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Chapter twenty-three

Dane

M y apartment felt too small for the storm inside me. I paced between the kitchen and living room, phone buzzing in my hand with a steady stream of messages from teammates.

TJ: Solid team tonight. Proud of you both.

Mercier: About damn time. You guys had us all waiting.

Carver: You held that room, Cap. We're with you.

Their support should have anchored me, but it was Leo's moment at dinner that kept replaying in my mind. Leo—with his sharp edges and unapologetic fire—stood up and claimed us in front of everyone. No calculation, no careful planning. Only truth.

My father's voicemail sat unfinished in my inbox. I'd listened for fifteen seconds before cutting it off, but those seconds had been enough: "The cost of disloyalty to this family—" Click. Delete.

I checked my watch—nearly midnight. The game loomed tomorrow, but sleep was a distant possibility, with adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I grabbed a glass of water, letting the cold shock my system as I gulped it down.

A firm knock on my door broke the silence. Three raps—decisive, familiar.

Leo stood in the hallway, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, hood pulled up against the cold. His cheeks were flushed, either from the walk or the lingering emotion of the night. Maybe both.

"You good?" he asked, eyes searching mine. "You kinda disappeared after dinner."

My throat tightened. All the words I wanted to say jumbled together, none making it past my lips. Instead, I nodded toward the coat hooks by the door.

"Walk with me?"

Lewiston's streets had emptied, abandoned to the cold. Snow crunched beneath our boots as we walked through the mill district, a rhythmic percussion marking our path. Street lamps cast pools of amber light on untouched snow, our shadows stretching and shrinking as we passed.

The wind sliced through my layers, stinging my ears despite the beanie pulled low. Leo, beside me, was close enough that our shoulders occasionally brushed, sending occasional tremors through me.

We walked three blocks in comfortable silence before I finally found my voice.

"You didn't have to do that tonight."

Leo glanced sideways at me, his profile sharp against the darkness. "Yeah, I did."

"Not like that. Not in front of everyone." I exhaled, watching my breath dissolve into the night. "We could have eased into it."

"Since when has anything about us been easy?" He kicked at a frozen chunk of snow, sending it skittering across the pavement. "Besides, I'm not good at halfway. You should know that by now."

We approached the footbridge that spanned the narrowest part of the Androscoggin River. The metal railings were frosted over, but the ice in the river below had begun to crack and break up with the approach of spring. Moonlight spilled across the surface, catching on jagged edges of ice that had formed, broken, and reformed with the current.

Leo stopped midway across the bridge, gloved hands gripping the railing. "You're not pissed, are you? Because if you wanted to keep things quiet—"

"No, I'm not pissed. I'm…" I trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Overwhelmed?" he supplied.

I nodded, grateful for his perception. "Something like that."

We stood side by side, watching ice floes drift beneath us, carried by powerful currents.

The Androscoggin Falls roared ahead, a perpetual thunder even in winter's grip. We left the footbridge behind, following a narrow path that wound along the riverbank toward the cascading water.

We stopped at the overlook, a small wooden platform that jutted out over the edge of the gorge. The railing was slick with frozen mist, and the air was sharp with the mineral scent of river water and wet stone.

For several minutes, we stood there, shoulders nearly touching, watching the interplay of moonlight on moving water. The vastness of it made my problems seem smaller somehow—put them in perspective.

"My dad always said the company would be mine someday," I said finally, my voice barely audible over the falls. "He said I would be CEO, and everybody would follow me—including Christopher." I paused, watching a chunk of ice break free and disappear into the churning water below. "But I never wanted to be a fucking Whitaker. I wanted to be a hockey player."

Leo didn't respond immediately. He didn't try to fix it with platitudes or reassurances. He listened, his eyes tracking the path of the water as it crashed against the rocks below.

"It's not the pressure," I continued, the words spilling out now that I'd started. "I can handle pressure. It's feeling owned. By my family and all those men in suits gathered around a table, waiting for my next words—everyone wanting a piece, everyone expecting something." My hands gripped the railing tighter. "But tonight, what you did... it was the opposite of that. Not a grab. A gift."

Leo shifted beside me, turning so that his back was to the falls, his eyes connecting with mine even in the dim light. "I've never been anyone's first choice," he said quietly. "Not in Moose Jaw. Not with my family. Not even here, at first." He exhaled slowly. "I didn't do it for you, Dane. I did it for us."

The distinction hit me hard with startling clarity. Not for me. For us. The word encompassed everything we'd been circling for months: the stolen moments in locker rooms, late-night conversations over takeout, and how we'd learned to read each other on and off the ice.

"Us," I repeated, testing its weight on my tongue.

Leo nodded once. "Yeah. Us."

Wind started to blow, and a flurry of snowflakes swirled around us. They caught in Leo's dark hair and clung to his eyelashes, tiny crystals that glinted in the moonlight. I reached up without thinking, brushing them away with my thumb. His skin was warm beneath my touch, a startling contrast to the cold world surrounding us.

"Is this real?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, making me sound more vulnerable than I intended.

Leo smiled briefly. "It could be."

I leaned forward, closing the space between us. We kissed—not careful or hesitant, but hungry with all the words I couldn't say. His hands came up immediately, gripping the front of my coat and pulling me closer, erasing any lingering doubt about what we were doing.

While rough with pent-up emotion, the kiss was tender at the edges. Our coats rustled as we shifted, trying to get closer despite the layers between us. My gloves fell forgotten to the wooden platform as I cupped his face, my fingers threading into his hair. He gripped the zipper of my jacket and tugged it down just enough to slip a hand inside, pressing against my chest like he was searching for my heartbeat.

The taste of Leo—mint and the faint sweetness of the dessert from dinner—mixed with the cold air we shared between breaths. Every nerve ending in my body fired, overwhelmed by sensations: the scratch of Leo's stubble against my palm, his solid body pressed against mine, and the soft whimper that escaped him when I deepened the kiss.

A sharp crack echoed across the river, the sound of ice breaking somewhere downstream. We jumped apart, startled out of the moment. Our eyes met, and a laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me—nervous, breathless, and genuine. Leo's laugh joined mine, the sound carrying across the water before dissolving into the night.

"Perfect timing," he muttered, but his smile remained bright and unguarded.

I reached for his hand, threading our fingers together. "Let's go home."

When we reached my door, I fumbled with the keys, my fingers clumsy from cold and anticipation. The lock clicked open, and I stepped inside, turning back to Leo. He brushed past me into the apartment. His shoulder grazed mine as he passed, a casual touch that felt electric. I closed the door behind us, shutting out the night and the cold, leaving only the two of us in the quiet space.

Leo shed his coat first, hanging it on the hook beside the door with a soft rustle. I followed, my movements deliberately slow as I unwound my scarf, the wool whispering against my skin.

"Here," Leo said, stepping closer. His fingers found the zipper of my jacket, tugging it down with a deliberate slowness that sent a shiver down my spine. He pushed the fabric off my shoulders, the brush of his hands against my collarbone lingering, intentional.

I returned the favor, reaching for the hem of his hoodie. "Arms up," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. He complied, allowing me to pull the garment over his head. His t-shirt rode up with it, exposing a strip of skin above his jeans, taut and inviting.

We stood facing each other, stripped down to t-shirts. I reached up, brushing my thumb under Leo's eye, where a drop of snowmelt clung to his lashes. "You're shivering," I said, reaching out and wrapping him tightly in my arms.

He leaned into my touch, his voice soft and rough at the edges. "I meant every word tonight."

"I know." My throat tightened, emotion welling up. "That's what scares the shit out of me."

We kissed again—slower this time. No rush, no desperate edge. It was exploratory like we were learning each other for real now, memorizing the contours and textures we'd only glimpsed before. His lips were soft and yielding.

My hands found the waist of his jeans, fingers slipping inside against warm skin. "Okay?" I breathed against his lips, feeling his heartbeat quicken under my touch.

"Yeah. More than okay."

I pulled back just enough to tug his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He did the same with mine, fingers grazing my ribs in a touch that made my muscles contract, my skin alive with sensation. The cool air of the apartment raised goosebumps across my chest, but they vanished wherever Leo's hands traveled.

We moved toward the bedroom without discussion, shedding the rest of our clothes along the way. Jeans unbuttoned with deliberate slowness, the sound of zippers echoing in the quiet apartment. Socks toed off and kicked aside.

I wanted him to see me completely. Not as a Whitaker. Not as the captain. Only as Dane, one half of us—Leo and me.

As Leo pulled me down onto the bed, his body warm from our walk and the heat building between us, I felt vulnerable, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. Our legs tangled together, skin against skin, the last of our barriers shed.

Leo's hands began a slow, deliberate exploration, mapping the terrain of my shoulders with a reverence that made my breath catch. His fingers traced the curve of my collarbone and the dip of my spine, each touch a revelation, a discovery of uncharted territory.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. His hands moved lower, tracing the line of my back and the curve of my hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

I kissed him like it was a conversation, shifting rhythms, gentle pushes and pulls. My lips brushed against his, soft and slow, before deepening, tasting him fully. Each sigh, each hitched breath was sacred information, clues to what he wanted and what he needed. I listened to his body, responding to every subtle cue, every whispered gasp.

"Like this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper as my hands mirrored his, exploring his muscular chest and the ridges of his abs. His skin was hot under my touch, his heartbeat steady and strong.

"Yes," he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into my touch. "Just like that."

Our hands wandered further, fingers brushing against each other's arousal with a tentative curiosity that quickly bloomed into boldness. I wrapped my hand around him, marveling at the silken heat, the pulsing life beneath my touch. He gasped, hips lifting slightly, and a surge of desire coursed through me—a primal need to bring him pleasure, to forge a connection that transcended the physical.

"Wait," he said, voice thick with desire. He reached for the bedside table, knowing what was there. He retrieved a condom and a small vial of lube. He handed them to me.

I took my time, sheathing him with deliberate care, my fingers slick and sure. The intimacy of the act was profound, a silent vow spoken through touch and trembling breaths. His body quivered—breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

"Ready?" I whispered, and he nodded, eyes never leaving mine. I straddled him, our bodies aligning in perfect harmony.

The sensation of him entering me was a slow, consuming burn that filled me completely. I let gravity pull me downward as Leo's cock pushed up inside.

Leo reached out and gripped my waist, gently rocking my body up and down, his hips rising to meet mine. The friction was electric and sent waves of ecstatic energy crashing through me.

"Dane," he whispered. His back arched beneath me, body taut and trembling on the precipice of release. The tension building inside him echoed my own as we moved together, bodies slick with sweat, breaths mingling in the scant space between us.

Our climax wasn't soft or pretty—it hit like a goddamn freight train. It was a brutal, beautiful collision that left us wrecked and shaking. After everything—every fight and every wall we'd built—it felt like dropping the entire act and just being .

We lay there, sweat-slick and silent, our hearts still crashing around in our chests. I couldn't stop staring at him. Not because he looked good—he always did—but because something in me had cracked open. It wasn't only sex. It was a connection, raw and unapologetic.

When we finally collapsed, tangled up and spent, our skin still sticky with sweat, I couldn't stop touching him. My fingers kept moving—down his spine, across his shoulder, up to the edge of his jaw. I needed to feel him, to prove to myself he was real. I needed to know this wasn't some dream I'd wake up from, alone and stupid for believing.

I dragged him closer, arm slung tight around his waist like I could hold him there forever. We didn't talk. Didn't need to. The silence wasn't awkward—it was solid. Steady. The kind of quiet you only get when all the noise in your head finally shuts the fuck up.

Outside, occasional cars and trucks rambled by. The river was out there somewhere, growling low like it always did. But I didn't care. None of it touched our moment.

For the first time in a long damn while, I didn't brace for a crash.

Leo was mine.

And I believed it.