Chapter 10 #2
"I'll have her in a helmet, double-laced skates, and three of the best defensemen in the league standing within arm's reach the entire time." Delaney pats my arm. "She's safer out there than crossing Main Street when Paige is driving that ridiculous Beetle."
"Hey! I heard that!" Paige cries out.
"Mom please."
I look down at my daughter. The girl who has cried twice in the last hour, who has been signed at, gifted to, and worshipped at by her heroes. Whose entire life has been bakeries and homework and messy apartments above businesses.
And here she is, being invited onto the Snow Leopards ice.
"Go," I tell her. "Be brave. Don't break anything."
She launches at me, hugs me so hard my ribs ache, and then she's out the door in a flash of glittery sneakers and pure joy, sweeping out of the locker room with Delaney, Paige, and Avery on either side.
"COME ON, BOYS!" Cade yells. "Anyone who can stand is on ice duty!"
Colt steps to the side, and pretty soon, there's a stampede between us.
I'm not joking. Half-dressed hockey players surge past me in a wave of cologne and sweat and laughter, Cade still shirtless, Samuel still in compression shorts and a hoodie now thrown over his head, Gabe lumbering after them in actual jeans because apparently he's the only one with the dignity to put proper pants on.
Theo flicks another candy snake at Silas as they pass.
"Sorry, ma'am, coming through, ma'am!" Silas calls.
And then, all at once, the room is empty.
Empty except for me.
And… Colt.
"Well." Colt's voice is low and I realize he's taken a step back, his warm hands now shoved in the pockets of his jacket. "She looks happy."
"Yeah," I agree, breathless. "She does."
"You okay?"
"I should be… My child just had the greatest night of her life."
"And her mother?"
I meet his eyes. "Her mother is… processing."
He takes a slow step, stopping directly in front of me. He smiles down at me and holds out his hand. God, he's tall this close. I have to tilt my chin up to meet that smile.
"Come here."
I take his hand without thinking.
He laces our fingers together and leads me deeper into the locker room, eventually stopping at a cubby on the far wall where COLT LANE gleams in gold across the top of the nameplate.
A jersey hangs inside, his number stitched between the shoulders, untouched and waiting. Skates dangle from a hook, and there are pads stacked on the bench alongside gloves, a helmet, and a stick leaning in the corner.
Everything in its place.
Everything waiting for him.
I let go of his hand and step closer to the jersey.
"So… Hockey Boy. This is where you sit."
"Every game. Same spot. Since I got here."
I turn slowly to face him. He's closer than I realized.
"You miss it, don't you?" I ask softly. "Being out there?"
His throat bobs.
"Yeah… so much, Zo." His voice cracks just enough that it lands somewhere deep in my chest. "So much."
I sit down on the bench in front of his stall. "Tell me about it."
My hand drifts up before I can stop it, settling on his forearm. His muscles tense under my palm before slowly relaxing.
"This place… it's the only thing I've ever been good at."
He exhales, long and slow, and leans his shoulder against the stall beside me.
There's no bitterness in his voice. Just honesty.
"My parents put me in skates at four years old. I had private coaches before I could read. They pulled me out of school for travel teams, and I never had sleepovers. No birthday parties. Just ice and drills and 'one more rep, kid, you've almost got it.'"
His hand finds mine on his forearm as he takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
"My whole life, the deal was… if I performed well, the house was happy. If I played shit, the house was quiet. So I just… I had to keep performing, you know. To keep everyone happy, I had to be the best."
I squeeze his arm gently. "Colt…"
"I didn't think much of it… because there was always supposed to be a reward.
Big game meant we got to go to Disney. Make the travel team and we'll have a real Christmas.
Score a hat trick and Dad will actually take you fishing.
" He laughs, but it's hollow. "None of it ever happened.
Not once. But I kept showing up because every time I did, they showed up for it.
That was the closest I ever got to being loved. "
My eyes are stinging and I don't even try to stop it.
"And when Gabe hit me?" He shakes his head, staring at the floor. "I woke up in that hospital and I couldn't move for a second, and the first thing I thought was, 'If I can't play, they won't even speak to me.' Not 'am I okay.' Not 'is my brain okay.' Just… will anyone want me anymore."
My fingers tighten around his arm, gripping his jacket so hard I can feel the way he's holding himself… like he's bracing for me to pull away from him the way everyone else apparently has.
But then, his eyes lift to mine.
"And then there was you. You came." His voice is rough now. "And you sat there, in that chair beside my bed, and you looked at me like I was just… a normal guy. Not a hockey player. Not a brand or a goddamn asset."
His thumb strokes across my knuckles.
"To you, I was just Colt."
My heart cracks.
It cracks wide open, right there in his stupid empty locker room, with a man I barely know telling me the only true thing he's probably ever told anyone.
And because I've had way too much emotion to handle tonight…
I don't think.
I just grab the front of his jacket with both hands and yank him down to me.
"Zoey—"
Our mouths crash together, and two years of me being untouched, and a decade of him going unseen, all of it collides between us. My hands fist in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, and the sound he makes against my mouth is something between a groan and a growl.
"Don't talk." I drag my mouth across his jaw, his neck, anywhere I can reach as we stumble in the awkward space. "Just kiss me, Colt. Kiss me."
He drops down to meet me, knees hitting the bench on either side of mine, and suddenly he's caging me in against the back of the stall. I lean into him, pressing every inch of myself against the man I've been refusing to admit I wanted for too damn long.
His hands slide down to my hips, gripping hard, before sliding under the hem of my sweater.
I gasp into his mouth. Skin on skin contact.
The first real touch in two years, and it's his calloused palms spreading wide across my back, hot and hungry, fingers digging into me like he's afraid I'll evaporate.