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Lincoln stares back at me like I just spoke a foreign language.

“Do you hear me, Lincoln? I forgive you.”

He shakes his head.

“You can’t forgive me. I was an asshole. For years , I made your life a living hell. You can’t just forgive me so fast.”

This stupid, stupid man.

He’s been paying the price for other people’s sins his entire life.

Fighting demons that were implanted by the people who were supposed to fight the demons for him.

I will not allow one more second to go by where he thinks he owes me anything.

“I can forgive you—and I have. It’s all in the past, where it belongs. I don’t want to waste another second thinking about the people we used to be. Look at us now.” I lean in and give him another gentle kiss.

Lincoln laughs and shakes his head in disbelief.

“You are too good of a person, Ellie. Way better than I am. I wish I could move on that easily.”

For some reason, those words ignite an explosion of shame within me.

If only he knew that I’ve been holding on to shit just as long as he has.

I can’t even bear to have a conversation with my mom, because the guilt eats me alive.

Apparently, he can read me like a book because he grabs my chin and turns my face back toward him.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks while searching my eyes.

I owe it to him to tell my story.

He just opened up to me more than any other man has.

Hell, I dated a guy in college for three years and he didn’t let me in like that.

It’s not lost on me that all of this is happening with Lincoln Scott.

If you would’ve told me six months ago I’d be sitting half naked with this man, preparing to confess my innermost secrets, I would’ve laughed in your face.

But not only do I owe it to him, I owe it to myself to finally let someone in too.

Whatever is happening between us is completely unexpected.

I don’t know when the lines between us got so blurry and when I started trusting this man, but I find myself not caring.

Maybe it’s the fact that we connect on a different level—both losing our innocence at such a young age.

But whatever the reason may be, I’m running full speed ahead into the unknown.

Because whenever I’m in a room with Lincoln Scott, my heart beats a little louder and my worries get a little quieter.

He sees me as so much more than some girl trying to make a splash in a man’s world.

I feel seen and I feel safe.

The realization of all of this has my body buzzing with nerves.

I climb out of his lap but don’t get far before he’s pulling me back into him.

“Don’t run, Ellie. Talk to me.”

My eyes find his again.

“I’m not running. I just can’t sit still when I tell you what I’m about to tell you. You know me, I’m a pacer. I have too much energy.”

Lincoln flashes me his million-dollar smile and I melt.

“Yeah, you’re not lacking in energy, that’s for sure.”

I swat him, and he laughs but finally lets me go.

I’ve paced the room three or four times already, contemplating how I’m going to explain this to him and not portray myself as some weak, emotional woman.

Every worry washes away when I look up and find Lincoln patiently waiting for me to speak.

He doesn’t rush me.

All he does is nod, and that simple gesture is the only encouragement I need.

“I’m not sure how much you know, since we weren’t on the same team, but my mom was in an accident when we were younger. Actually, it was right around my tenth birthday too, which means it happened the same year your mom left.”

I bite my lip, fighting the emotion that threatens to creep up my throat, and continue pacing.

“And it was all my fault.”

I hear Lincoln shift on the bed, but keep my eyes focused on the floor as I pace.

His footsteps get closer but I don’t stop my pacing.

I know he’s close, but he still gives me space to pace and work off my pent up energy.

“What do you mean it was your fault? You were just a kid.”

When I make it to the window of his room, I stop my pacing and stare out across his backyard.

I try to focus on three things I can see, trying to calm down my heightened emotions.

Keeping my emotions in check isn’t always easy for me.

I feel things, hard .

As a woman in a man’s world, everyone is always looking extra closely at me and how I react in a situation.

A man who screams at the refs or his players is idolized.

A woman who throws a fit over a missed penalty?

She’s ostracized and labeled as too emotional.

Therapy and anger management techniques have helped me to dial it back, but at this moment, I’m ready to explode from the emotions I’ve kept locked in a jar for over a decade.

“She was on her way to my game. My fourth game of the weekend for some useless tournament. I would’ve never let her hear the end of it if she missed my game. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t have been driving late at night when the roads were so bad. She wouldn’t have hit a patch of black ice that sent her car flying off the road head first into a tree. If it wasn’t for me, she would still have use of her legs, and my dad would never have had to give up his career in the NHL to take care of her. They gave up their dreams for me. It’s all my fault.” The dam breaks and tears streak my cheeks as I furiously try to wipe them away.

I don’t hear Lincoln approach me from behind.

It’s not until his arms wrap around me that I even know he’s there.

“It was an accident , Ellie. You didn’t put the black ice on the road. You didn’t force your mom to drive. She was going to your game because she loves you. It was just a horrible, stupid fucking accident.”

Lincoln holds me tighter and rests his chin on my shoulder.

“You can’t be carrying this weight anymore. It’s going to consume you. It’s going to break you.”

I know he’s right.

It’s the same thing my therapist tells me any time we discuss my mother.

But every time I see her in that wheelchair, a tidal wave of guilt crashes down on me and it’s like I’m that ten-year-old girl again.

Scared and helpless.

“I don’t know how to let it go. So no, Lincoln, moving on isn’t something that comes easy to me. It’s been twenty years and I can barely stand to look my own mother in the eyes.”

Lincoln spins me around and wraps me up in his arms.

He’s holding on to me tight, like he’s trying to absorb all of my pain and take it on as his own.

His chin rests on top of my head now and he begins to stroke my hair.

My body relaxes and the tears slow to a stop, but still, he doesn’t let me go.

“Have you talked to your mom about this at all?”

I pull back enough so that I can look up at him.

“Besides Sadie, you’re only the second person I’ve told any of this to. Well, third, if you count my therapist.”

Pushing away from him, I make my way to the bed because suddenly I am utterly exhausted.

I sit on the edge of the bed and then collapse back onto it.

Staring up at the ceiling, I confess something to him I’ve never confessed to anyone.

“ I’m afraid she blames me too. I’m afraid she hates me as much as I hate myself.”

The bed jostles as Lincoln lays down next to me.

We both lie there quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

He hooks his pinky finger with mine.

It’s a whisper of a touch but it speaks volumes.

It says everything.

A comfort, a promise, a quiet understanding like he’s telling me “I’m here.”

The smell of food cooking wakes me the next morning.

I stretch my arms out across a bed that’s way too big to be mine.

It takes me a few seconds to recognize where I am, as thoughts of last night start coming back to me.

I vaguely remember Lincoln lifting me off the foot of the bed, where I must’ve fallen asleep after we bared our souls to each other.

I do, however, vividly remember the feel of Lincoln’s body against mine as he held me from behind all night.

I especially remember how hard he was when I pushed myself back into him in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, the only action I got was him feeling me up underneath his shirt that I slept in.

But that’s probably for the best, because not only am I sore from the one and only time we had sex, I’m also emotionally hungover.

To top it off, I just slept with my head coach.

What the hell happens next?

The wood floor is cold on my bare feet as I step out of bed.

I find a pair of socks in the top drawer of his dresser and make my way downstairs.

Tiptoeing, I do my best to go undetected as I round the corner into the kitchen.

I wish I had my phone so I could capture this moment and save it forever, but a mental picture will have to do.

Lincoln stands at the stove, in only his black boxer briefs, flipping pancakes on the griddle burner.

His back muscles flex with every flip and he’s singing along to an Eric Church song that plays from a nearby speaker.

It’s like my own personal spank bank is playing out right in front of me.

There’s just something about a shirtless man cooking breakfast for a woman.

Call me cliché, but clichés exist for a reason—because they’re true.

Lincoln still hasn’t noticed me as I step behind him and give in to temptation as I run my fingers up his bare back.

He startles but then leans into my touch.

My hands savor every inch of his skin as I rub them all the way up to his shoulders and down his sides until I wrap them around him fully.

I kiss his shoulder blade.

“Good morning.”

Abandoning the pancakes on the griddle, he turns to face me.

He grabs my jaw in his hand and lifts my chin.

Slowly, he lowers his head toward mine until our lips finally meet.

I think it’s meant to be a soft, lingering kiss, but I have other plans.

My nails dig into his back as my tongue begs for entrance.

The spatula hits the ground and then Lincoln is lifting me onto the island behind him.

We make out like teenagers and feel each other up until the smell of burning pancakes tears us apart.

“Shit!” Lincoln turns around and grabs the spatula from the floor and removes the blackened pancakes from the griddle.

Meanwhile, I’m spread out on the counter, panting and desperate for more.

I’m pretty sure my arousal is covering the counter where I sit.

After last night—the sex, the heart to heart—my body and soul craves this man in a way I’ve never experienced.

It’s primal and it’s urgent.

Lincoln turns the stove off and grabs a plate that’s stacked with chocolate chip pancakes.

He turns to me and his eyes drop to my center, which is still on display, covered only by my flimsy lace panties.

He clears his throat.

“As much as I’d like to feast on you instead, let’s get some food in us. We have to be at the rink soon.”

My eyes dart to the clock on the stove and I hop off the counter.

“It’s 9:30! I haven’t slept this late since college. Why didn’t you wake me?”

I walk over to the small table that sits in the tiny breakfast nook that’s connected to his kitchen.

Lincoln plates a couple pancakes and a piece of bacon for me before handing it over.

“You looked so peaceful sleeping, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. Besides, after everything that happened last night, I figured you could use some sleep.”

There’s a caramel pistachio espresso sitting in front of me and my eyes immediately cast up to Lincoln.

“Did you run out for coffee? This is my favorite.”

He takes a sip from his own to-go cup and flashes me a smile.

“I’m not that heroic. I had it delivered.”

People always talk about the grand gestures and big declarations of love, and, no, I’m not saying this is love.

All I’m saying, is that this man is completely blowing me away with the little things.

The quiet moments.

The coffee.

The simple fact that he keeps giving me freer rein during practices.

I’ve never felt so seen in my entire life.

“Thank you.” We both dig into our food, completely content to eat in silence.

The peace and quiet is quickly interrupted when I hear a phone vibrate somewhere in the distance.

Lincoln points to the living room with his fork.

“Your phone has been going off the hook for about a half hour now.”

Shit.

Sadie.

I hop up so fast out of the chair and sprint to grab my phone off the end table in the living room.

Twenty-two messages and six missed calls.

Oh shit.

I read through a couple of the most recent texts and can’t help but laugh out loud.

Sadie

Why is it morning and you’re not in your bed?

I figured you were boinking with your head coach but now I’m actually worried.

I’m about five minutes away from calling the police and filing a missing person’s report.

Please give me proof of life or I’m making the call.

Seriously, Ellie.

I shoot back a quick text hoping she hasn’t alerted the authorities yet.

Alive and well.

I’ll be home soon.

Don’t call the cops!

Lincoln is waiting for me when I make my way back to the breakfast table.

“It was just Sadie. I forgot to check in with her last night. She was about to send out a search party.”

He nods and then leans forward onto his elbows.

I have a feeling another serious conversation is in our very near future.

His thumbs begin to rub together and the nervous energy radiating off his body is palpable.

Oh god, he’s going to tell me this was one big mistake and can never happen again, isn't he? My stomach drops, chest pinching with anxiety, my worries stealing away my appetite. I push my food around on my plate, anticipating the absolute worst.

Finally, he looks up from his hands and asks the burning question. “So, where do we go from here?”

I lift my leg up onto my chair and rest my chin on top of my knee. “I’m not sure. Where do you want to go from here?”

The look he wears is sinister. “If I had my way, you’d be in my bed every night, Ellie. ”

Okay, so that is totally not what I was expecting him to say.

Lincoln speaks again. “But we both know that can’t happen.”

Chewing on my lip, I nod. As much as I hate that he’s right, we need to be careful. Eyes are already on us because of the team’s scandal last year, so the last thing the organization needs is eyes on our extracurricular activities. “So, what does that mean? Wanna call this a one-and-done?”

Lincoln pushes back from the table and grabs my hand, yanking me onto his lap in one fell swoop. “There is no possible way I will be able to survive this being a one-and-done.” He leans in and gives me a kiss that has my toes curling. I part my lips and our tongues collide. Lincoln moans into my mouth, which has me reeling back.

His words send my heart into overdrive. I’m giddy, happy and ready to get lost in this man but we haven’t finished our conversation. “Slow down, Coach. We still need to figure out how to make this work.”

He leans back in his chair and starts rubbing small circles on my back. “Well, I want to keep doing this. But we have to be extremely careful. Nothing at the rink or on road trips. Whatever is happening between us has to stay between us, and only at our houses.”

I lean into him a bit more and reach across the table for my espresso. The caffeine is starting to hit my system and I relish the energy and bravery it brings along with it.

My fingers find Lincoln’s hair at the nape of his neck and I start playing with the long strands that lay there. “So we’re friends with benefits but it’s our little secret?”

Lincoln’s hand continues to make circles on my back but he reaches up to hold the back of my neck with his other hand. “Yeah. It’s just for us.”

There is no way I can keep any of this from Sadie. Besides, she and Hunter are the ones who set this whole thing in motion anyway. Well, they tried to at least. I hope he doesn’t expect me to pretend it’s not happening.

“What about Sadie and Hunter?”

He lets out an exasperated breath, but doesn’t loosen his hold on my neck. “I guess it’ll be pretty hard to keep this from them. Besides, they both already know it started. No point in keeping the fact that it’s going to continue from them.”

I nod in agreement again. It makes me feel better that I’ll have someone to vent to about all things Lincoln.

It’s possible I’m in an alternate universe. I still can’t believe this is the same Lincoln Scott I grew up hating. It’s crazy how much things can change when you finally have an open conversation with someone. I’ve learned so much about this man in such a short period of time that I wonder what other amazing things I’ve missed out on from simply being blinded by my misconceptions. All I know is, I don’t want to miss out on anything else. There’s just one nagging worry at the back of my mind.

“The press and internet already hate me enough because I’m a woman working in men’s hockey. I really can’t have this getting out. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. No one else besides Hunter and Sadie can know.”

Lincoln holds my stare, conviction painting his every word when he says, “I promise. No one else will know.”

Are we actually doing this?

“Yeah, baby. We’re actually doing this.”

Damn, I said that out loud. And I like the way he calls me “baby.” Holy swoon.

Lincoln pushes my head closer and captures my mouth with his. And every last worry I have simply fades away.