Page 9

Chapter nine

Dane

T he motel mattress compressed, getting thinner as the night wore on. The coil near my shoulder blade dug in sharp, pressing at my ribs, refusing to let me sink into anything close to a restful sleep. The hum of the heater rattled through the room, sending out warmth in uneven bursts, always a little too much or not enough.

At least I had the place to myself.

The team always split rooms on the road; two guys crammed into spaces barely big enough for the equipment bags they dragged in with them. The rookies stuck together.

Carver got paired with someone who could put up with his mouth.

Leo was with Mercier, which meant at least one of them would be up half the night—our goalie had that twitchy, can't-sit-still energy even off the ice, constantly fiddling with something, bouncing his knee, working tape between his fingers.

I didn't room with anyone. I hadn't since earning the C. It wasn't about status—no one gave a shit about that in the minors. It was a necessity. I needed space, silence, and a door that closed on the job when the night was over.

Except now, the silence was worse than whatever noise Mercier and Leo could be making down the hall. My room was quiet and empty.

I turned onto my side. Then my back again. Exhaled through my nose and stared at the ceiling where the paint had bubbled from water damage.

My body ached in all the usual places—bruises from the game, stiffness in my shoulders from the bus ride, and a dull throb radiating from my hip where I'd caught a bad hit against the boards. None of that was keeping me awake.

"Moose Jaw was a fucking disaster."

Leo's words echoed in my head. I'd heard a thousand stories in a thousand locker rooms, guys spinning their pasts into something lighter or tougher than they really were. His story was different.

He hadn't flinched when he told me, and he didn't dress it up or try to make it into some bitter joke. He set it down between us and let it sit.

Now, it sat with me and refused to leave.

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, feeling the scrape of my stubble. My fingers drummed once against my chest, a restless motion, and then stopped. There was no reason for me to be thinking about it this much.

I couldn't forget the shape of Leo's voice when he said it. He'd pressed his thumb against the sweating glass of his beer bottle as if he needed something solid to hold onto.

The memory wouldn't let go. I pushed up onto my elbows and swung my legs off the bed. My socks hit the floor, rough carpet catching at the fabric.

I needed to move.

I pulled on my jacket, tugged on boots, grabbed my phone, and stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind me.

The hallway was stale and thick with stifling artificial heat. The carpet was nearly threadbare, the kind of scratchy industrial weave that had absorbed years of spilled coffee and melted snow, barely held together by cheap cleaning supplies.

Pushing open the door at the far end, I took the stairs without thinking, moving slowly, my fingers dragging along the cold metal handrail. It gave my restless hand something to hold.

It wasn't like I had a plan. I wanted to pace the parking lot and let the wind strip whatever heat I had left in my body. Maybe then, the cold could clear my head.

Before I reached the bottom, the air changed. A sharp gust rose from below, biting at my skin even through my jacket. A door clicked shut.

Someone had just come inside.

I paused mid-step, weight settling onto the ball of my foot. Detecting movement just beyond the last stretch of stairs, I took one more step down, then another. With the shadows crisscrossing in sharp angles across the stairwell, I spotted him.

Leo.

He was wearing his hoodie with dark hair mussed by the wind. The ends tickled his jawline.

He exhaled, his breath still visible. I had a few seconds to turn around and go back to my room, pretending I hadn't seen him.

Before I could make that decision, he raised his head. His eyes met mine, and neither of us moved. I shifted my grip on the railing as my pulse quickened. "You lose something out there?"

Leo blinked once, slowly. "Thought I needed air."

His voice was rougher than usual.

Another step down, and my heel scraped against the stair. "And?"

His mouth twitched at one corner. "Didn't help."

I stopped three steps above him, watching his fingers flex inside his hoodie pocket. Another step down. He watched me, but he didn't speak or break eye contact.

Another step. Leo shifted his weight. I descended one more step until I was level with him. There was nothing left between us but shadows.

My heart pounded. I told myself I was standing still, and it was only a late-night conversation between teammates who couldn't sleep.

That's when I took a step forward on autopilot. Leo didn't back up or make space.

He exhaled. My words seemed to come out of nowhere, plucked from thin air. "Yeah, couldn't sleep either."

The stairwell was too fucking small, and the space between us was nothing at all. Leo's hoodie brushed against my jacket as I stepped closer—or maybe he was the one who moved first. It didn't matter.

Contact.

A sharp crash.

Not soft or careful. Hands on fabric, gripping, dragging, twisting. My back hit the cement wall, and the cold barely registered past the rush of heat flooding my chest. Leo's mouth was on mine, rough, all demand, with no hesitation.

His fingers dug into the front of my jacket, pulling me against him. I shoved back, pushing him against the underside of the stairs, his shoulders knocking against the metal as one hand gripped the waistband of his jeans.

The stairwell groaned under the shift of weight, metal vibrating where I'd backed him against it. The space between the stairs and the wall was barely wide enough for the two of us.

His body was warm as my hand slipped inside the hoodie. His smooth, bare skin radiated heat like a furnace. My grip tightened on his taut abs, muscles locking up even as I tried to tell myself I wasn't holding him there.

Leo's breath was rough and sharp against my jaw. One of his hands found its way to my bare chest. The other gripped my hip.

Neither of us moved for a moment. Not until he made a noise. It wasn't a word. It was a low, frustrated grunt. It broke everything loose.

I kissed him hard as his teeth scraped against my bottom lip, rough and hungry.

Fuck.

There was no patience and no easing into it. It was teeth and tongue and the press of hips knocking into each other.

Leo's hand moved lower. His palm pressed firm against my jeans, the friction sharp and deliberate. He worked me slowly through the fabric like he had all the time in the world, and he wanted to tear me apart inch by inch.

I shuddered. He did, too.

I mirrored his actions, my hand finding the waistband of his jeans. I took my time, tracing the line of his hip, feeling the muscles tighten under my touch. I saw the desperation in his eyes, the raw need that matched my own.

His hand continued to move, the pressure increasing as he rubbed against the denim. The sensation was almost too much; the fabric barrier was both tease and torment.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of his jeans. The contact was electric, his skin hot and smooth under my touch. Leo let out a low groan, his hips pressing forward, seeking more.

He followed suit, his hand pushing past the barrier of my jeans, finding the hard length of me. His touch was firm and desperate, stroking with a rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart.

We were both chasing something, anything to distract from the thoughts that kept us awake. His mouth found mine again, the kiss bruising and deep as if he could pull the air from my lungs and make it his own.

The intensity of our desire spiraled with each stroke and each harsh breath. When the edge drew close, a thought flashed through my mind—if anyone found us here, all hell would break loose. The team, the league, everything we'd worked for could be jeopardized instantly.

As if sensing my hesitation, Leo pulled back abruptly. He pulled his hand back, and he broke the kiss. His eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, and his chest heaved with each breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice a low growl. "Not here. Not like this."

He broke away

It wasn't a shove. He merely cracked open the gap between us as he turned his head and shifted his weight. For a second, neither of us moved.

Then, Leo exhaled once, short and sharp, before running a hand through his hair.

I was still breathing hard. I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to gain some sense of control.

"Yeah. That—"

Leo stuck by his conclusion. "No." He shook his head once. "Don't."

It was over. He stepped out from under the stairs, stretching his arms overhead. He lingered for a second, still not looking at me.

With a slight nod in my direction, he turned and climbed the stairs, disappearing into the motel's hallway. I stayed where I was, heart pounding against my ribs, breath coming in short gasps.

The cement was cold against my back as I let myself slide down onto the steps, elbows resting on my knees, head tilted back against the wall. My mouth still tasted like Leo's. My hands still felt the contours of his dick.

I exhaled deeply. The stairwell was quiet except for the rough drag of my breathing. The motel's heating system rattled somewhere above me, a dull hum that did nothing to cut through the leftover cold clinging to my skin.

Leo was gone. The stairwell door had clicked shut behind him, and the echo settled deep in my chest like an aftershock. My body was still wired, muscles tight.

I dragged my hands over my face. My knuckles stung. I hadn't even realized I'd curled them into fists.

What the fuck had I just done?

I turned my head, pressing my temple to my forearm, my breath slowing, but my pulse still wrecked. The taste of Leo hadn't faded. It was still thick on my tongue—heat, salt, and the sharp recognition we hadn't been ready for what happened.

Now, it was out there. No taking it back. Not now. A spark caught where it shouldn't and turned into a flame before either of us could stop it.

And then Leo left.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling through my nose, willing the adrenaline to settle. My hands twitched where they rested on my thighs. My shoulders ached. Every muscle in my body locked up, wound too tight.

I pushed myself up off the steps. My legs were stiff as I moved, and my breath was uneven as I reached for the stairwell door.

The hallway was empty.

I made it back to my room without seeing a single teammate, but I couldn't lose the sensation of being watched. Inside my room, I let the door click shut behind me and pressed my forehead against it, my eyes squeezing shut.

And that's when the thought rose again— what the fuck am I doing?

The team already had enough eyes on us. I had enough eyes onme. The pressure of the captaincy, the weight of last season's failure still hanging over my head, and my age creeping up like a countdown clock left no room for distractions—no space to be reckless.

And Leo Campbell?

There wasn't a single person in the league who wouldn't callhimreckless. He was the bad boy, the problem child, and the guy you brought in when you were desperate enough to roll the dice on talent with a warning label stamped across his forehead.

Do not trust. Do not invest. Did that apply to his personal life, too?

And now, my hands had been on him. I'dtastedhim. I stared at my reflection in the dark motel window, the city lights outside casting jagged streaks across the glass.

This wasn't merely reckless. It was the kind of shit that stuck and followed you. And if I went down, I'd be dragging him with me. We'd become the captain and the cautionary tale. That's how they'd frame it.

Still, as I stood there, I couldn't tamp down the rush of it. The whole goddamn mess excited me.

I let my head drop, exhaling hard against the door. I needed to sleep and let it go, but I already knew I couldn't.