32. Dean
Dean
Something shifted. I felt it before I could name it.
Not in a loud, obvious way. Not something anyone else in this room would pick up on.
But with her… it’s never been something I have to see to know.
It sits under my skin, pulls my attention without effort, like whatever ties me to her tightened just a little more over the last few days.
Over the last two nights. My grip tightens slightly around the glass in my hand as I watch the room wind down, the noise settling from loud celebration into something softer.
People are still laughing, still talking, but the edge of it has faded.
The night is ending. I don’t want it to.
Not because of the game. Not because of the drinks.
Because of what comes after. She leaves.
Back to Addy’s. Or worse—back to her apartment.
Alone. The thought sits wrong, heavier than it should be, sharper than anything else in this room. I roll my shoulders once, trying to shake it off, but it doesn’t move.
Paxton is still riding that high, talking to anyone who will listen, his energy barely dimmed from when he first walked in.
The kid looks like he just got called straight to the show, not the AHL, and that—that is exactly why I know he’s going to make it.
He doesn’t act entitled. Doesn’t act like he deserves it more than anyone else.
He’s just… grateful. Excited to be there.
Hungry for more. I watch him for a second longer, a small smirk pulling at my mouth despite everything else sitting in my chest. He keeps that?
He’ll be a hell of a teammate. The kind you build a locker room around.
The kind guys rally behind. My gaze drifts again—because it always does..
Back to her. She’s not where she was a minute ago.
My jaw tightens slightly as I glance around the room, tracking movement, scanning without making it obvious until I catch a glimpse of her slipping down the hallway toward the restrooms. I don’t think.
I just move. The hallway is quieter. The noise from the party dulls behind the walls, like it’s been shut out just enough to give me a second to breathe. To find her.
And the second I do—everything in me settles and tightens at the same time.
She steps out of the restroom just as I reach the corner, and I stop without meaning to, like my body needs that half second to take her in before I move any closer.
And then—it’s just us. No one else walking by.
No voices bleeding through. Just her standing there looking at me like she feels it too.
I don’t touch her right away. I want to. Fuck, I need to. But I hold it back, forcing myself to be smart about it, to remember where we are, how close we are to someone walking around that corner and seeing something we’re not ready to explain yet. But I can’t hold it off for long.
My hand finds hers low, out of sight, fingers brushing first like I’m testing the moment—and then I press into her palm, just enough to feel her there, real and warm and mine for the second I’m allowed to take it. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“I don’t want to be without you tonight.
” It comes out rougher than I planned, quieter too, like it was already sitting in my chest and just forced its way out the second I got close enough to her.
Her eyes lift to mine, something soft and surprised flickering through them, like she didn’t expect me to say it.
Too bad. Because I’m not taking it back.
“I won’t sleep,” I add, my thumb pressing slightly into her hand without thinking, needing more of her even if it’s just this.
“Not if you’re not there.” That’s the truth.
She watches me for a second, really watches me, like she’s trying to understand it, trying to place where this is coming from. But I don’t look away. I don’t give her a chance to pretend this is something small.
“Where were you going?” I ask, softer now, but I don’t loosen my grip on her. “Back to Addy’s?”
She blinks, like I caught her off guard with that, like she hadn’t even gotten that far in her own head yet.
“I… didn’t really think about it,” she admits, her voice quieter, a little unsure now. “I didn’t even think about going back to my apartment yet.”
My jaw tightens at that. Because now I am.
Now I can see it—her walking into that place alone, closing the door behind her, being there without me.
And I don’t like it. Not even a little. Not after everything.
Not after the last two nights. Not after this.
I start to pull my hand back before I do something stupid—before I say something that pushes too far, too fast—but she doesn’t let me.
Her fingers tighten around mine, stopping me. Holding me there. And when I look back at her—there’s something different in her eyes now. Something softer. Something certain.
“Would you come stay with me?”
I don’t let her out of my sight. Not from the second we leave the Reserve.
Not when we get into our cars. And definitely not when she pulls into her parking garage.
I stay right behind her the entire drive, headlights locked on her bumper like if I let even an inch of space open up, something could slip in between us.
It’s irrational. I know it is. Tyler’s gone.
Doesn’t matter. My grip tightens on the wheel anyway as we pull into the garage, my eyes already scanning before I even shut the engine off.
Corners. Shadows. Other cars. Movement. Nothing.
Still—I get out first. Her door opens at the same time, but I’m already moving, already watching, already making sure there’s nothing waiting for her in the place that’s supposed to be safe.
“Dean—” she starts, soft, almost amused.
“I know,” I cut in quietly, not looking at her yet, my attention still moving. “He’s gone.”
But I still check. Every damn second. We walk to the elevator together, my hand brushing hers just once before I take it fully, not caring anymore if someone sees us down here.
Not caring about anything except the fact that she’s here, within reach, exactly where I can keep her.
The ride up feels too slow. The hallway feels too open.
And when she slides her key into the lock, I’m right behind her, one hand braced above the door as it opens, my body already shifting forward before she can even step inside.
But I don’t relax fully until I hear the door shut behind us.
Then—I feel her. The shift in her breathing. The way she stops just inside the apartment. I turn back toward her, and she’s standing there, looking at everything.
The boxes. Half packed. Half open. Clothes still hanging out of some of them. Like someone else started a life she didn’t agree to and just… left it there.
My jaw tightens slightly as I take it in. “This doesn’t stay like this,” I tell her quietly, stepping closer, my hand brushing her arm, grounding, steady. “We’ll fix it. I’ll help you.”
Not a question. Not something I’m offering lightly. It’s just… fact. She looks at me for a second, something softer moving through her expression, something tired but not broken.
“Another day,” she says, her voice quieter now, but sure. “Not tonight.”
Before I can answer—she lifts her hands to the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head like it’s the easiest thing in the world and starts walking toward her bedroom.
Like I’m not standing right here. Like she doesn’t know exactly what that does to me.
My breath stalls. Actually stalls. Because I’m not prepared for it.
Not the way she moves. Not the way she doesn’t hesitate.
Not the way she just… is, in her space, in her skin, like she’s finally somewhere she doesn’t have to hold herself so tight.
I just stand there for a second. Watching her.
Taking her in like I don’t deserve to, like I somehow ended up with something I wasn’t supposed to get.
And all I can think—is that I’m the luckiest man alive.
She glances over her shoulder then, catching me exactly where I am, completely gone for her, and there’s a small smile pulling at her lips like she already knows.
“Are you coming?” she asks softly.
I don’t even pretend to hesitate. I’m down the hall in a blurred second, catching her just as she reaches the bedroom door.
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back until she’s flush against me, her feet barely touching the carpet.
We spent every night of the road trip tangled together in hotel sheets, but tonight at that party?
Tonight was torture. Standing three feet away from her for four hours while she laughed and talked to everyone but me—acting like we were nothing more than colleagues—has my blood at a permanent simmer.
"I have been losing my goddamn mind since we walked into that party," I growl, my mouth finding the sensitive curve of her neck.
I turn her in my arms, my mouth crashing onto hers. This isn't the hushed, careful intimacy of the trip. This is the result of four hours of forced distance. It’s heavy, demanding, and tastes like the possessive edge I had to keep buried while the rest of the team was watching.
Maddie’s hands are everywhere—fisted in my shirt, dragging over my shoulders, pulling me closer until there isn’t a microscopic gap left between us. She lets out a soft, needy sound and sinks to the floor, her eyes never leaving mine as she kneels on the carpet.
"Dean," she breathes, her fingers reaching for the button of my jeans.
I stand over her, my shadow eclipsing the light from the hallway. I reach down, my fingers tangling in her hair to guide her, my voice dropping into that low, authoritative register that I know makes her pulse jump.
"Slow," I rasp. "I want you to take your time. I spent all night watching people look at you, Maddie. Now I'm the only one who gets to."
I stay focused on her, my eyes locked on hers as she moves.
Every hitch in her breath, every flicker of her eyelashes—I’m cataloging all of it.
She’s perfect, looking up at me with so much heat it nearly stops my heart.
But I’m not ready for this to end here. Not after the way I’ve been starving for her all night.
I reach down, hooking my hands under her arms and hauling her back to her feet in one powerful motion.
I don’t give her time to find her balance before I back her into the wall.
The thud of her shoulders against the drywall punctuates the silence of the room.
I’m on her in a second, my mouth devouring hers while my hands roam her body like I’m trying to reclaim every inch of her.
I trail my lips away from her mouth, nipping at her jaw before burying my face behind her ear, breathing in the scent of her skin.
My right hand slides up, my palm flat against the front of her neck, my fingers and thumb curling gently around the column of her throat to steady her against the wall.
It’s a firm, grounding pressure—the kind that tells her I’ve got her, that I’m the anchor.
"I’ve got you, Baby," I whisper against her skin, my thumb resting right over the frantic, erratic jump of her pulse. "You’re right where you’re supposed to be. You're—"
"Red Hots."
The word hits me like a bucket of ice water.
I don't pause. I don't hesitate. I don't ask why.
My hand drops from her throat instantly.
I recoil a full step, putting immediate space between us to give her air, to give her room, to give her back the control I was just holding for her.
My heart is still red-lining, my blood is screaming for her, but my only priority is the woman staring back at me.
"I'm here," I say, my voice rough but steady, my eyes searching hers for the break. "I've stopped, Maddie. I'm right here. Talk to me.”
The second I step back, I see it. The shift. It’s small—anyone else might miss it—but I don’t. Not with her. Not now. Not after learning every little way she reacts when something feels too big, too fast, too much. Her eyes gloss. Her breathing stutters.
“Maddie?”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out right away. Her chest rises too quickly, her hands hovering like she doesn’t know what to do with them anymore.
“I—” Her voice breaks. “I ruined it.”
My entire chest tightens.
“What?” I step forward without thinking, stopping myself just short of touching her again. “No. No, you didn’t—”
“I messed it up,” she rushes, tears slipping free now, her hands coming up to her face like she can hide it. “I said the word, I—God, Dean, I’m sorry. I ruined it.”
Something in me snaps at that. Not at her. At the thought that she could ever believe that. I can’t not touch her anymore.
“Can I?” I ask, my voice softer now, controlled, even though everything in me is pulling toward her.
Her head lifts slightly, eyes glassy, and she nods.
“I need your words, Baby,” I keep my voice calm. “I need to hear you.”
Her breath hitches, shaky, but she doesn’t pull back.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I step in carefully this time, slower, giving her space to pull away if she needs it—but she doesn’t. My hands come up, cupping her face gently, thumbs brushing under her eyes as I wipe away the tears that shouldn’t be there. I let my thumbs move again, catching the next tear before it falls.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I tell her, steady and certain, making sure she feels every word.
“Not a single damn thing.” Her brows pinch slightly, like she doesn’t believe me yet.
“You did exactly what you were supposed to do,” I continue, softer now, my thumbs still brushing her cheeks, slower this time.
“You trusted me. You used your word. That’s not messing up. ”
Her breathing starts to settle just a little. I lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her eye, then the other, catching the last of her tears as I go.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur against her skin. “You hear me?” Another kiss. “I love you.” And then I pull her into me, wrapping her up tight, one hand cradling the back of her head as she presses into my chest, fitting there like she always does.
“I’ve got you,” I say quietly, my chin resting against her hair. “Always.”
We stay like that for a second. Just breathing. Just… being. Then I shift slightly, my hand smoothing down her back.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let’s go shower.”
She lets out a small breath, still tucked into me. “I’m sorry,” she says again, softer this time.
That gets a huff of a laugh out of me, the tension finally breaking. I pull back just enough to look at her, one brow lifting slightly.
“You’re sorry?” She nods, a little unsure now. A slow smirk pulls at my mouth. “I’m about to be wet and naked with you,” I say, my voice dipping just enough to make her eyes flicker. “What exactly are you sorry for, Baby?”
Her lips part, and for the first time since the tears started—there’s a hint of a smile.