30. Chapter Thirty #4
It's close to my bedtime, and Kevin's propped against the headboard watching the New York-Detroit game. The Stampede play both teams next week and he's studying systems, tendencies, the way Detroit’s defense collapses in the neutral zone.
I'm next to him, scrolling through my phone. Cribs. Changing tables. Nursery furniture that all adds up to cost more than even doctor's appointments do.
I sigh. Louder than I mean to.
Kevin glances over. "Okay, what is it? You're doomscrolling."
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"That’s a total lie."
There's really not any use in trying to play it off.
He's already figured it out and is just waiting for me to confirm it.
"I know I promised not to worry about money.
" I set my phone down. "But Paige was talking nurseries at lunch and now I'm overthinking.
Because I can't set up a nursery at my place. It's an efficiency over a sports bar."
I can see Kevin thinking, probably about to say something about how there's plenty of room here.
But then he stops and shifts so he's facing me more directly. His chest is perfectly chiseled, and I find myself wishing I'd spent more time tonight staring at it instead of a screen showing a hundred baby cribs online.
"Sarah, what's on the TV?"
I blink. "What?" This is really not the conversational direction I thought we were headed in.
"The TV. What's on it?"
"A hockey game."
"Yeah, but a hockey game between two what?"
"Teams?"
"Right. And that photo there on the dresser, what is it?"
I look over. "That's you and your college team."
"Right. And this photo here on the nightstand."
I look over his shoulder, past the edge of the bed. "That's you and Team USA at Four Nations."
"Right." His voice is calm, patient. "What's my job?"
We're playing twenty fucking questions and it's starting to feel a little ridiculous. "You're a defenseman for the Austin Stampede Hockey Club, if we want to be formal about it."
"Right. I've spent my whole life playing defense on a team.
If Liam scores every goal, and in the end we have more than the other guys, the win is as much mine as it is his.
If I strip a puck off the other guys and pass it to Aiden and he goes five-hole and gets a goal, could he have done it without me? "
"No. You'd get an assist." I still don't understand why we're discussing the finer points of hockey.
"Because we're a team. We win together, we lose together." He reaches over, takes my hand. "But the most important team in my life is right here. You and me. Can I ask you for something?"
Ohhh…now I see what he's doing. Sneaky. "Okay."
"Just for tonight, Sarah, can you let me have the assist? Can you let me take care of you? We're not worrying about money or bills or bedrooms and nurseries. We're going to do this one day at a time. Together. As a team. Can I do that for you? Can I do that with you?"
I stare at him. At this man who thinks in hockey metaphors and asks permission to help me and somehow makes me feel like letting him take care of me isn't weakness — it's partnership.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Yeah?" He waits for me to nod in confirmation. As I do, the relief on his face is immediate. He turns to me fully — New York and Detroit and goals and assists completely forgotten. "Come here."
I climb into his lap, straddling him, and his hands settle on my waist. Everything turns warm. Solid. Safe.
"Thank you for trusting me." His hands slide under my shirt. "For letting me be your teammate."
I kiss him. I mean it to be soft, but the second our lips touch, I'm gone.
It's been three weeks. And so much has happened in that time. My whole world flipped upside down. And so did his.
It's been the three longest weeks of being scared of losing him and losing my best friend and wanting him but not wanting to admit it, of not letting myself have even the hope of him — much less his kiss, his body, his touch — because I was scared.
But I'm done being scared. I'm done playing solo. I want to be on a team. Kevin St. Clair's team.
Our team.
His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me flush against him, and… He's already hard. Already wanting me.
"Sarah—" He breaks the kiss, breathing ragged. "You sure?"
"Very sure." I rock my hips against him and watch his eyes go dark. "Are you?"
"I've been thinking about this since... Well, let's just say I think about it more than I should." His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts.
"Then stop talking."
He grins — that cocky grin that always gets me — and pulls my shirt over my head in one smooth motion. Then stops. Stares.
"No bra?"
"To bed? Eeew. No. That's torture. Besides, they're too sensitive lately. I can't stand wearing a bra five minutes longer than is absolutely necessary."
"Fuck. I promise you, it's never necessary. At least not as far as I'm concerned." His hands cup my breasts, gentle but possessive. "Can I—"
"Yes."
His mouth is on me before I finish the word and holy shit, that's different. More intense than I remember. My hands fly to his hair, gripping tight.
"Okay?" he asks against my skin.
It hurts a little but in a way that makes me want more of it. Pregnancy is weird. "Don't you dare stop."
He doesn't. Works his way from one breast to the other while I'm rocking against him, already desperate for more.
"Kevin." I pull his hair. "Clothes. Off. Now."
"Bossy." But he's already reaching for my shorts.
We strip fast — fumbling and laughing when I can't get his boxer briefs off easily — and then we're both naked and he's pulling me back into his lap.
He's hard against my thigh. This isn't friends with benefits. This is better, because we're not pretending.
This is us. Finally.
"Sarah." He cups my face. "Tell me if anything doesn't feel good."
"It feels good. You feel good." I kiss him. "Stop being so careful."
"Can't help it." His hand slides between my thighs and… Oh whoa. The doctor wasn't kidding about this blood flow thing. "You're pregnant with my baby. I'm allowed to be careful."
His fingers find me already wet and ready. He groans against my neck.
"I think it's been too long," I manage.
"I know it's been. Way too long." He slides one finger inside me, then another. "You're so ready for me."
"One hundred percent." I'm moving against his hand, chasing the pleasure. "Kevin—"
"Not yet." His thumb finds that perfect spot and I nearly come apart…then he stops. "Want to be inside you."
"I think we can make that happen. Like right fucking now."
He shifts us — one smooth motion and I'm on my back with him hovering over me.
"Look at me," he says.
I do. His eyes are so blue, so intense.
He pushes inside slowly. Watching my face. Making sure I'm okay.
And I am. I'm so okay I could cry. He fits like he belongs there and my brain short-circuits a little.
"Good?" His voice is strained.
"So good." I wrap my legs around him, trying to feel everything, trying to make this last. "Move."
He does. Slow at first, like he's savoring it. Like he's memorizing this.
"I missed this," he says against my neck.
"Me too."
His rhythm picks up. Deeper. Harder. Exactly what I need.
"Sarah." My name sounds soft, like a wave rolling effortlessly onto the shore. "My Sarah."
"Your Sarah." My own name, and it comes out as though I’ve never said it before.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding where we're joined, and suddenly I'm right there. On the edge. So close my toes are curling.
"Kevin — I'm—"
"I know. Let go, baby. I've got you."
I do. Let go completely. Everything goes white for a second and I hear myself cry out his name.
"Fuck— Sarah—" His rhythm stutters. He buries his face in my neck and follows me over.
We stay like that. Both breathing hard. Hearts racing. Connected.
"Who got the goal and who got the assist?" I ask, smiling, as I trace the lines between the muscles across his stomach.
"I think we both won." He pulls out carefully, then shifts so we're on our sides. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me close. "You okay?"
"Better than okay." I trace my finger over the ink on his forearm. Semper Protegam. "That was different. Than before."
"Everything's different now." His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. "This is what I want, Sarah. I never wanted friends with benefits. All I've ever wanted is this. You and me together. The real thing."
My throat goes tight. "Me too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I just didn't think I deserved it."
He kisses me, shuts off all those months of self-doubt.
"I'll never let you go," he says quietly and those five words go to my heart. "No matter what happens with Vegas or Austin or anything else. You're my team now. You and this baby. That's everything."
I believe him. Finally, I do.
"One day at a time," I whisper.
"One day at a time," he agrees. "But every day. For the rest of our days."
I press closer, let him hold me, and for the first time in weeks — maybe ever — I feel completely at peace.
"I love you," I say.
"I love you too, baby. So fucking much."