Page 12

Chapter twelve

Leo

S leep never came. I lay on my back, the sheets tangled around my waist, listening to my breathing. Too shallow and then too fast.

I tried forcing it to slow, counting in fours as the sports psych guy suggested. It didn't work. My arms ached, not from the game but from tension wound so tight I thought my muscles might snap.

Everything about Dane gnawed at me. The hospital visit had been fine—good, even. The kids were easy to talk to, and I liked watching how they lit up when we signed a cap or joked about scary movies. No, it wasn't the kids that were keeping me up. It was Dane.

He'd stood at the edge of that playroom like he was watching a foreign country through bulletproof glass. The man who led our team into brutal battles on the ice and threw his body in front of slap shots couldn't figure out how to talk to a kid in pajamas.

I turned onto my side, but the pillow bunched awkwardly under my neck. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a minute, my heels digging into the floor.

The bed was tired of me. Ripping the blanket away, I grabbed my hoodie from the chair in the corner. My skates waited by the door. A minute later, I was in the car, driving through empty streets and trying not to think about Dane's jaw, locked tight as he watched me hold a stuffed penguin.

The Colisée would be empty at this hour. Players had 24-hour access, though most guys stuck to daylight hours. Still, it was awe-inspiring to walk into the arena in the middle of the night: vast, cold, and quiet, with only the ice to keep me company. That's what I needed.

The refrigerated air hit me the second I stepped inside—laced with the crisp bite of ammonia and steel that always lived in the arena's bones. The ice stretched before me like a frozen mirror, smooth and untouched.

My first stride jolted through my legs, muscles barking in protest. By the third stride, I found my rhythm. My breath clouded the air, hanging for a few seconds before dissolving.

I moved without thinking, zig-zagging through invisible opponents, snapping passes to myself off the boards. The puck hummed against the blade of my stick, familiar and steady. I cradled it and sent it flying toward the net. The sharp crack of rubber against metal echoed through the empty rink.

Good. Perfect. I could stay here all night, skating hard enough to erase the memory of Dane's frown in the car.

But the ice wasn't mine for long.

Halfway through a crossover, I spotted movement at the far end of the rink. A sole figure stepped onto the ice, gliding with smooth, controlled strides. My grip tightened on the stick.

Dane. His hair stuck out at sharp angles like he'd rolled out of bed seconds earlier. He moved with that loose confidence that pissed me off sometimes—the kind that made hockey look easy when it never was.

He didn't wave. Didn't call out. He only kept skating toward me, stick tapping softly against the ice.

We locked eyes across the expanse of the frozen surface. I lifted my chin. He smirked.

"Didn't think anyone else would be dumb enough to skate at 2 AM," he called.

"Yeah, well, some of us don't need to show off for a crowd." I forced a grin.

He skated closer until we were ten feet apart. "Puck drill? Or are you only here to skate in circles and clear your head?"

I snorted. "And you're here to do the same thing?"

His jaw flexed slightly, but the smirk stayed. He tapped the ice with his stick. "Let's go. Unless you're scared."

"Of you?" I tapped the puck with the toe of my stick. "You wish."

We started with slow passes, blades slicing deep into the ice. The pace didn't stay easy for long. Dane fired a pass hard enough that it stung through my gloves. I caught it with a grimace and sent it back just as fast. The puck cracked against his blade with a satisfying smack.

"That your best shot, Princess?" he taunted, breathing hard.

"Keep chasing me." I darted forward to steal the puck. "You'll still be two strides behind when I bury it."

The game shifted from sharp passes to brutal puck battles. We collided against the boards, jostling for control. His shoulder clipped mine during a tight turn, sending a jolt of impact through my ribs.

My skate wobbled, but I didn't go down. Instead, I spun sharply, cut across his path, and stole the puck with a flick of my stick.

"Weak move." Dane doubled back to catch me.

I grinned, heart racing. "Let's see you put performance behind those words."

He growled low under his breath and chased me into the corner. Our sticks clashed. My pulse hammered in my temples while we twisted and circled, trading possession with each pass.

At some point, the tension shifted. I didn't know precisely when it happened; one minute, we were trading insults, and the next, we stood inches apart, panting hard. Our breath tangled in the cold air, swirling in tight spirals.

He tilted his head toward the tunnel, and the tension that had hovered between us all night locked into place. I didn't know what we were skating toward, but I followed.

At the entrance to the locker room, the heat hit me like a wall. The ice had been sharp and bracing, a clean cold that kept my head clear, but here, the air was thick and humid, swirling with the faint smell of soap. My pulse thudded in my ears.

Dane walked ahead of me. His shoulders were rigid beneath his practice jersey, muscles tight like he was bracing for a collision.

Without speaking, he stopped in front of the shower stalls. His hands moved to the hem of his jersey, tugging it off with one sharp motion. The fabric landed on the bench with a damp thud. He didn't look at me as he unlatched his pads and dropped them piece by piece beside his bag. Soon, he was naked.

My throat went dry. For once, I could look at Dane's body without concern about what anyone else thought. He'd undressed for me.

I didn't move until he turned on the water. Steam erupted from the nozzle, coiling upward and filling the space with thick heat. Stepping into the spray, Dane tilted his head back. Water rolled down the curve of his jaw and ran in rivulets over his muscled body.

It was an invitation without words or gestures. I tugged off my skates, stripped out of my gear, and followed him into the shower.

The tiles were cold under my feet, and my heart hammered harder with every step. When I reached Dane, I hesitated for half a second. He didn't move or open his eyes.

I laid my palm against his chest. His skin burned under the spray, heat radiating into my hand.

Dane's eyes opened. They were darker than usual, pupils dilated, his jaw tight. "You're a menace," he growled, voice low.

My fingers flexed against his chest. "You knew that from day one."

His hand came up, covering mine. For a second, I thought he'd pull away. But instead, he dragged my hand lower, over the slick ridges of his abs, until it rested against his cock.

I stepped closer, the water pounding against my shoulders. Dane's breath paused. His hand tightened over mine.

"You always try to stay in control," I said softly.

"Someone has to."

"Not tonight."

The kiss hit like a collision along the boards—hard, fast, and disorienting. His mouth was hot and demanding.

I gasped against him, and he deepened the kiss, pushing me back until my shoulders hit the tiles. The cold shock stole my breath.

My hands slid up his torso, feeling the tension coiled there. Every muscle beneath my palms was tight as if he were holding something back. I trailed the fingers of one hand along the curve of his ribs and up to the nape of his neck. The other began to stroke.

He shuddered.

"Dane," I said, voice rough. "You don't have to hold on so tight. Let go."

His eyes searched mine. Something flickered there—uncertainty, maybe, or fear. He wet his lips and exhaled shakily. Then, with a soft groan, he let his weight fall against me.

His hands slid down my chest, fingers tracing the lines of my abs before wrapping around me with a firm, possessive grip. I let out a moan as he stroked hand over hand, my head falling back against the tiles. He was not in a hurry with his slow and deliberate movements.

"Fuck, Leo," he muttered, his voice strained with desire. "Your body was made for this."

I managed a strained chuckle, the sound catching in my throat as he twisted his wrist, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. "And you," I gasped. "You're so fucking thick, built like a wrecking ball."

His eyes darkened, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "And you love every inch of it."

I met his gaze, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Maybe I do. Maybe I love pushing your buttons and seeing how far I can nudge you."

He leaned in, his teeth grazing my lower lip. "Careful, there. You might find out."

The steam wrapped around us, muffling the world beyond the locker room walls. His breath was hot against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips. My head tipped back as I let myself sink into it—into him.

I reached out, loving the weight of Dane's cock in my hand and how he throbbed against my palm. I loved how his breath hitched when I ran my thumb over his tip. Our hands moved in sync while throaty moans and ragged gasps filled the air.

Every time I drew close to the edge, he'd slow down, his grip loosening into lazy, teasing strokes. Our bodies were as in tune with each other as on the ice. I growled in frustration, my hips bucking against his hand.

"Patience, Leo. Good things come to those who wait."

I cursed, my hand tightening around him. Two could play at that game. I slowed my strokes, my fingers dancing lightly over his skin. He groaned, and the sound echoed off the walls.

"Fuck, Leo. Do it like you mean it. Don't tease."

I smirked, my thumb brushing over his tip again, making his entire body shudder. "What if I do?"

A wicked grin spread across his face, and he dropped to his knees. The sight of our captain kneeling, water streaming down his face, his eyes locked on mine, was almost enough to send me over the edge. Somehow, I held on, panting as he leaned in, his tongue replacing his hand.

The sensation was intense; the heat and wetness of his mouth were almost too much to bear. I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding on as he took me deep, his tongue swirling around me. Low groans and wet sucking sounds filled the space.

I was close again, the tension in my gut winding tighter and tighter. Still, every time I approached the edge, Dane pulled back, his mouth leaving me. I cursed, my hips bucking, but he grinned up at me, his eyes dark with desire and amusement.

"Dane, please," I finally choked out, my voice raw with need.

His grin was triumphant, and then he took me deep again, his hand working the base of my dick in sync with his mouth. The sensation overwhelmed me.

"Fuck, Dane, I'm gonna blow."

He hummed in encouragement, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through me. And then I was coming, my body convulsing as I spilled into his mouth. He stayed with me, his hand and mouth never stopping until I was spent and shaking.

He stood up slowly, his body pressing against mine. His cock was hard against my hip. I reached for him, my hand wrapping around tight, determined to give him the same release he'd given me.

His breath hitched, and his hips moved in time with my strokes. I leaned in, kissing him deeply, tasting myself on his lips. He was close, sucking in short, sharp gasps.

"Come on, Dane," I murmured against his lips. "Let go. Give it to me."

He did, with a low groan, his body shuddering as he came undone in my hand. I stroked him through it, my hand slick with his cum, until he was drained and quivering.

We stood there momentarily, holding each other up, with the water washing over us. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of the locker room replacing the roar of blood in my ears.

I didn't know where it was leading. I didn't know what it all meant, but I knew we weren't pretending anymore.

Dane turned the water off before we finally stepped away from each other. My skin prickled from the chill, and my muscles ached in that profoundly satisfying way that came from pushing past limits. He reached for a towel and handed me one without a word.

I sat on the wooden bench, elbows on my knees, with a towel draped over my shoulders. Dane dropped beside me, his hair damp and curling at the edges. We sat in comfortable silence like that for a while.

"That hospital visit," Dane said finally, voice low. "Got to me more than I thought it would."

"Yeah. Same."

A memory of wide-eyed admiration on one kid's face surfaced again. His voice had a brittle edge of hope when he'd asked if we'd win for him.

Dane ran a hand through his hair. "Makes you realize how much this game means to people. And how much we take it for granted sometimes."

"Yeah, but it also makes you realize how much weight we put on ourselves."

"No kidding. Captain of the Forge. The guy who has to make everything okay, even when it's not."

The vulnerability in his voice surprised me. I shifted slightly so our shoulders pressed together. "You're not alone in it. You know that, right?"

He turned his head toward me. "Yeah. I do now."

We dressed in silence. The heat from the shower still clung to my skin, even as the cooler locker room air raised goosebumps on my arms.

Dane sat beside me on the bench, his hair dripping onto his shoulders and his gaze fixed on the scuffed floor between his feet. His breathing had slowed.

It was an excellent opportunity to say something, but the words wouldn't come. The moment we'd shared under the pounding water had left me raw like I'd revealed more of myself without realizing it.

Dane was already retreating into his armor—shoulders squared, jaw tight. It was how he'd looked standing in that hospital hallway, eyes distant, like he wanted to disappear into the sterile walls.

He stood abruptly and grabbed his duffel. "See you at practice," he said, voice clipped.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already walking toward the exit. The heavy door groaned as it closed behind him.

The room was colder without him there.

I rubbed my hands over my face and exhaled slowly. My thoughts looped back to the hospital: Dane's tight smile as the kids peppered him with questions, the forced ease in his voice when he answered, and how he'd hovered just outside the circle when the kids swarmed me.

He didn't belong there. Or maybe he didn't think he did. But why?

I stood and grabbed my bag, pausing at the door where Dane's scent still lingered—clean soap, sharp and familiar. Outside, the cold hit me with a force that stole my breath. I walked to my car, slid into the driver's seat, and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

Dane's face hovered in my thoughts: that guarded look and the crack in his usual confidence. Even if only for a moment, I'd seen the captain of the Forge without his armor.