Chapter 8 #3
“Then why haven’t you told him?” I asked. “About me, I mean. This.” I shifted us higher onto the bed a moment later, a knee between his thighs. His breath hitched, one hand fumbling to get my pants open.
“Because I signed stuff, remember? And it’s not my secret to share.” He said it like it was obvious, and something about that hit me sideways. A little right, a little wrong.
“I appreciate that.” My voice came out too soft. “But it’s not really that simple anymore, right? And there’s a part of this now that’s your secret, too. So I—” Fuck. I drew back to look at him, all flushed cheeks, eyes bright. “I can’t ask you to lie to everyone in your life. That’s not fair.”
Safer for me, sure. But truly not fair.
His hand closed around me, and I saw stars. Maybe we should stop and talk for real. Maybe we should keep doing exactly what we were doing.
“Not everyone,” he said, and I forced myself to focus on his words rather than his touch. “Naomi figured it out.”
Naomi? Oh.
“The woman from yesterday?” I asked, and yeah, that made sense. I’d been looking at Stellan, not at her, but something in the tilt of her head had implied that she knew.
“Yeah.” He nodded, slid a hand down the length of my spine to pull me closer. “We met at the agency. She quit, too.”
Jesus Christ. That—fuck. So the circle of people who knew about me, knew about Stellan and me, had pretty much doubled overnight, because Ronan out there?
Yeah, no idiot. Briefly, it hit like a drop in an elevator, all instinct and no logic, every part of me trained to keep the circle tiny and the story nonexistent.
I inhaled through it.
Because this was Stellan’s world, not mine. No rink, no locker room, no cameras. Just him. I stamped the panic flat and let him pull be closer, reminded myself that right now, that was all that mattered—that he was here, under me, warm and real, mine for just a minute or five.
“Okay,” I said, and kissed him again while the room fell quiet around us.
Okay. For now, it was.
“Just for the record…” Stellan hauled his jeans up one-handed. “Ronan is not the type who pretends he didn’t hear us.”
I reached for my sweater. “Yeah, that’s the impression I got.”
“He’s also a fan.” Stellan’s mouth tilted. “In case he didn’t make it wildly obvious when you walked in.”
“I wondered, but wasn’t sure under the protective posturing.” I tugged down my sweater, huffing out a laugh. “Saw the scarf by the door, though. Thought you might have bought it at the game last night, but I guess not, then.”
Stellan blinked at me, then grinned. “Disappointed I’m not a fanboy yet?”
“A little.” I stepped closer and shook my head. “But also really, really not.”
We traded smiles, something soft settling just behind my sternum. Stellan broke the moment. “If you want to sneak out…”
He didn’t finish, but then, he didn’t have to. I pulled him in with a hand on his forearm and waited until he looked at me. “I don’t,” I said. “Your brother’s not that scary.”
“He’d beg to differ.”
I snorted. “Look, I’ve got Cole Evers as a teammate—guy’s built like a brick house. And he’s a friend, but I spend practice taking abuse from him, so my scale’s a little off.”
“Okay, fair.” Stellan’s expression relaxed, and I took a second just to study him. Mouth a little red, hair an even bigger mess than before, eyes clearer than when I’d walked in.
“You look better,” I said.
“Amazing how a simple orgasm can relax the mind.”
“Who needs meditation?” I let my tone tilt almost philosophical even as a small, nasty part of me wondered if Stellan had gone out last week while I’d been on the road, if he’d found someone else to help him take the edge off. Absolutely none of my fucking business. I didn’t get to hate the idea.
“There’s your idea for a pre-game ritual,” Stellan said.
“Nah.” I shook my head and dragged my sweater down my stomach, a weakening sun striping the floor under my feet. “I need the team sharp before the game, not happy and loose. After? Personal choice.”
“Well, you ever need help with that?” A smile tossed over his shoulder as he moved toward the door. “I do house calls.”
“Dr. Stellan, huh?” I followed him out.
The apartment felt even smaller now, on the second pass.
Or maybe it was me, too aware of him and the shape of his shoulder blades under washed-thin cotton, less style and more comfort than usual.
The kitchen was barely bigger than a shoebox tucked off the hall, old tiles and secondhand chairs, late-afternoon light filtering through a window that mostly showed another building.
Ronan leaned against the counter with his arms folded, feet planted. His attention skimmed over Stellan, and whatever he found made his shoulders loosen by a notch.
“Well,” he told me. “Guess I don’t have to throw you out.”
Stellan laughed, low and faintly rough. “As if you could take him.”
Ronan’s mouth flattened. “I’d try.”
“I know,” Stellan said, fond.
“And I respect that,” I put in.
“Good.” Ronan shot me a quick, clever look. “For the record, this is a strange day to be both Stellan’s brother and a Cascades fan.”
Stellan snorted. “Thoughts and prayers.”
“Shut up,” Ronan muttered.
The corner of Stellan’s mouth twitched as he crossed to the sink to pour two glasses of water, like a mirror image of when I’d done the same in my apartment. He passed me one while Ronan watched the way we moved around each other.
“So,” he said then. “What actually happened today?”
Stellan took a swallow and sighed. “You remember that agency I used to work for?”
“The discreet solutions people?” Ronan gave a short laugh without any humor. “Yeah, not gonna forget that. Calling it client support when it was more like legally shady, emotional scavenging.”
It got the faintest twitch at the corner of Stellan’s mouth. “Sounds about right.”
“Okay, so.” Ronan’s gaze slid to me, then back to Stellan. “What about them?”
Stellan glanced down at his water, clearly unsure how much to say. And, all right. Not just my secret. So if Stellan trusted Ronan with his life? Good enough for me.
“The first time I met Stellan,” I said, fingers tight around my glass, “I was his target.”
The room dropped into stillness.
Then Ronan blinked. “You’re fucking kidding.”
Stellan met my eyes, a little surprised, before he shook his head. “Not kidding, no.” He glanced at his brother. “Just so we’re clear? None of this leaves the apartment. Like, about Matt.”
“Dude, I’m not an idiot.” Ronan scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and assessed me for a beat, like a couple of pieces were finally sliding into place. “So, wait. Stellan, does that mean Matt’s the guy they fired you over?”
“Yeah,” Stellan said quietly. “That was him.”