Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TOLREK
The hallway outside the equipment room smelled like rubber and disinfectant, familiar enough that I’d stopped noticing it weeks ago. I was heading to my locker when Haley came around the corner from the opposite direction.
We both stopped.
She was close enough I could see the shadows under her eyes, the way her hair had been pulled back in a hurry, and the coffee cup in her hand that she was gripping too tightly.
She looked like she hadn’t slept.
I probably looked the same.
Last night around one-thirty, Beau had started yipping at the door. I’d gone to check, half asleep, expecting a neighbor coming home late or someone’s door closing too loudly.
When I’d opened my door, the hallway had been empty.
But Beau had been insistent, his nose pressed to the gap at the bottom of the door, his tail going in circles. Someone had been there, a person he’d recognized by sound or scent.
I’d known immediately who it was.
Haley had come to my door at one-thirty in the morning and hadn’t knocked.
The knowledge had sat in my chest all night. She’d been close enough to touch but hadn’t reached for me. Whatever had brought her to my building had also stopped her from crossing the last few feet.
Now she stood in front of me in a corridor that was too public for anything I wanted to say.
Her lips parted like she was going to speak.
Behind her, voices echoed from around the corner. Staff heading to the morning meeting.
She looked away first, adjusting her grip on her coffee, and walking past me without saying anything.
The scent of her shampoo lingered after she’d gone.
I stood there until the voices around the corner faded. Long enough to understand that I was done waiting for a better moment. There wasn’t going to be one.
This ended today. Not us, but the pretending. All of it was going to stop at four o’clock when we sat down in her office and actually talked about what we were doing.
I was done pretending to the world that this wasn’t anything.
I changed up and joined the crew for morning practice. The team moved through drills with a heightened awareness that the season started next week.
Jim ran us through defensive zone coverage, calling out adjustments between sequences. When my line came off the ice, he leaned close to me where I sat on the bench.
“That gap control in the neutral zone was perfect,” he said, loud enough that half the team could hear. “Exactly what we need from our first line.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re playing the best hockey I’ve seen from you in years.” Jim’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Whatever clicked for you, keep doing it.”
Behind him, through the glass, I could see the press box where Haley would be during games.
Seeing me.
“I will,” I said.
Jim moved on to talk to Crim, and I grabbed a bottle of water, and took a drink.
Brashe signaled for a break and once the new goalie took over his position, he skated over and stepped inside the bench, sitting beside me and grabbing water. We drank, watching the next line take the ice.
“You’re playing well,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Really well. Like something shifted.”
I didn’t respond.
He took another drink, his attention still on the ice. “Jim’s going to notice. He sees everything when it comes to his players.”
The warning in his voice was subtle but clear.
“I know.”
“Do you?” Brashe finally looked at me. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re about to walk into something that’s going to require a conversation you’re not ready to have.”
“I’m having it today.”
That got his full attention. “With her or with him?”
“Her first.”
Brashe studied me for a long moment. “You care about her.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
“Enough to risk what you’ve built here?”
“Yes.”
Brashe nodded. “Then you’d better have a plan for how you’re going to tell him. Because he’s going to find out, and when he does, you want it to be on your terms.”
“We’re working on that.”
“Work faster.”
Coach called for a new line, and Brashe stood.
“The team’s already watching,” he said. “People are noticing things.”
He climbed over the board and skated across the ice before I could respond.
I watched them scrimmage, tracking movements I should be analyzing for defensive patterns. Instead, I kept thinking about Haley standing outside my door at one-thirty in the morning, close enough to knock but not crossing that final distance.
Whatever had stopped her then couldn’t stop us anymore.
The afternoon dragged like mornings never did. Lunch with specific macros. Film review of our last game. A workout in the weight room that was more about clearing my head than building strength.
At three thirty, I showered and changed into street clothes.
At three forty-five, I stood outside her office door.
The building had gone quiet, most of the staff and players either gone for the day or gathered in other parts of the facility. The corridor was empty except for the fluorescent lights overhead and the faint sound of a vacuum running somewhere on a different floor.
Her door was closed. She’d be inside, preparing the footage she thought we were going to review.
I knocked twice.
“Come in.”
I entered, shutting the door behind me.
She sat at her desk, her laptop in its dock, three monitors displaying different angles of footage. Me on the ice, frozen mid-stride in a defensive positioning sequence.
She’d been watching tape of me.
“I pulled some sequences from last night’s game,” she said, her attention fixed on the center monitor. “Your gap control in the neutral zone was exceptional. I thought we could review—”
Rounding her desk, I closed her laptop, the click echoing in the small space.
She finally looked at me. The shadows under her eyes were more pronounced up close. Her hands shook where they rested on the desk.
“We’re not watching tape today,” I said.
“We’re supposed to—”
“Haley.”
I got close enough to see the exact shade of exhaustion in her eyes. She had to tilt her head back to meet my gaze.
“You came to my door last night,” I said.
She pulled in a breath. “How did you—”
“Beau heard you.” I kept my voice level. “I opened the door, and you were gone.”
“I couldn’t knock,” she said quietly. Stating this cost her something. I watched it move across her face.
“Why?”
“If I’d knocked, you would’ve opened the door. And if you’d opened the door, I would’ve stepped inside. And if I’d stepped inside—” She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t be the person who did that at one thirty in the morning while holding cookies like some kind of—”
“Like someone who wanted to see me.”
The words hung between us.
She looked away, her attention dropping to her hands. “We can’t keep stealing moments in hallways and stairwells. Pretending we’re just colleagues when we’re—” She stopped again.
“When we’re what?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out broken. “I don’t know what this is, and that scares me more than anything else.”
“I know what this is,” I said, setting one hand on the back of her chair, the other flat on her desk. “I’m falling in love with you.”
She stared at me like I’d spoken a language she was still learning to understand.
“I’ve been falling since the park bench,” I said. “Maybe before that. Since the welcome dinner when you stood in a corner and talked to me. Since you handed me a sketch of Beau and looked at me like I was worth seeing. It’s fate or it’s just us, but it’s real and I need it more than anything.”
I’d been tracking her since the second I sat in the corner at the welcome dinner. I hadn’t been hiding. One look from a human woman had completely leveled me.
Her hands uncurled on the desk.
“I’m done pretending this is casual,” I said. “I don’t want stolen moments that we have to hide. I don’t want to keep acting like you’re the coach’s daughter and I’m just another player on the roster.”
“Tolrek—”
“You see me.” The words came out rough. “Not the version the organization wanted or the one my last team decided was expendable. You see who I truly am, and you showed me evidence of it. You gave me myself back.”
A sound escaped her throat, something between a gasp and a sob.
“So I need to know.” I leaned closer, bracketing her in. “What did you come to my door to say last night?”
She looked up at me with eyes that were too bright. “I was going to tell you that I’m falling in love with you. That I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s making me forget how to do my job properly. I watch tape and all I’m seeing is you.”
“Then why didn’t you knock?”
“Because I’m scared that if we do this, it’s going to blow up everything. My job, your career, and my relationship with my dad. I’m afraid that we’re not going to survive it.”
I stroked my fingertips along her jaw, her pulse pounding against my fingers.
“I’m scared too,” I said. “But I’m more scared of losing you because we were too afraid to try.”
She leaned into my touch, her eyes closing. When they opened again, I could tell she’d made a decision.
“We can’t do this inside the arena,” she said.
“I agree.”
“Someone could walk in. My dad could—”
“I agree.”
“Then why—”
I kissed her.
Her sharp intake of breath was the only warning before she kissed me back, her hands finding my shoulders and pulling me closer. The angle was awkward with her still seated and me leaning down, but I didn’t care.
Still kissing her, I cleared her desk with one arm and lifted her onto it, guiding her backward until she lay across the smooth surface.
“Tell me to stop,” I growled against her throat.
“No.”
Braced over her, I slid my hand up her side, feeling the shape of her through the thin fabric of her blouse. She arched into my touch, a small sound escaping that went straight to my cock.
“We shouldn’t do this here,” she said, even as her thighs squeezed around my hips.
“You’re right.”
“Someone could—”
I kissed her again. Her hands tangled in my hair. Slid across my nape.