Epilogue #2
I flipped him off and looked back at the ice.
Thad was still taking shots at the empty net. He missed another one wide, and I shook my head.
Fucking terrible.
And mine.
The thought settled warmly in my chest as I took another drink.
I had a home with that man. A job I fucking loved.
Athletes who came looking for me because somehow I’d become the guy who could help when their bodies betrayed them.
I climbed onto a bike because I wanted to see how far and fast I could make the bastard go. And how much I could push myself.
The newest quest I set for myself had me biting my nails and wading through my email multiple times a day.
“I applied to school.”
Aiden went still beside me. “You did?”
I nodded.
“For PT?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I love what I’m doing, so maybe psychology or a performance consultant. I just don’t know what direction I wanna go yet.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Fuck, Cash.”
“Don’t say whatever you’re getting ready to say. I know I was a shitty student.”
He laughed, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Whichever route you take, you’ll be good at it.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
I looked down at the water bottle in my hands, remembering Eli fighting me over a fucking resistance band.
Remembering the first time an athlete had looked at me like I understood, instead of like I was another person telling them what their body should be doing.
I loved what I was doing. I wanted more.
I wanted to do more than stand on the sidelines with nothing but experience and a foul mouth.
It would be hard as fuck with my shitty track record in school. But…if this injury taught me anything, it was that I could do hard shit.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so too.”
A puck cracked against the boards as Thad missed the net again.
Aiden winced. “Jesus. He really is terrible.”
“Right?”
We laughed, and I let my head fall back against the glass.
My gear was heavy around me. Sweat cooled beneath my chest protector. My right quad had finally stopped twitching, leaving behind the deep ache of a muscle I’d worked harder than usual.
But my knee didn’t hurt.
The realization should’ve meant everything.
A year ago, I woke up at two a.m. and battled against a spiral toward early addiction because all I wanted was for my knee to feel the way it did right now.
I would’ve taken how I felt today, after an hour in the crease, as a fucking sign.
I would’ve put my head down, called my agent, found a trainer, and spent the next year clawing my way toward another crease.
Instead, I looked across the ice at the net.
I still wanted it.
Just not like I once had
I wanted more days like this. I wanted Aiden talking shit while he fired pucks at my head. I wanted the snap of my glove around a puck and the burn in my legs after a save. I wanted to skate until I was exhausted, peel off my gear, and know I played hard and fucking loved every second.
But…I didn’t need a contract to do any of that.
Aiden nudged my skate with his. “You good?”
I looked at my brother, then back at the crease.
“Yeah.”
And for once, the answer needed nothing after it.
Aiden pushed himself up. “Good. Because I’m not done embarrassing you.”
I snorted. “You scored one fucking goal.”
“First of many.”
“Get back on the ice, Mercy.”
He laughed as he climbed over the boards.
I stayed where I was for another few seconds, looking at the net. Maybe my knee could take me further. Maybe I could train for another year and get faster. Stronger. Good enough for someone to notice.
There would always be another maybe if I wanted one.
I didn’t.
I shoved my mask back on and climbed over the boards. Thad skated past as I headed for the crease.
“You good?”
I caught his gaze through the cage.
No doctor stare. No assessing the leg or calculating how long I’d been out here.
Just Thad.
“I’m fucking great,” I said, winking.
His smile followed me back to the net.
I settled into my stance and tapped each post with my stick. Aiden was already coming down the ice with a puck.
For years, I’d thought success equaled hockey wanting me back.
Turns out, I’d been wrong. I could have hockey on my own terms. How I didn’t know yet, but I’d figure it the fuck out.
“Again, Mercy.”
By the time we got home, my right leg was completely done. Not hurt. Just tanked. Aiden and Sasha disappeared for the afternoon to take in the sights before we met for dinner. I barely made it through the shower before dropping onto the sectional and stretching my leg out.
Thad handed me a bottle of water, and at the end of the chaise, I draped my leg over his lap while he did a quick physical exam. I should’ve made him stop. He hadn’t been my doctor for months, but he couldn’t help himself. And it made me feel all gross and squishy inside.
“Cash…”
I knew that tone. “Doc, don’t. I’m good.”
“I know.” His gaze dropped to my leg, then returned to mine. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why does it feel like you’re giving up?”
The words hit like a puck off the fucking mask. “I’m not giving up, Daddy. I promise. I’m just changing the game plan.”
“This was your dream. Your knee…fuck! It did the work today. It’s fully—”
“It is. The knee is doing fucking amazing. Beyond my wildest dreams, if I’m being honest.” I rubbed my palm over my tired thigh.
“So, why?”
Ten months ago, getting across this room had been a fucking production. Today, I’d spent more than an hour stopping pucks from an NHL player. “Because I don’t want to be some crippled, broken-down goalie still chasing a contract five years from now because I can’t figure out when to fucking stop.”
“Then…?”
I finally had an answer to the question he was getting ready to ask.
“I applied to school.”
Thad went still. “For PT?”
I laughed. “We’ll see, but probably. I love what I’m doing with the athletes, but I want to do more for them. I think I want to combine what I’m doing with what Matteo does.” I took a drink, trying and failing to hide my grin. “And I’m doing a century.”
His eyebrows drew together. “A century?”
“Bike race. A hundred miles.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded with a smirk, watching the wheels spin behind his warm brown gaze.
“How far are you riding now?” he asked.
Fuck.
“Sixty-three last weekend.”
“Cash!”
“The knee was fine.”
“Sixty-three fucking miles?”
“Yep. Just so you know, Nelly and Matteo both signed off on it. They think I’m crazy.”
“You are,” he said, staring dumbfounded at me.
I couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t fucking doctor me. I like it. I’m good at it.”
That shut him up.
His hand slid up my thigh, warm and familiar, and under the cotton shorts I wore. Neither of us looked at my knee. It had stopped defining our relationship the day I fired him.
I chewed over my conversation with Aiden at the rink. Between last November and now, I built a life in this house with the man in front of me. I had a new career, a new athletic outlet for my competitive nature. Somewhere along the way, hockey stopped defining me.
Money was still there.
But now, so was Cash.
I covered Thad’s hand with mine.
“So, you’re happy?” he asked.
I nodded. “New hobby. New career.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. A new hobby. You’re planning a century ride. Yes, I know about your little secret. You’re not as sneaky as you think. A century isn’t just a hobby.”
His thumb moved over my thigh, inches from my rising flesh.
“Besides…” I let my gaze travel over the smattering of gray at his temples before meeting his eyes. “There’s this sexy silver fox Daddy I really fucking love sleeping next to.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Sleeping?”
Heat curled low in my gut.
There he was.
I shifted closer and hooked my fingers into his shirt. “It’s my birthday. I deserve a present.”
“I flew your brother and Sasha to California.”
“Great present.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I want another one.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“Greedy brat.”
I grinned and pulled him closer. “You fucking love it.”
His mouth pressed to mine as he settled over me. My aching thighs fell open, making room for the man I loved. Who loved me.
Heavy petting and deep, languid kisses turned frantic. Our hands roamed, first over our clothes, then under until the fabric evaporated and heated flesh pressed against heated flesh.
“I want to ride you,” I whispered between kisses as I pushed him onto his back, straddling his lap.
“Fuck, baby boy.”
I pulled lube from the end table and handed it to him. His fingers coated, I hissed at the burn and stretch as he readied me. I didn’t let him draw it out. I wanted his cock.
I needed it.
I held him in place and slid down his shaft. We groaned, the sound music to my ears.
My body writhed on his lap. His cock was damn near splitting me open while his hands gripped my waist, guiding me. The pace was slow and deliberate. Neither of us in a hurry.
My thighs, already wrecked, screamed for a break, and I fell back onto the sofa cushions, dragging him on top of me.
“Fuck me,” I growled.
The sweet, slow lovemaking suddenly vanished as he drove into me, taking control. My wrists were pressed into the couch above my head by one of his hands. The other gripped my shoulder and held me in place as his cock pegged me perfectly.
Screams clawed their way out of my throat. My hands opened and closed as he turned me into a begging, whimpering, crying mess.
“Daddy!” I cried.
The orgasm we’d been building to slammed into me. My cock spurted, untouched. His mouth met mine as his dick pulsed inside me, filling me just the way I liked. He collapsed on top of me while we struggled to catch our breath.
My phone buzzed from inside the couch cushions. A glance at Thad’s watch said we were late for dinner.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whispered against Thad’s sweat-slick throat.
“So much, baby boy. I love you so fucking much.”
THE END