Chapter 26
Justin POV
The light spilling around the edges of the charcoal linen drapes was a pale, watery silver.
Outside, a light winter sleet tapped a steady, whispering rhythm against the high glass of the carriage house casement, freezing upon contact with the stone sills.
Fifty-eight days remained until the ECAC Championship in Lake Placid.
I lay flat on my back in the warm hollow of the mattress, my head resting against the dark wood headboard, breathing in the quiet of the room.
My resting pulse was a slow, heavy thud against my breastbone, my chest expanding with deep, even breaths that filled my lungs without a trace of the old tension.
The masseter muscles along my jawline were soft, the chronic habit of grinding my back teeth replaced by an unhurried, heavy calm.
Penny was curled flush against my left side.
Her head rested in the notch between my neck and shoulder, one bare arm thrown across my stomach, her small hand splayed flat over my ribs. Her dark, unruly curls were a soft, fragrant spill across my skin, smelling of vanilla, clean soap, and the dark musk of our shared heat from the night before.
The heavy charcoal wool quilt covered her to the waist, leaving the smooth, honey-warm curve of her bare spine exposed to the bedroom air.
I looked down at the physical reality of us.
My right hand—two hundred and twenty-eight pounds of conditioned bone and scarred knuckles, calloused from years of heavy composite sticks and bare-knuckle junior hockey scraps—rested over the gentle flare of her hip.
Her skin was soft as heated silk beneath my rough palm, rising and falling in delicate, microscopic hitches.
Outside these four walls, my life was a meat grinder.
There was Wade Kozak lurking in the loading bays, spewing poison about Green Bay and threatening to drag Penny’s name through an NCAA ethics board.
There was Arthur Shaw attempting to purchase his son’s ice time with booster checks, Coach Hauer demanding twenty-five disciplined minutes against Harvard, and Raymond Cole tracking every step I took for the Boston Bruins.
Everyone in that arena wanted a pound of my flesh.
Except the girl sleeping on my chest.
She had stood in the dark at midnight and handed me her deepest wounds, stripping away her lifelong armor because she trusted me not to drop her. She had asked for nothing—no contract money, no promises, no protection—only the truth of who I was.
A fierce, quiet vow took root behind my ribs, solid as reinforced concrete:
I would tear down the entire university before I let anyone defile this room.
* * *
Her eyelashes fluttered against my collarbone.
A tiny, soft sound caught in her throat, her lips parting as she shifted against my flank, her bare toes sliding against my calf beneath the linen sheets.
She opened her hazel eyes, cloudy with sleep, the dark gold flecks catching the silver morning light filtering through the drapes. When her gaze drifted up to mine, she didn't flinch. She didn't scramble to pull the bedding over her chest.
She smiled—a slow, sleepy, unguarded curve of her mouth that made my chest tighten with a sharp rush of heat.
"Morning, Ibarra," she murmured, her voice husky and sweet.
"Morning, sweetheart," I rumbled, my voice thick with gravel.
I didn't give her time to think about the day ahead.
I shifted my weight, sliding my massive frame over hers, trapping her beneath me on the mattress. I propped my weight on my forearms, bracing my chest inches from hers, letting her feel the full, solid heat of my body.
Penny’s breath hitched in a sharp, shallow gasp, her hands rising to flatten against my bare shoulders, her fingers digging into the bunched muscle of my traps.
"Justin," she breathed, her hazel eyes widening, darkening as her pupils dilated. "We have the morning film review at ten—"
"Film review is at ten," I murmured, leaning down until my lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath her jawline, my rough morning stubble rasping over her neck. "It's seven-forty. You're not going anywhere."
I didn't rush. I gathered her into my arms, lifting her off the mattress, carrying her straight into the adjoining master bath.
The ensuite was lined with dark slate tile, cold to the soles of our bare feet, but I turned the brass handles of the walk-in rain shower, letting scalding water roar from the ceiling fixtures.
Thick, white mineral steam rose instantly, filling the glass enclosure, warming the air until it felt like a tropical greenhouse.
I stepped into the downpour with her, the hot water streaming over my broad shoulders, slicking my dark hair back, plastering her curls down her back in glistening ropes.
I backed her gently against the warm, wet slate wall, my hands settling firmly on her hips.
The heat of the water mingled with the fever of our skin.
"Look at me, Penny," I commanded softly, my voice cutting through the hiss of the spray.
She looked. Her chest was heaving beneath the water, her lips parted, slick and swollen, her hazel eyes burning with an open, breathless hunger that shattered my restraint.
"Good girl," I rasped, my hands sliding down to cup her thighs, lifting her slightly until her hips aligned with mine against the tile.
The physical contact was an all-consuming, agonizing friction.
Skin against skin, water running in sheets between our chests, her small hands clutching the wet muscle of my biceps to keep her balance.
I moved with slow, rhythmic, unhurried authority, holding her anchored in the steam, driving every lingering doubt from her mind with the steady, measured claiming of my body.
"Justin," she gasped against my throat, her head falling back against the slate, water streaming across her collarbones as her back arched into my chest. "Justin, please..."
"I've got you, Penny," I rumbled, my lips taking hers in a deep, wet, bruising kiss that swallowed her cries. "You're safe right here. All mine. You hear me?"
"All yours," she sobbed into my mouth, her legs tightening around my waist, surrendering to the heavy, pulsing rhythm until her entire body seized in long, trembling waves of release that left her shuddering against my neck.
I held her through the crest, my forehead resting against hers, my breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts as my own release tore through my ribs, spilling into her in the warm mist.
* * *
By 8:45 AM, the steam had dissipated, leaving the carriage house quiet and warm.
We lay back in the master bed, wrapped together beneath the heavy charcoal quilt, the scent of sandalwood soap and lavender clinging to our damp skin.
Penny was curled against my side, her head resting flat over my heart, her small hand tracing the jagged white line of the scar through my left eyebrow with infinite gentleness.
Her breathing was slow, heavy, and synchronized with mine, her body relaxed in the afterglow.
"Your shoulder didn't hitch once," she murmured softly, her thumb brushing the healed AC joint. "The neuromuscular firing is perfect, Justin. You're going to dominate Lake Placid."
I reached up, catching her hand in mine, bringing her knuckles to my lips, kissing the silver signet ring on her thumb.
"Fifty-eight days," I said quietly, staring up at the dark timber beams of the ceiling.
Penny shifted, looking up into my face. "Fifty-eight days."
"We play their game until the final buzzer," I rumbled, turning my head to look directly into her eyes, letting her hear the absolute certainty in every word.
"We stay professional in the arena. We keep the doors open in Lab 04.
We give Garrett Shaw and Dean Sterling zero reasons to touch your fellowship. "
Penny’s throat moved on a soft, difficult swallow. "And when the buzzer sounds?"
"When we win that trophy, it's over," I said, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, tangling in her damp curls, pulling her face down until our lips were inches apart.
"I sign the Bruins contract. I put your name on my apartment in Boston.
You take that Vanderveer grant and set up your research in Massachusetts General, and we walk into TD Garden through the front doors together. "
A soft, radiant smile broke across her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears of relief.
"You make it sound so simple," she whispered.
"It is simple, sweetheart," I rasped, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to her lips. "Because I'm never letting you go."
Penny sighed, resting her forehead back against my sternum, her arm tightening around my ribs, content to exist in the sanctuary we had forged.
I held her close, stroking her back through the linen sheet, but my gaze drifted past her shoulder toward the frosty casement window.
Outside, the gray Adirondack clouds were gathering again over Lake Champlain, heavy and bruised.
A cold, instinctive dread tightened in the pit of my stomach.
The peace in this room was sacred, but the world outside was sharpening its knives. Kozak was somewhere in the county. Arthur Shaw was looking for leverage. And the pressure cooker of the championship run was about to detonate.
I pulled Penny tighter against my chest, closing my eyes, ready to defend the ground beneath our feet with everything I had left.