Page 18

CHAPTER 18

Camden

Naomi and I have basically regressed back into living like teenagers. At least, that’s how it feels. Stolen moments interrupted too soon. Never enough time.

And a whole lot of kissing in cars.

“Mmm,” Naomi says. The word vibrates my lips, which are on her throat.

“Do that again,” I whisper.

“I will, if you do that again,” she says.

When I kiss her again in the same spot, she repeats the sound. I’m not even sure she did it because I asked so much as because I’ve found a sensitive spot. I capture the taste and feel of her sound again with my mouth.

I can sense bright light through my closed eyes, and Naomi pulls away as a car turns onto her street. We’re in the front seat of my SUV, parked in her driveway, fully in view. My windows are tinted, but not nearly enough to provide actual cover.

Dropping my head back against my headrest, I groan. “This is ridiculous. I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

“Is this what you were doing at sixteen, Camden?” Naomi’s voice sounds amused, but when I tilt my head to look at her, I see a spark of something else too.

Jealousy?

“You’re giving me way too much credit. I didn’t have nearly this much game at sixteen. I also had a ton of acne. A lovely by-product of playing hockey.”

“Is that a thing? Hockey acne?”

“It can be. Think about it: normal hormones plus gear that fits around your face combined with sweat. It’s like a bacteria factory.”

“Ew!” Naomi grabs the door handle. “You have just effectively killed the vibe. Goodnight!”

Before she can escape, I reach across, taking her hand off the door and linking our fingers. Leaning closer, I brush my lips against the shell of her ear, keeping my voice low. “Are you sure I killed the mood?”

Naomi sighs. “Not totally sure. We should probably test it.”

We do. Long enough to fog up the car windows a bit, which only makes me feel more like a teenager—one with less acne and more game than I had back then, of course.

Every chance we get, Naomi and I are together. The problem is—there aren’t many chances. It’s late February, and we’re in a constant churn of games. Having Naomi and Liam at all my home games has given me a renewed love of being on the ice. And whether I’m just noticing because I’m dialed in or something else has shifted in our team dynamics, we’re all playing better than we ever have. I feel more connected, as though being with Naomi has allowed me to open up with my teammates, too.

But off the ice, it’s a constant stream of events. Workouts and recovery with the trainers, charity work, community appearances, interviews, social media days. I haven’t missed the mounting tension between Coach and the owner about all the added work. A few of the guys’ agents have pushed back about contractual obligations, but so far, we haven’t seen any signs of cutting back.

I did hear rumors that some reps from the AHL were here—lawyers and the VP of hockey operations. Hopefully, they’ll help Larry get back on track so we can have a more reasonable schedule.

If that weren’t enough, I have Mike, and Naomi has Liam.

Despite having people I trust at home to watch over him, it isn’t the same as someone who cares for him. I feel guilty every time I choose to be somewhere other than home with him. And though he’s doing fine, I wouldn’t say he’s thriving . Jordan tells me Mike is just bored and needs purpose. But I’m not sure what to do about that, and it’s not exactly under the purview of the caretakers making sure he doesn’t wander off or accidentally leave the oven on.

Naomi and I have managed a few dates here and there, but it’s not easy. Our relationship is mostly built on a foundation of text messages and stolen kisses. It’s nowhere near enough.

I keep telling myself that things will be different in the off-season, but I’m honestly not sure that’s true. I’ll still have Mike. Naomi will still have her job, and I haven’t asked what her plan is yet for Liam.

The reality of our situation is: it’s complicated.

What lessens the complication for me, though, is the very sure and also terrifying sense I have that Naomi is it for me. She’s worth staying up late to text even if I’m dragging in the mornings. She’s worth sneaking kisses in a car because she still isn’t ready for Liam to know about us yet. I’m starting to long for a future where busy days won’t matter because we’ll share the same house, the same bed, and the same last name.

Naomi pulls away suddenly as a light goes on in the front window of her house. I see movement behind the curtains, the vague shape of a boy walking toward the kitchen.

“He’s going to see my car if he looks out the window,” I tell her, amused at the way she’s peeking over the dashboard.

“He knows you’re here, and I’m with you, but I don’t want him to see us kissing .”

When the light turns out a moment later, she relaxes again, but a thread of disquiet weaves through me. I slide my fingers over the steering wheel, tightening and then loosening my grip. Naomi hasn’t mentioned telling Liam about us yet, and I’m not quite sure I understand why.

I think of last summer and the way Liam’s face crumpled before he rode away on his bike.

Maybe I do understand.

“I should probably go in,” Naomi says, but the tone of her voice and the way she leans across the center console is saying something else.

“And I should probably go home.”

“Probably.”

“Probably.”

“Prob—”

I cut off her next word with another kiss, not even attempting to hold back any of the longing I’m feeling. Or even the frustration at knowing our time is almost up.

Naomi breaks off with no warning. “Wait, wait, wait. Hang on. I need a moment.”

She presses a hand to her throat, eyes darting around the car until her gaze lands heavily on me.

“What are we doing here?” she demands.

“I thought it was clear what we’re doing.” I smile and lean over to place a kiss on the corner of her mouth, willing it to lift in a smile. She doesn’t.

Instead, she huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back against her car door. “Yeah, I know we’re kissing, Cam.”

Even in the dim light coming from a streetlamp outside, Naomi is so beautiful. It’s the fire in her eyes, her strength and resolve and the independence I’m chipping away at little by little as I carve out space in her life. She amazes me—who she is. How she’s taken care of herself and Liam for so long.

I want to give her rest. To be the one who shoulders some of the responsibility she’s carrying. Not because she can’t do it on her own, but because she deserves a little pampering. She deserves support and someone to take care of her for a change.

I want that someone to be me.

And I need to tell her.

I shake my head and drag my gaze from her kiss-swollen lips to her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about kissing.” I cup her cheeks in my palms and lean closer. “You want to know what we’re doing here? I thought it was obvious—I’m in love with you.”

The words slip out, but I’m not sorry. Even if I hadn’t meant to say them at a moment like this. Why not, I guess? These are the kinds of moments we have together. And the words are true. I do love her. I think when realization dawned on me, it had already been true for a while.

She blinks rapidly, her face slack with shock.

And then she launches herself across the console and into my lap. The car horn blares before her mouth finds mine, and my seat is pushed too far up to pull her off the steering wheel and stop the noise.

Scrambling and desperate, she dives back across the car, elbowing me in the process. She hits her head as she ducks down below the dashboard, watching the house.

I’m torn between amusement and something a little edgier. Not annoyance, exactly. Betrayal feels a little too strong, but something more in that direction.

Stupid , I tell myself. You blurt out something like that and you expect her to have some perfect reaction?

I don’t expect a perfect reaction. But I do expect something more than silence. It’s the first time I’ve ever said those words to a woman.

Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I told anyone I loved them.

For a moment, sheer panic envelops me at the gravity of my confession. I wonder if it was a mistake to tell her so soon. Have I even officially asked her to be my girlfriend?

I wanted to go slow, to do things right, but somewhere along the way, my feelings swept me up and carried me along in their current. I assumed we were on the same page without checking to be sure.

Should I have waited longer to tell Naomi I love her?

Or even just officially asked her to be what I stupidly assumed she was: mine?

I’m opening my mouth to see if there’s a way to fix what feels like an epic blunder, when Naomi reaches across the car, grabbing my hand.

Her eyes are bright as she says, “I think it’s time we tell Liam about us.”

It’s not the words I want to hear most, but close enough.