Giving half a heart is akin to giving someone a broken heart . . . so give them your whole one instead.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
HUNTER
Dad: Not horrible. Some of the best hockey I’ve seen you play, but there’s still major room for improvement. You’ll fall short if you keep that up. No doubt.
Dekker: Get off that road and come home to me. I’ll show you just how damn proud I am of the way you played tonight. You were on fire.
“NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING about, Maddox.” I look up from my phone to see Sanderson bearing down on me on the far side of the LumberJacks’ locker room. My gloves are off, my pads still on, and fuck if I haven’t had time to take a seat before I have to talk to him. “You were a fucking lunatic out there. Way to go, man.”
He goes to high-five me and I just stare at his hand and leave him hanging. Funny how the high fives are flying now. Interesting how I can see our relationship more clearly—when I’m good, we’re good. When I’m troubled, he’s with management and filled with threats. I get it’s a business, but I’m finding more and more I need the people around me who care more about me when I’m at the bottom than when I’m at the top.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
“No problem.” I shake my head. “Just tired and hungry and ready to get home. It’s been a long battle, and I’m ready to win the next two on our turf in front of a home crowd.”
“You keep that shit up, you’re going to have deals pouring in. I already have five messages on my phone.”
“Great. I’ve got to hit the showers.” I take everything he has with a grain of salt these days but nod, trying to give him the hint I’m not in the mood. He starts to walk away when I realize something. “Hey, Finn?”
“What’s that?”
“No negotiations about anything during the playoffs.”
“Come again?” he says as he takes a step back toward me, his hand curved around his ear as if he didn’t hear me.
“I said hold off the phone calls and negotiations about endorsements. My game is dialed. Shit is sitting right in the universe. I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“I feel you on that. Not a problem. I’ll send over who’s interested but nothing else. You’re focused on the Cup. I get it. I like the way you’re thinking.”
And when he walks away, I wonder if he’ll still like the way I’m thinking when all is said and done.
* * *
It’s late and freezing as I stand in the lot of the arena and wait for the rest of the guys to load the bus that will take us back to the airport with my cell to my ear.
“Hey.” She sounds half asleep. Sexy. Like home.
How did her voice become the first thing I wanted to hear after every game? When did it start drowning out everyone else’s?
“Did I wake you?”
Her sleep-drugged chuckle brings a smile to my face. “I fell asleep going over contracts.” She shuffles papers, and I can picture her snuggling into that big blanket on her couch with SportsCenter on mute, and an empty glass of wine on the table next to her. Papers will be spread everywhere and her laptop will be half-charged on the pillow beside her.
“Sounds exciting.”
“You gave me more than enough excitement tonight, thank you very much.” She pauses. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play this well. You guys are like a well-oiled machine. It was so much fun to watch.”
“We’ve still got two games to win before we can celebrate anything,” I say holding up my finger to Jünger who’s waving me over.
“I’m all for celebrating every victory, no matter how big or how small.”
“You are, are you?”
Her seductive chuckle vibrates through the line. “I’ll show you just how much when you get home.”
My balls tighten at the thought. Will I ever get enough of her? The prissy business side, the stubborn softer side, and the vixen I hope no one else knows about?
I hope not.
Because hell if I’ve ever felt at peace like this. I’ve still got a long way to go, but this—she—is definitely a really good start.
“I’ll tell the pilot to hurry.”
Her laughter is all I hear as I end the call and head toward the bus.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
DEKKER
ALL I CAN DO IS laugh.
All I can do is hope he feels the same way.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
DEKKER
HUNTER’S SITTING AT THE KITCHEN table with the soft glow of the overhead fixture the only light in the room. He’s slumped in his seat, but his attention is completely fixed on the laptop in front of him.
He’s exhausted. I can see it in his eyes, in his posture, in the way he crashed when he hit the pillow earlier tonight.
So why’s he up now?
This second round of playoffs has been grueling for him. With Finch out from a blown knee and Katz limping to the finish, if the Jacks can clinch a spot in the finals tomorrow, they’ll have a few extra days rest while the other series still has at least two games left.
Regardless, the pressure on Hunter is tenfold, whether it’s self-inflicted or not.
Not wanting to disturb him, but also wanting to be near him, I stand where I am at the bottom of the stairs and look around the common area of his house. Where my place is orderly and every piece has its place, his is an array of mismatched things that don’t look cluttered when they should, and that shouldn’t fit together, but do.
Kind of like us.
“Hey,” he murmurs and pulls my attention to him.
“What are you doing up?” I ask as I move toward him. “You’re exhausted.”
“Can’t sleep.” He smiles as I lean my butt against the table so I can face him. My love for him is growing each and every day in ways I’m not sure I could ever have imagined. “Trying to crack their defense.” His hand flicks to his laptop where he’s watching film of the Eagles. “It looks so simple watching it but when you’re on the ice, when you’re bearing down on it, it feels fucking formidable.”
“You’re pretty formidable yourself, Maddox.”
“I didn’t feel like it last night.”
I run my fingers through his hair and he lets his head fall back with a sigh. His eyes close, and I can see the wear and tear from his need and will and want and drive for this to happen.
I know it’s for him, but I also know it’s for Jonah too.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” I murmur, and lean over and press a kiss to his lips. His body jolts with awareness and his eyes flutter open. “You know, you said your dad used to train you hard for hours and hours. Does he know the game as much as you do? Would he have insight you can’t see being so close to the ice? Would he have any suggestions for you on how to break the defense?”
I’m not sure how he’ll take my question, but a part of me feels like this fence needs to be mended if it can be for him to heal and move forward.
“Not an option.” He moves the laptop out of the way and then uses his hands to guide my hips so I stand before him, his hands dipping beneath the hem of my shirt. “How about you sit right here and let me taste you.”