“You like belonging to me?”
“I mean, in a non-codependent, healthy kind of way, yes. I like the way you worship my body like I’m a prized possession and not a toy to play with. I like that you respect me and love me, and you’ve always been yourself around me. I love who we are together. I love our bond. Most of all, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“With Fensby gone, just watch our season take off. This is our year. I can feel it.”
Yeah, this is our year to choke so hard there’s no chance of us making the playoffs.
We’re playing Buffalo, a team notorious for finishing near the bottom of the damn leaderboard every year, and yet, here they are, up by three in the third period, and there’s no way we can turn this game around.
Our morale is down, we’re losing way more games than we should, but I can’t put my finger on why. I thought maybe the team was off because of Dex and me, but everything on that front is good now certain dickweeds aren’t on the team.
It’s not that we’re a total disaster on the ice or not playing well. We’re all just a little … off. We can’t seem to get it together.
I see everything from where I am. Every mistake. Every missed opportunity. We’re not losing because we keep fucking up. We don’t fuck up that much.
I’m beginning to think with where we’re sitting on the leaderboard, it has to be the mind games. We’re losing our faith in the team and our ability to do well, and the further into the season we get, the more that heavy cloud sits above us.
We scramble in the last minutes, the play staying firmly in our offensive zone, but we only manage to narrow the margin by one. When the clock runs out, we march into the locker room with our heads held low.
“What happened to the team from last year?” Coach yells at us.
I’d like to know the same thing.
This could possibly be the first year we don’t make the playoffs since the expansion team was created. And that sucks.
I glance over at Dex as he shucks off his skates. He has a huge smile on his face, but I have no idea why. I nudge him. “You seem happy considering we got our asses kicked.”
Dex shrugs. “What can I say? I am happy.”
“You’re … happy that we lost?”
“Nope. I’m happy that I get to go out on that ice every day with the love of my life and get to play the game I was born to play. Yeah, we’re losing, and chances are we’re not going all the way this year, but look around this locker room.” He gestures to where our teammates are in various states of undress. “We have the best job in the world.”
“Mm, the constant stench of man sweat.”
“Come on, if you think about it, would you rather be doing anything else with your life?”
The quick answer to that is no, I wouldn’t. The longer answer is I’d give all of this up if it meant being able to be with Dex. For right now, we get to have it all, but a hockey player’s career can be short. This amazing time that Dex is talking about is fleeting. I can’t help it; I smile too. One day, it will all be over for both of us, and while I’m as grateful for this possibility as he is, I know that life extends beyond hockey.
I will accept retirement when my time comes, but one thing I won’t be able to live without is him.
Hockey is my present.
Dex is my future.
Thirty-Three
DEX
“I still don’t understand why I’m paying for this shit,” I say to Phoebe, looking around at the balls-to-the-wall birthday party going on around us.
“Thirty is the new twenty-one,” she declares. “You’ll understand when you get there in two years.”
The club is loud, pulsing, the perfect place to get blackout drunk and dance until you drop, and when it gets late enough, Tripp and I will leave the VIP section and do exactly that since we don’t have a game for another two days.
“That still doesn’t explain why I’m the one paying though.”
Phoebe turns with her most patronizing big-sister expression and pats my chest. “Because after these last few months, you owe me.”
“Fair point.” I tip back my drink. “You seen my husband?”
“Yeah, he was flirting with some guy from Sienna’s work.”
Even though I know she’s joking, my pulse spikes. “Fuck you. He would never.”
“You two are so disgustingly in love. But … thank you for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, after Mom and Dad … you know …”
I screw up my face, not wanting our parents’ marriage even in the same sentence as mine. “What about it?”
“You’ve made me realize true love does exist, and I’ve decided if you can have that, so can I.”
My sister, the woman allergic to relationships. I’m gaping at her when Tripp appears.
“What’s up with you?” he asks.
I point at Phoebe. “Apparently we’re an inspiration.” I don’t even know what to think about that.
Phoebe waves someone over. “Yep, and we actually have something to tell you guys.”
“Who …”
Sienna joins her side, and I watch as they link hands. What—and I cannot stress this enough—the fuck?
Phoebe and Sienna?
“Nope. No.” Tripp shakes his head. “Decline.”
Our sisters are both smiling manically. “We got married!”
My eyes shoot wide. There is no way this is happening. They’re … they’re like sisters. Neither of them has ever, ever— Tripp cracks up laughing. “I think you broke Dex.”
“What’s wrong, little brother?” Phoebe asks, and I finally note her teasing tone. “Aren’t you happy for us?”
“Bullshit.”
Sienna relents. “Okay, we’re totally kidding. We did sleep together though.”
“And we’re buying a house together.”
“And having each other’s babies.”
“And I’m giving Sienna my left kidney.”
I roll my eyes. “You guys are so funny.”
“And so in love.” Phoebe leans closer to Sienna. “You’re right, this was fun.”
“If you’re done teasing us now …” I take Tripp’s hand and pull him away from Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dick.
“Where are we going?”
“Dancing.”
“Ooh, dangerous. Remember what happened last time?”
I tilt a grin back at him as I pull him along. “Bold of you to assume that isn’t my plan.”
“You’re turning into Oskar. Am I going to have to get you help for this public sex obsession?”
When we get far enough onto the dance floor, I pull him against me. His hard body molds to mine, like we were made for each other.
And every day we spend together makes it harder to believe we weren’t.
“No public sex obsession,” I say by his ear. “Just a standard, run-of-the-mill Tripp obsession.”