Page 118 of The Goalie in Room 1

Something in my chest twisted. “Aaron didn’t eat it?”

“I threatened to break his fingers.”

“Effective.”

“I learned from the best.”

Cash hadn’t moved away. Neither had I.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

Every muscle in my body tightened.

“Someday,” he said.

The word didn’t sound teasing this time.

I lifted my hand to his face, my thumb settling against the edge of his jaw. Cash leaned into the touch before either of us could pretend he hadn’t.

“Cash.”

“How long?”

I knew what he meant.

Until he wasn’t my patient.

Until his recovery no longer depended on my decisions.

Until I could touch him without the imbalance hanging over both of us.

Until someday.

“You’re still under my care.”

His jaw hardened beneath my hand. “I know.”

“The graft is still healing.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t only about the brace.”

“I fucking know, Thad.”

He pulled away.

The loss of his heat was immediate.

Cash took two steps backward, steady on both legs. “You think I don’t understand why you’re waiting?”

“I think you deserve to recover without wondering whether anything I’ve done for you came with expectations.”

“That was never the question, Thad. You’ve never made me feel like I owed you anything.” He paused, looking away. When he looked back at me, he said, “But you also stopped pretending months ago that this is just doctor and patient. You held my hand through weeks of pain meds. You helped me shower. You slept in a chair by my bed. You fed me and provided for me. So don’t stand there acting like the rule still means something when we broke it a long time ago. Because from where I’m standing, we’re all but married.” Laughter—dry, humorless—fell between us. “Just without any of the perks.”

“You might later.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You might. You might decide I’ll regret it. You might decide I don’t know what I want. You might come up with fifty new reasons this is a terrible idea, but don’t put them in my head and pretend you’re protecting me from them.”