Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Triston
Ialways thought I was good at patience. Hockey teaches you that — wait for the pass, wait for the crease to open, wait for the shot that wins the game. Patience makes champions. But tonight? Tonight patience feels like a prison I built myself.
The gala’s already humming when I walk in.
The hotel ballroom is strung with lights, garlands draped like someone bottled December and spilled it across the walls.
Tables glitter with glassware, auction baskets gleam under spotlights, and a hundred voices tangle together in polished laughter.
To anyone else, it’s just another fundraiser.
To me, it’s a stage I’ve been avoiding for months.
Because she’s here.
Sammie.
She’s not hiding tonight. I know it the second I see her.
That velvet dress clings like it was sewn for her body, the deep blue daring the world to take notice.
Her hair’s up, elegant but with just enough defiance to make me think of her tangled in sheets.
She’s moving through the room with that practiced grace — the one that makes everyone underestimate how much control she actually has.
She doesn’t just work this gala. She owns it.
And I can’t breathe.
Every donor I shake hands with, every sponsor who wants a smile — they’re background noise. My teammates laugh, the cameras flash, and all I can do is find her. Again and again. Like my eyes forgot how to see anyone else.
She glances at me once across the room. One second, maybe less.
But it hits like a puck to the ribs — sharp, breathtaking.
Her lips part just slightly before she looks away.
I see the memory in her body, the way she stands taller, the way she steadies her hand around the champagne glass.
She’s thinking of last night too. Of my mouth on her skin.
Of the way I whispered promises I meant.
I’ve been telling myself to keep it hidden. That I could protect her better in the shadows. That restraint was love. But watching her walk through this crowd, radiant and unafraid, I realize hiding isn’t protecting her. It’s stealing from her.
I’m done.
Wayne sees me see her. Of course he does. He’s stationed near the tree, jaw set like granite, shaking hands while his eyes scan the room like he’s still on the bench calling plays. When his gaze locks on mine, it’s all warning. Remember who you are. Remember who she is.
I tip my glass to him like the cocky bastard he thinks I am. But I don’t look away. Not this time.
The band shifts. The chatter music fades into something slower, smoother, meant for couples to drift onto the floor. My body moves before my brain can second-guess. I set down my glass, cut through the clusters of sequins and tuxedos, and make for her.
People part without knowing why. Maybe it’s the suit, maybe it’s the captain thing, maybe it’s just me moving like a man with a singular purpose.
Her eyes find me when I’m halfway there. I see the panic, the thrill, the flush that creeps into her cheeks. I see her weighing everything at once — her father, the whispers, the danger. And still she doesn’t move away.
When I stop in front of her, I don’t hedge. I hold out my hand.
“Dance with me.”
No pretending. No careful phrasing. A demand dressed as an invitation.
Her breath stutters. “Triston…”
“Don’t think,” I cut in, softer now. “Just say yes.”
The room waits with us. Maybe not consciously, but I can feel it. The hum of conversation dulls, the lights feel hotter. Everyone pretending not to watch but waiting anyway.
And then she places her hand in mine.
We walk to the center together.
Her body slides against mine and suddenly I’m whole. My hand finds her waist — low, solid, claiming. Her fingers rest against my chest, right over my heart, and I swear it knocks harder just to prove it’s alive. The music pulls us into rhythm, and the ballroom ceases to exist.
“You’re insane,” she whispers, eyes locked on mine.
“Probably.” I pull her closer, not enough for scandal — not yet — but enough to make my body hum. “But you’re still here with me.”
“Because you didn’t give me a choice.”
“Wrong.” My lips hover near her ear, the words meant only for her. “You gave me one. Back in that hotel. And you said yes. Tonight’s mine.”
Her laugh is breathless, shaky. “My dad is watching.”
“Let him,” I growl. “Let every one of them watch. They need to learn something I already know.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re not theirs.” My grip tightens at her waist, thumb stroking the velvet. “You’re mine.”
Her gasp is soft, sharp. Her nails press into my chest like she’s anchoring herself. “Triston, this is—”
“Real,” I cut in. “And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
Her eyes burn into me, torn between terror and exhilaration. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m not.” I spin her gently, draw her back against me, mouth at her temple. “I’m deciding it for me. I love you, Sammie. I’m not hiding it anymore.”
Her breath catches like she’s been struck. For a moment, I think she’ll pull away. For a moment, I brace for the worst.
But when she looks back at me, her lips curve in a trembling smile. “You really are insane.”
“Only for you.”
And before she can remind me of her father, before she can tell me all the reasons why this is impossible, I lean down and kiss her.
The room gasps. I hear it — the sharp intake of breath, the murmurs rising like a tide. My teammates’ laughter cuts off mid-note, donors whispering, cameras clicking faster. But none of it matters.
Her lips are warm, sweet, unhesitating. She opens to me like she’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. My hand steadies her at the waist, my other hand cradles her cheek, and I kiss her like the truth it is.
She sighs against me, fingers curling tighter in my suit, and in that sound I hear surrender, trust, want. I kiss her deeper, not apologizing, not holding back, not asking permission from anyone except the woman in my arms.
When I finally pull back, her eyes are glassy with heat, her chest rising fast. And she smiles — not a timid one, not ashamed. A proud, reckless smile.
Around us, whispers explode. I know Wayne’s face is thunder; I can feel the weight of his stare. But I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes only on her.
“This is it,” I murmur, voice steady. “No more shadows. No more hallways. I’m done hiding.”
Sammie swallows, her hand trembling on my chest. “And damn anyone who tries to stop you?”
“Exactly.” I lean in close, brushing my lips against her ear, defiance sharpening every word. “Damn anyone who thinks they can stand between me and the woman I love.”
She exhales a shaky laugh. “Then don’t let go.”
I press her tighter to me, the music swelling, the room spinning around us. “Never.”
And for the first time, the world sees us exactly as we are: not captain and coach’s daughter, not secret and sin — but man and woman, proud, unashamed, and utterly unwilling to run anymore.
Sammie
For a heartbeat after his mouth leaves mine, the world doesn’t exist.
All I know is the taste of him, the heat still pressed into my lips, the way his hand lingers at my waist like he dares anyone to try and pry me away. My heart is slamming too loud for me to hear anything else.
Then the room comes rushing back.
Gasps. Whispers. The click of camera shutters, sharp as gunfire. A donor’s wife with her pearls clutched so tight they’ll snap. Laughter stifled into shocked silence. And across the floor — my father.
Wayne Michael.
My dad.
His expression is stone, unreadable to most. But I know him.
I know every line of that jaw, every flare of those nostrils, every vein that tightens at his temple when he’s about to call a penalty that will change the game.
And right now, he’s looking at me like I’m the opponent, and Triston is the play that broke the rules.
Fear knots my stomach. I should pull away. I should step back, pretend it was a mistake, make some joke about champagne. That would be the smart move. The safe move.
But I don’t.
Because his arm is still around me, and his chest is still steady under my hand, and when I look up at Triston’s face, there’s no apology there. No regret. Just fierce, steady truth. And for the first time, I feel it too — the certainty that we’re not wrong.
The music keeps playing. The band doesn’t stop, maybe because they don’t know if they’re allowed to. Or maybe because even they can feel it: something bigger than a song just happened.
“Triston…” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He leans down, brushing his mouth close to my ear so only I can hear. “Don’t be afraid of them. Not tonight. Not ever.”
I swallow hard, fighting tears that want to break free. “They’re all staring.”
“Good.” His voice is rough, low. “Let them see what I’ve known since October. You’re mine.”
The words shouldn’t soothe me. They should make me panic. Instead, my body warms like the velvet I’m wearing has turned into armor.
I tip my head back, searching his eyes. “And if my dad—”
“Then damn your dad,” he interrupts, steady as stone. “Damn every last one of them.”
The audacity of it makes me laugh, shaky but real. “You’re impossible.”
His lips twitch in that way that always undoes me. “And you love me anyway.”
The truth of it slams into me harder than the fear ever could.
My father, the donors, the cameras — they blur, all of them, until there’s only Triston.
The man who has haunted me, protected me, pushed me, claimed me.
And in the middle of this storm of whispers and judgment, he is the only thing that feels like peace.
I lean into him, resting my forehead against his chest. “Then don’t let go.”
His arms tighten instantly, like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear those words. “Never.”
The dance continues, though I don’t know how. My body moves with his because it always has, like we’ve been choreographed by something older than us. I can feel the stares digging into my back, the silent fury radiating from my father, but I refuse to look away from Triston now.
“You just set the world on fire,” I murmur against his suit.
His laugh rumbles under my cheek. “Good. Let it burn.”
I close my eyes, letting the music carry us, pretending for just a moment that we’re the only two people alive.
When the song ends, applause rises — hesitant, awkward, fractured. Some clap because they don’t know what else to do. Others because they’re secretly thrilled by scandal. I don’t move, not until Triston eases me back just enough to press a kiss to my temple.
The room spins with whispers. But all I hear is him.
And for the first time, I don’t care who knows.