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O’Keefe opens his mouth, but King shakes his head at him. He shuts his mouth for a second. “We’re one of the top defensive pairings in the league. Only a shithead would break us up.” O’Keefe scowls, and I doubt that’s what he was going to say.

“I might not be here on my birthday.” Brant sighs as if he’s already been traded.

“Makes no sense to let you go,” King reassures Brant.

“You’re right,” Brant says in an unconvincing tone. “I’ll keep my head on straight and do my job.”

“Hardly any D-men available could keep up with O’Keefe or not murder him,” Mav says to lighten the mood.

I’m not a hockey expert, but I know teams depend on compatible defensive pairs to play in unison. We change the subject, and Lo tells us smutty stories from the club opening he hosted.

We offer Brant to stay over, but King tells us they’re kidnapping him to sleep at their place.

Once they’ve all left and the kittens are in bed, we stumble up to our bedroom.

“I need to hold you.” Mav strips and gets under the covers, holding them up for me. “Thank you,” he whispers, when I slot into his arms.

“For what?” I ask, basking in his warmth.

“For being you, for giving me a second chance, for loving me, for the kittens, for this life—”

“Staahp, you’re making me blush,” I lie.

“Seriously. I was more miserable than Brant before you.”

I roll flat onto my back and tug him on top of me. “I was living, but not alive. Who could’ve predicted the camboy and hockey bro would get a happy ending?”

“Me. I’m waiting for my sugar daddy to put a ring on it.” He feathers kisses along my jaw and I laugh. “The babies can’t be bastards.”

“You’re a nutcase. We’re way too young.” My voice is breathy.

Mav shrugs. “Hockey players get married young. It’s part of our DNA. I’m ready, so when you are, ask away and the answer will be yes.”

“But we’re only twenty-two.”

“And the luckiest dudes on the planet to have found our way back to each other so young.” He seals his words with a kiss.

Epilogue

Maverick Maher

“Not here,” Sky hisses, but negates his words by pushing his ass against me. I told a fib that my tattoo is throbbing and needs to be looked at. My tattoo isn’t what’s throbbing.

“We can be quiet.” I curse his tight pants because I can’t get my hand down them to play with his plug.

“They already assume,” he counters, hands splaying on the sink, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “And Maria wears earplugs the nights you’re home.”

“Who cares? And we should enjoy what they assume we’re doing.” I’m mesmerized by the lust pooling in his chocolate eyes.

King and O’Keefe’s small guest bathroom is right next to their living room, full of my teammates. We’re pre-gaming for Brant’s birthday, and he’s soaking in all the attention. He didn’t get traded but still believes he won’t be returning next season, no matter how much we hype him up and set him up to score.

“You’re insatiable.” He groans as I rub his erect cock.

“You love it.” I undo his button and zipper.

“I love you,” he corrects.

“I love you more.” I say his phrase to him and yank his pants with all my might.