Chapter 30
Chase POV
The black friction tape tore with a sharp, clean snap between my teeth.
I smoothed the adhesive down the blade of my composite stick, working from heel to toe with overlapping eighth-inch wraps until the carbon fiber was shielded beneath a fresh layer of cloth.
I picked up the tin of wax from the quartz kitchen island, rubbing the cake of hard pine wax across the edges to keep the slush from weighting down the blade during third-period transitions.
The loft was quiet, bathed in the low bronze glow of the cast-iron floor lamp.
Outside, a thirty-below wind howled off the bluffs of Lake Superior, driving dry ice crystals against the factory windows in a frantic, rattling rhythm. The four cast-iron radiators along the brick walls were hissing softly, throwing steady, dry heat into the high-ceilinged room.
I slid the stick into the heavy nylon travel bag resting against the counter, zipping the brass teeth shut.
For four years, this pre-game ritual was an exercise in pure survival.
I used to sit on this stool with my molars grinding so hard my jaw ached, my skull a battlefield of rage and bile.
Every strip of tape was a weapon sharpened against Marcus; every game was an audition for men who viewed my family as an insurance write-off.
I had played like an animal daring someone to cross the blue line so I had an excuse to split their visor.
I looked across the dark oak floorboards.
Nola was sitting on the deep leather sofa, curled beneath my heavy charcoal wool throw, her small knees drawn up to her chest. Her open anatomy textbook lay facedown on the coffee table beside an untouched mug of ginger tea.
The rage in my blood had vanished weeks ago.
It had been replaced by something heavier, quieter, and infinitely more dangerous.
Every drill, every shift, every bone-jarring check scheduled for tomorrow's national championship game against Minnesota had a single purpose: winning the national championship banner, locking down my contract in Denver, and building an impenetrable wall around the girl sitting on that cushion.
I dropped the roll of wax into my duffel, pushed the bag aside, and crossed the room in my socks.
* * *
The leather cushion gave softly under my weight.
I didn't ask permission. I leaned forward, slid my hands under her arms, and lifted her small frame effortlessly off the sofa.
I sat back against the leather, pulling her directly across my lap.
Her head settled into the crook of my neck, her soft auburn hair spilling over my collarbone, her knees tucked against the outside of my hip. She was wearing my thick gray fleece hoodie, the heavy cotton swallowing her body, but the weight resting against my thighs felt fragile, strangely light.
Her hands were like river stones where they rested against the center of my charcoal thermal.
I frowned, my dark brows pulling together as I wrapped my arms around her back, pulling her flush against my chest. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the amber lamplight, dark purple shadows bruising the hollows beneath her eyes.
Beneath the fleece, her frame carried a faint, persistent tremor that ran through her shoulders like a chilled draft.
My resting pulse sat at forty-four beats a minute, heavy and grounded, striking against my ribs like a slow hammer.
"You're freezing, Nola," I murmured, my voice a low, gravelly rasp that stirred the loose strands at her temple.
She didn't answer right away. Her small fingers curled into the fabric over my ribs, bunching the cotton in her grip with an intensity that made the muscles in my back pull tight.
I misread the silence.
I thought of the media scrum in Briefing Room B, the cameras flashing in my face, the national scouts lingering by the player tunnel.
I thought of the sheer weight of a single-elimination tournament final and assumed the magnitude of tomorrow's national championship game against Minnesota was pressing down on her shoulders.
I lifted my right hand, sliding my palm up the long line of her spine, rubbing slow, firm heat through the fleece into her tight shoulder blades.
"The shoulder is holding," I said softly, pressing my lips to the side of her neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her vanilla lotion.
"Hastings ran forty minutes of full-contact battle drills this afternoon.
I took faceoffs against Silas and didn't feel a twinge. We have Minnesota’s neutral-zone breakout mapped down to the half-second. "
Her breath hitched sharply—a ragged, catching sound that pressed hard against my collarbone.
"Chase," she whispered, her voice paper-thin, vibrating with an unshed weight that made my stomach dip.
"You're shaking like it's you skating forty minutes tomorrow," I murmured, a faint, protective smile touching my lips as I tightened my grip around her waist. "Good girl. Look at me. Breathe with me."
I drew in a long, slow breath through my nose, expanding my ribs until her chest was forced to expand with mine, anchoring her fragile frame against the furnace of my body.
"I've got you, sweetheart," I whispered into her hair. "You don't have to carry any of it."
She let out a soft, shuddering breath that felt like weeping without tears, her small face burying deeper into the warm hollow beneath my jaw.
* * *
I raised my hand, my calloused thumb and forefinger hooking under the delicate point of her chin.
I applied slow, unyielding upward pressure, tilting her face until her hazel-gold eyes were locked with mine beneath the amber light.
Her eyes were glassy, swimming with a dark, suffocating moisture that she refused to let spill over her lashes. Her lower lip was parted, trembling faintly, the color drained from her mouth.
The sight of her looking so small, so defenseless in my living room, burned through the last surviving scrap of my athletic discipline.
"Listen to me," I rasped, my voice dropping down into a thick, absolute gravel that shook the quiet room.
She stared into my eyes, her throat moving on a dry, difficult swallow.
"Tomorrow night, the clock hits zero," I said, my thumb stroking the soft curve of her cheekbone with fierce, unwavering conviction. "We take the trophy. Hastings gets his banner. And this hiding is done."
Her eyes widened, a sudden, sharp hitch catching in the center of her chest.
"The second that final buzzer sounds," I whispered, leaning in until my forehead pressed against hers, my breath scalding against her mouth, "I walk off that ice.
I walk straight to the compliance bench, and I take your hand in front of every camera, every scout, and every trustee in that building. "
A soft, broken gasp left her lips, her fingers digging through my shirt into the muscle of my shoulders.
"Miller can choke on his protocol," I rasped, my words pouring out with the force of an iron vow.
"Marcus can scream into the wind. We pack your boxes into my truck on Sunday morning, and we drive west. You take your fellowship in Colorado Springs, and I sign thirty miles up the highway in Denver.
Nobody touches you ever again. Nobody gets between us.
You understand me, Nola? It's over tomorrow. "
A single, hot tear broke from the corner of her eye, tracking down her pale cheek to soak into the rough callus of my thumb.
She didn't speak.
She surged upward in my lap, her arms throwing themselves around my neck with a violent, desperate urgency that nearly knocked my head back against the leather cushions.
Her mouth crashed onto mine.
The kiss was scalding, breathless, and stripped of all hesitation. She kissed me like a woman standing on the edge of a collapsing bridge, her lips parting wide, her tongue tangling with mine in a frantic, starving claim that tasted of salt and raw, agonizing devotion.
My arms locked around her waist like iron bands, hauling her hips flush against mine, my hands flattening against her back as I poured my soul into her mouth, sealing the promise into her skin with deep, rhythmic authority.
I held her in the warm amber dark, feeling her heart hammer a wild, frantic rhythm against my breastbone.
I held her with the absolute certainty of a man who had already won the war.
I knew nothing could touch us now.
And in the silence of the night, the clock ticked down to the detonation of everything we had built.