24. Jamie #3
Derrick and Sebastian walk ahead of me, talking quietly with each other about something I can’t quite catch, but I stop listening as I open another message thread and start typing.
Me: Going for a drink. Not staying long. Will you be awake later?
I haven’t hit send when a voice calls from somewhere behind me, cutting through the low hum of conversation and equipment being moved.
“Yo! Maxwell.”
I keep walking, not bothering to turn around. Half the people in this building call me Maxwell. Tonight, I’m not in the mood for autographs or small talk or whatever else might be waiting behind that casual summons.
“Number Seventeen.”
Something in the voice reaches me this time, a familiarity that makes my spine straighten and my steps falter.
I stop so abruptly that my dress shoes make a sharp squeaking sound against the polished concrete, the noise echoing off the walls.
Derrick and Sebastian turn around, confusion clear on their faces as they follow my gaze.
My heart gives one hard, painful beat against my ribs, adrenaline spiking through me in a way that has nothing to do with hockey, before I slowly look over my shoulder.
A man leans against the wall twenty feet behind me, swallowed inside an oversized Vipers hoodie with the number seventeen stamped across the front in bold white numerals.
The hood is pulled up over his head, casting shadows across his features, while dark sunglasses cover half his face despite the fluorescent lighting.
His hands are tucked casually into the front pocket of his jeans as though he hasn’t just knocked my entire world completely off its axis with two simple words.
For several seconds that stretch like hours, I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t process what I’m seeing. Then Blue pushes away from the wall with fluid grace, and the grin spreading across his face is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” The words come out rough and disbelieving.
His grin widens, transforming his entire face with joy and mischief. “Hello to you too.”
I stare at him like he might be a mirage, then look at the stretch of hallway I just walked through, trying to piece together how this is possible. “Did I walk past you?”
“You walked right past me,” he says, shaking his head with a laugh that bubbles up from his chest. He lifts a hand and adjusts the sunglasses with theatrical precision. “The disguise works.”
“No, it doesn’t.” The first laugh breaks out of me, disbelieving, carrying three months of longing and frustration and sudden, overwhelming joy. “I’m tired, depressed, and staring at my phone. That doesn’t count. Jesus, those damn sunglasses.”
“That’s an important part of the disguise,” he says, moving closer with steps that seem both casual and purposeful. “Creates mystery. Intrigue.”
“I don’t know how it worked for Superman, but you continue to prove me wrong,” I say, shaking my head in wonder while my brain slowly accepts that this is real, he’s really here.
Blue pulls the glasses down the bridge of his nose and peers at me over the top of them, his dark brown eyes bright with amusement and something deeper, warmer. “You still didn’t see me.”
I can’t stop staring. Every detail arrives separately because my brain refuses to accept all of him at once, the familiar curve of his mouth, the hoodie that’s clearly mine from the way it hangs on his frame, my number displayed across his chest like a declaration.
He’s here. Actually here, not pixelated on a screen or distorted through phone speakers, but solid and real and close enough to touch.
Derrick clears his throat behind me, the sound sharp in the quiet corridor. “I guess that’s our cue.”
I turn slowly toward him, understanding beginning to dawn as pieces fall into place. Sebastian is already smiling, the secretive expression from earlier finally making sense. “You knew.”
“Someone had to keep you in the dressing room long enough for the hallway to clear,” Derrick says, looking enormously pleased with himself and the success of whatever conspiracy this has been.
“I had a feeling something was up. You two hardly ever go out. I should have known.” The words come out mixed with laughter and disbelief as I realize how thoroughly I’ve been managed.
“I had to do something to convince you. But we’ll definitely have that drink for real next time. With both of you,” Derrick replies with a wave toward Cyaire, his smile turning smug with satisfaction. “You’re welcome, Maxwell.”
Blue lifts a hand in acknowledgment, his voice carrying genuine warmth. “Thank you. Both of you. I owe you one.”
“Nice to finally meet you in person, Cy,” Derrick says, and there’s something meaningful in the way he says it, like he’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have.
Derrick and Sebastian disappear around the corner with knowing looks and barely contained grins, leaving us alone in the quiet corridor with nothing but fluorescent lights and the distant sound of arena cleanup.
Blue takes one step toward me, just one, and whatever restraint has kept me standing still like a statue completely disappears.
I close the distance between us in three long strides, and he runs the rest of the way, launching himself into my arms with the kind of abandon that speaks to months of separation.
I catch him around the waist, lifting him clean off the ground as his arms lock around my neck, his legs wrapping around my hips.
The impact drives me back half a step, but I hold on tight, burying my face against the side of his throat and breathing him in like he’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning.
He smells like soap and expensive cologne and something that’s just distinctly him, something I’ve missed without realizing how much until this moment. He smells like home.
“I missed you,” he says against my ear, his voice rough with emotion.
My arms tighten until he lets out a breathless laugh, until I can feel every inch of him pressed against me, solid and warm and undeniably real. “I missed you too.”
“No, Jamie. I really fucking missed you,” he says, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes, and the honesty in his voice, the raw need and longing, breaks something open inside my chest.
The restraint I’ve been carrying for four months, the careful management of my own emotions, the steady reassurance I’ve been offering while falling apart inside, all of it crumbles.
I lower him just enough to find his mouth, my hands framing his face as though he might disappear if I don’t hold on tight enough.
The kiss is clumsy at first because neither of us can decide who is moving where, because we’re both trying to pour three months of separation into a single moment.
His sunglasses knock against my cheek, and I pull them off with one hand, letting them clatter to the floor forgotten.
Cyaire laughs into my mouth, the sound vibrating against my lips, then kisses me harder, his fingers grip the back of my neck as every lonely night between us collapses into this one perfect, impossible moment.