
"Don't." Her voice is soft. Not cold. "Don't make it complicated yet."
I keep my mouth shut. For once.
She smooths her hair back and reaches for the door handle.
Then, from the other side of the door. Footsteps. A voice.
Evan McLeod's voice. Unhurried. Almost casual.
I should have figured he’d stick around.
"Yeah, I saw them go in."
A pause.
"About ten minutes ago."
Mara's hand freezes on the handle.
I go completely still.