Page 116 of Pucking Forbidden

“We’ll figure it out,” he breathes against my heated skin, his voice muffled by my hair as our rhythms collide into a final, breathless crescendo that leaves us both shaking. “We’ll figure it out together, sweetheart.”

An hour later, the room is quiet again, the heavy scent of sweat and sex hanging in the cool midnight air.

I’m lying on my side, my head resting against the heavy expanse of Julian’s bare chest, one of my legs draped over his thighs. His hand is resting on my lower back, his fingers moving in slow circles against my skin as his breathing settles into a deep, even cadence of sleep.

For the first time in weeks, my mind is quiet. I feel lighter than air, finally, truly believing that maybe things between us really are going to be okay.

I close my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under, safe in the arms of the man who chose me over everything else.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: TRAPPED

JULIAN

The heavy thrum of the arena’s ventilation system vibrates through the soles of my sneakers, a low accompaniment to the high-voltage hum still buzzing in my veins. We took the ice tonight for our first home game since the road stretch and absolutely gutted out a four-two win against Seattle. My knuckles are raw, my shoulder is throbbing from a heavy collision into the boards in the second period, and my lungs still burn from the third-period sprint. As I push open the heavy double doors of the locker room, none of the physical aches matter.

The stadium corridors are nearly empty, the roar of fans replaced by the distant scraping of the Zamboni out on the ice. Hadley is leaning against the concrete wall opposite the player exit, her hands tucked into the pockets of a tailored gray coat that I can see my jersey peeking out from underneath, her dark hair falling loose over her shoulders. The moment her brown eyes lock onto mine, a soft smile breaks across her face.

I barely have my gear bag slung over my shoulder. My heavy winter gloves are shoved into my pockets before I cross the distance between us in three massive strides. I reach out, cupping the back of her neck, and pull her hard against my chest.

I kiss her right there in the open corridor. It’s a possessive, unyielding kiss. Hadley lets out a muffled gasp of surprise against my mouth before her arms fly around my neck, pulling herself up on her tiptoes, kissing me back just as eagerly.

A sharp, piercing whistle echoes down the hallway, followed immediately by a chorus of raucous shouts and laughter.

“Oh, dynamic entry, Wilder!” Owen yells, pounding his fist against the locker room door frame as he walks out with his duffel bag.

“Get after it, big guy!” Carson hollers from further down the hall, laughing as a few of the other guys start cheering and clapping.

I pull back from Hadley, keeping my arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her right against my ribs. Her cheeks are flushed a vibrant crimson, and a breathless laugh escapes her as she hides her face against my shoulder. I look up and see the rest of the guys have walked out and are standing with Carson and Owen. The girls have also appeared, coming from the direction of the physical therapy offices with Stacey.

“What are we talking about?” Rylee asks, giving Hadley and me a knowing grin.

“Pretty sure the fact that Wilder and Hadley were making out,” Sutton chuckles.

“We were going to tell you all…” Hadley begins, but Skyler cuts her off.

“It’s okay,” she laughs. “We’re not blind, you guys.” She makes a point of pushing her glasses up her nose.

Zander walks past us, shaking his head with a knowing smirk, before wrapping his arms around Rylee. “To be honest, dude, we all figured it out weeks ago after Vegas. You were looking at her like she hung the fucking moon.”

Jensen chuckles under his breath, his arm already around Grace’s shoulders. “Yeah, you made it painfully obvious, Wilder. You were acting like a rabid guard dog every time a guy looked in her direction. You’re about as subtle as a bulldog.”

I let out a low laugh, my fingers tightening against Hadley’s hip. Underneath all the standard locker-room teasing, there isn't a single drop of judgment in their expressions. Nobody is upset. If anything, the guys look happy for me. For a guy who has spent his entire career being the isolated outsider who handles the ugly business so the golden boys can shine, feeling this kind of acceptance makes something thick and tight loosen in my throat.

Grinning down at Hadley, I murmur, “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”

She smiles and eagerly nods. At that moment, Theo walks out of the locker room.

“Hey, Theo,” I call, waving him over. “We’re going out. Come with.”

Theo looks momentarily surprised, but then nods eagerly and hurries to join our group as we turn to make our way out of the stadium.

By ten o'clock, the team has filled almost half the Night Hawk bar. It’s an absolute wall of noise. Players, girlfriends, fiancées, and the usual post-win chaos. Pitchers of beer slosh over the tables, plates of greasy sliders disappear in seconds, and the air is thick with the smell of fried food and the roaring laughter of twenty-something athletes relieved to have survived our stretch away and secure the win at home.

I spend most of the night anchored to a booth in the corner, Hadley tucked against my right side. My arm is draped over the back of the vinyl seat, my fingers brushing the soft fabric of her sleeve, while my other hand rests around a cold glass of water. Everyone around us is drinking, shouting over the music, and retelling the same hockey stories we’ve all heard a hundred times already.

I let myself lean back and enjoy the warmth around me. I look down at Hadley, who is holding a gin and tonic in her hand and laughing at some ridiculous story Rylee is telling her, her eyes bright, and a rare sense of peace settles over me.

Everything is perfect. It feels almost too perfect. I can't ignore that there is still a small part of me, no matter how much I will it not to be there, that is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.