34. Dean
Dean
I haven’t slept in my own bed in three nights. Not once. Every night after practice, after film, after whatever else I have to do, I end up right back here.
At Maddie’s.
My truck knows the route by memory at this point.
I don’t even think about turning into my own parking garage anymore.
I leave the arena, grab food half the time, and drive straight to her apartment like that’s where I’m supposed to be.
Because it is. I let myself in now. That should probably feel bigger than it does.
The first night she tossed me the key and told me to stop knocking because she knew I was coming anyway, something in my chest did this stupid tight pull that I’m man enough to admit I felt for hours.
But I still haven’t asked her. Haven’t asked the question that’s been sitting on the tip of my tongue every single time I leave in the morning. Come stay with me. Move into my place. Make this permanent.
And the only reason I haven’t is because I’m not stupid enough to ignore the possibility that she says no.
Not because she doesn’t want me. I know she wants me.
I know she loves me. I see it every time she smiles at me like she is waiting for me to step into the living room counting down the minutes.
But this apartment is hers. Her safe place.The first thing she took back for herself.
And if I push too hard, too soon—if she thinks I’m trying to take over that too—she’ll pull.
So instead, I do what any sane man deeply in love and slightly obsessed would do. I just keep showing up. Every day.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world that my duffle bag now practically lives by her couch and my toothbrush is sitting beside hers.
We leave for another away stretch tomorrow. But first—Denver. At home. Tyler’s team. My jaw tightens the second the thought crosses my mind.
I’ve been trying not to make this game bigger than it already is, trying not to let my brain run wild with every possible version of how tonight could go, but it’s useless.
Because all I can think about is her. Seeing him.
Him seeing her. What his face looks like if he gets too close.
What mine looks like if he says one wrong fucking thing.
Thank God he won’t be on the ice with me.
Because if I had to stand ten feet from that asshole all night pretending I’m just another coach shaking hands and talking strategy, I’d end up unemployed by morning.
Maddie is standing in front of her bathroom mirror curling the last piece of her hair while I pace behind her like a caged animal.
I know I’m making her nervous. I know it because every few seconds her eyes meet mine in the mirror and that little amused smile pulls at her mouth.
The one that says she sees right through me.
“Dean.” Her voice is soft. Too soft for the riot going on in my chest. “It’s going to be okay.”
I stop pacing. Plant both hands on the bathroom counter on either side of her and stare at her reflection. “You don’t know that.”
She sets the curling iron down and turns, slowly, reaching for me without hesitation. Her palms flatten against my stomach, fingers curling into my shirt. “I do.”
I huff out a breath that sounds more irritated than I mean it to. “Baby, seeing him is one thing. Me seeing him is another. I’m trying real hard not to commit a felony before puck drop.”
That makes her smile. Actually smile. And under any other circumstance I’d be proud of myself for getting that out of her, but I’m too wound up to enjoy it.
Her hands slide higher, smoothing over my chest.
“I’m okay,” she says quietly.
I cover one of her hands with mine instantly. Like I need to feel the truth of it through skin. “Are you?”
Her eyes lift to mine. Steady. No panic. No fear. No hesitation. “Yes.”
I search her face anyway because I don’t know how not to. I need to know if she’s lying to protect me, if there’s even one crack she’s trying to hide.
“What if he says something to you?” I ask.
“He won’t.”
“What if he corners you?”
“He won’t.”
“What if he even looks at you too long and I lose my shit in front of fifteen thousand people?”
That gets a laugh out of her. A soft one. And somehow that laugh eases something in me I didn’t realize was locked. She steps closer until there’s no room left between us and tips her face up.
“You worrying like this is very sweet,” she murmurs.
“Sweet,” I deadpan. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
She nods solemnly like she’s serious.
I slide my hands to her waist and pull her flush against me, needing her close because every bad scenario in my head gets quieter when she’s touching me.
“I’m serious, Maddie.”
“So am I.”
Her fingers come up and smooth over my jaw, the same way she does when she knows I’m one breath from spiraling.
“I am okay,” she repeats, slower this time, making sure I hear it. “And if I’m not, you’re there.”
That guts me. Because she says it so simply. Like it’s fact. Like of course I’ll be there. Always. My forehead drops to hers and I close my eyes for one second, breathing her in.
“I hate this,” I admit.
“I know.”
“I hate that he gets to even exist in the same building as you.”
That makes her laugh again, quieter now.
“I know.”
“I hate that I can’t put you behind me and tell the entire Denver team to fuck off.”
She grins against my mouth. “That one was dramatic.”
“I’m dramatic because I love you.” The words come out easier now. Natural. Like saying them has already become something my chest reaches for. Her expression softens instantly.
And I cup her face, making sure she holds still long enough for me to say the rest.
“You do not leave my sight tonight if you can help it,” I tell her, my thumbs brushing under her jaw. “If he breathes in your direction, I want to know. If he says one word, I want to know. If at any point this feels too big, too heavy, too much—”
I press my forehead harder to hers.
“You come to me.”
Her eyes glisten just slightly. Not tears. Just feeling. “I will.”
I kiss her. Slow. Deep.
Not because I’m trying to start something before we leave, but because I need one solid second of her in me before I have to walk into a night I already know I’m going to hate.
When I pull back, I keep her there. Keep my hands on her. Keep my eyes on hers.
“You’re not doing this alone,” I whisper.
And judging by the way her arms tighten around me—she believes me.
I hate leaving her.
I know that makes me sound insane considering we walked into the arena together less than thirty minutes ago and she is somewhere in this building, not across the country, not unreachable, not actually gone.
Doesn’t matter.
The second we stepped through the employee entrance and the night shifted from ours to game mode, every protective nerve in my body snapped tight again.
I tried to keep her beside me at first.
Not in any obvious way. I’m not an idiot.
Just little things. Walking slower so she stayed near.
Asking if she needed to check something with me before she ran off.
Dragging out a conversation in the hallway longer than necessary.
She caught on by the second attempt. Stopped in the middle of the corridor, planted one hand on her hip, and gave me that look.
The stern one. The one that somehow says I love you but I will absolutely fight you if you keep this up.
“Coach,” she said, emphasizing the title just enough to remind me where we were.
I should have been irritated. Instead, my chest did something embarrassingly warm because even while she was trying to push me away to do her job, she still looked like she wanted to smile.
“I have work to do.”
I leaned in close enough that no one passing could hear me. “So do I. Mine just involves worrying about you.”
That earned me an eye roll. A full one.
Then she squeezed my hand low by our sides where no one could see it and walked away before I could come up with another excuse to keep her.
So now I’m in the coaching room pretending to listen to assistant coaches discuss line matchups while my brain is nowhere near the whiteboard.
We’re in our arena. That should help. This is her building. Her people. Every employee from the front desk to the damn janitorial staff knows Maddie. Half of them adore her. The players would flatten anyone who looked at her wrong, and the families are already filling the row upstairs like an army.
She is surrounded by people who would protect her. I know that. Logically, I know that.
Doesn’t do a damn thing for the feeling sitting in the center of my chest. It hasn’t eased once. Not since I woke up this morning.
Every few minutes my mind flashes through some worst-case scenario I can’t seem to shut off. Tyler saying something. Tyler getting too close. Maddie freezing. Maddie pretending she’s okay when she isn’t.
I need to see her. Need one look at her face so I can tell myself she’s still steady.
Still breathing. Still mine.
“Dean?” One of the assistants says my name.
I blink. “What?”
He points at the screen. I don’t even know what the hell we’re reviewing.
“Right,” I mutter, not bothering to fake it anymore as I push away from the table. “Be back.”
No one stops me. I’m already out the door and down the hallway before they can.
My pace is too fast to be casual, but I don’t care. I know exactly where she should be.
Outside the locker room. Waiting for Jake to come grab her so she can do the pregame social clip with him like she always does.
I round the corner—and my steps falter.
Because she isn’t there. Luka is.
Just Luka.
Standing against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s waiting on someone.
My pulse spikes so hard it feels like a punch.
I’m on him in three strides.
“Where is she?”
Luka’s brows pull together.
“I don’t know,” he says, glancing toward the locker room doors. “Jake told me to come grab Maddie because he was going over something with Jasper. I’ve just been waiting for her.”
A cold unease slides down my spine.
No. That doesn’t fit. Maddie is never late.
Never careless. Never the girl who makes one of the guys stand around waiting on her because she lost track of time. If Jake asked for her, she would have been here five minutes early with her camera already rolling.
Something is wrong. I see the same realization hit Luka because he’s already yanking his phone out.
My chest feels tight. Too tight. “Put it on speaker.”
The words scrape out of me. Luka taps her contact and lifts the phone between us.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Every ring digs deeper under my skin.
Then—“Hello.”
My stomach drops. That’s her voice. But it isn’t. There’s no life in it. No softness. No breathy little edge she gets when she’s moving too fast trying to do three things at once. No smile hiding under the word because she always somehow sounds like she’s smiling when she answers people she loves.
This voice is blank. Luka hears it too. I can tell by the way his eyes flick to mine.
He forces his tone casual. “Hey, Mads. Where are you at? I’m here with Coach.”
A beat passes.
Then—“I’m in my office.” My fists clench. She sounds… hollow. Like she’s speaking because she has to. “Coach…”
My head jerks. That one word should not do anything to me. She calls me Coach all the time here. Teasing. Soft. Sometimes with that hidden little smile that only I know how to hear.
But this—this sounds like she’s trying to get my attention. Trying to make sure I’m listening. My heart starts pounding harder. Too hard.
“Did Jake get the Red Hots I put in his locker?” she asks, her tone still terrifyingly flat. “I know they are lucky.”
Everything in me goes still.
Red Hots.
For half a second my brain refuses to process it because it doesn’t make sense.
Then my blood turns to ice.
Safe word. Jesus Christ. She used the safe word.
Luka sucks in a sharp breath beside me. “What the—”
I’m moving before he can finish. Running. Hard.
My shoes slam against the hallway, each stride hitting so violently it jars through my entire body. Air tears in and out of my lungs but none of it feels like enough. The corridor blurs. Lights flash overhead. People jump out of the way and I don’t even register who they are.
All I can hear is that flat voice.
Coach...
Red Hots.
Coach...
Red Hots.
Over and over until it feels like it’s carving into my skull.
She’s scared. She had to use the safe word because she couldn’t say it outright. Which means she isn’t alone. Which means he got to her.
My vision tunnels.
Every possible image hits me at once—Tyler too close to her, Tyler touching her, Tyler blocking the door while she stands there trying to keep her voice even enough not to set him off before I can get there.
I should have stayed with her. I should have never let her walk away from me. I knew something was going to happen. I knew it and I still let her tell me she was fine.
A sound rips out of me—half breath, half growl—as I tear around the final corner toward the media offices.
Please be okay.
Please be okay.
Please be okay.
I hit the office hallway at a full sprint and spot her door at the very end.
Closed.
My heart slams so hard it feels like it stops completely.
And I run faster.