Page 20

Chapter Twenty

Blake

T he final horn blares and I'm still riding the high of that last goal. My legs burn, sweat drips down my back, but damn if this doesn't feel good.

Two goals, three assists, and Chicago never stood a chance.

The locker room erupts as we pile in. Ryder's got Logan in a headlock, both of them fighting over shower privileges like overgrown kids.

"Get off me, rookie!" Logan shoves him away, but he's grinning. "I laid out three guys tonight. I earned first dibs."

"Yeah? Well my assist was pure silk!" Ryder ducks another grab from Logan.

Someone launches a towel across the room. It smacks Connor in the face, and he retaliates by throwing his gloves. The whole place descends into beautiful chaos – exactly how a winning locker room should feel.

I'm peeling off my jersey when I catch Coach Brody's eye. He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing this satisfied smile. No speech. No critique. Just that look, like he's seeing straight through me.

I raise an eyebrow at him. What's his deal?

A heavy hand claps my bare shoulder, and I turn to find Eli standing there, looking like he just won the damn Stanley Cup himself.

"You're playing like a man possessed, Maddox. Been a while since I've seen you this focused." Eli's eyes crinkle at the corners, like a proud father. "Almost like you've got something – or someone – lighting a fire under you."

He winks at me and I shoot him a look, but can't hold back my grin. "Team's just clicking, man. Everything's... falling into place."

"Uh huh." He crosses his arms, unconvinced. "Nothing to do with that spitfire in marketing who's got you wrapped around her finger?"

"She doesn't have me wrapped around anything."

Sophia looked damn fine tonight.

After I left her at the hotel early this morning, my cock aching from a night spent buried inside her and my tongue damn near worn out from making her come on my face over and over again, she had the cheek to show up in this tight black pencil skirt that hugged every curve.

She paired it with some fancy white top that did things to my concentration during the pre-game talk. Her legs went on forever in those sky-high heels, and the way she leaned over the boards during warm-ups...

"Earth to Blake." Eli waves his hand in front of my face.

I shake my head, trying to clear the image of her red lips forming my name when she wished me luck. That fucking lipstick left a mark on my cheek all game.

That's going viral for sure.

"Dude, you're doing it again," Eli laughs.

"Doing what?"

"That face you make when you're thinking about her."

I grab my towel, hiding my grin.

"I don't make any face," I mutter, but Eli just laughs harder.

"Sure, kid." Eli chuckles. "Keep telling yourself that. But whatever's got you playing like this – don't fight it."

I shake my head, but warmth spreads through my chest. He's right. We're unstoppable right now.

"So what's your excuse for looking like you just won the lottery?"

His grin widens, eyes twinkling with something that sets off warning bells. "Let's just say... someone made me a favor I couldn't refuse."

Before I can dig deeper, ready to ask him if he's the reason Sophia's been acting all… suspicious… a beer appears in front of my face.

"Captain, you're buying next round. That last goal was filthy." Connor clinks his bottle against mine, dark eyes dancing with amusement. "Man, if I knew a hot marketing exec was the secret to your level of play, I would've been slipping my number to the PR team years ago."

Logan smirks. "Yeah, man. Sophia's running circles around you, Maddox. Face it - she's already got you whipped."

"I’m not whipped," I deadpan, glaring at the assholes.

Ryder coughs. " Lipstick mark ."

Connor nods and laughs so hard he spills some of his beer. "It's still there!"

I grab my towel and chuck it at his head. "Shut the fuck up."

Not that I'd admit it to these pricks, but tonight did feel different - sharper, more focused. Every pass connected, every shot found its mark.

And having Sophia watching from the box... it did something to me. Made me want to show off a little.

Not that I'd admit that to the boys in the locker room.

"I'm just doing my damn job," I shrug.

"Hey, whatever works, Captain. Keep it up and we might actually have a shot at the cup this year."

For once, I let myself enjoy the moment.

All of it. The win. The team. The banter.

And best of all, Sophia.

***

I push open the hotel room door, still riding high from our win against Chicago. I'm a few beers deep, and my muscles ache in that satisfying way that only comes after dominating on the ice.

All I've been able to think about, though, is getting my hands on Sophia again.

The door swings wide and I freeze.

Balloons. Hundreds of them. Gray and green streamers draped across the ceiling from one end to the fucking other.

And there, on the marble table in the center of the room, sits a small chocolate cake with a single candle, unlit.

My eyes catch on a handwritten card propped against what looks like a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. The kind Eli keeps behind the bar for special occasions.

And there in the middle of it all stands Sophia, wearing this sexy silky gown and a soft smile I've never seen before. It does something to my heart, makes it tight in a way that has never happened to me before.

"Happy birthday, Captain."

I blink hard, trying to process what I'm seeing. How did she...?

"You didn't think I'd let this go unnoticed, did you?" She takes a step closer, that smile turning playful at the edges.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. "B-But… How… Nobody knows my real birthday."

"I don't think you keep your secrets hidden well enough, mister." Her sparkly hazel eyes dance with mischief.

My eyes narrow as realization hits. "Eli."

She nods, grinning wide now. "Eli."

My eyes keep darting between the cake, the whiskey, the decorations. The fucking balloons. Why are there so many damn balloons?

No one's ever done this for me before.

The pieces click into place - her suspicious behavior, those whispered conversations with Eli before the game, the weird looks they kept exchanging in the visitors box.

That 'favor' Eli mentioned in the locker room.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my post-game high evaporating. My fingers thread through my hair as the weight of this moment settles over me.

The decorations, the cake, the whiskey - it's all too much.

"I don't celebrate my birthday," I mutter, staring at the floor.

Sophia lowers herself next to me. "I figured that much out already. Why?"

A humorless laugh escapes my throat. I try to shake it off, but Sophia just looks at me like she's not going to let me get away without telling her.

"Because the last birthday I celebrated... was the day before my dad walked out on us."

Sophia goes still beside me. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push, just watches me.

"I was ten," I continue, unable to look at her. "One day, he was there… laughing, watching my hockey games, calling me his ' champ '. Then the next, he was just... gone."

The old wound throbs, even after all these years.

"He didn’t even say goodbye," I choke out, the words thick in my throat. "No warning. No fight with Mom, no slow unraveling. Just an empty chair at the dinner table and a closet missing half its clothes."

I force a laugh as I shake my head, recalling endless night of mom crying in her bedroom.

"I remember thinking, maybe he was coming back. Maybe there was an explanation. A reason. That whole night, I sat by the window, waiting for his truck to pull back into the driveway."

I exhale hard, my jaw clenching. "But it never did."

"I stopped counting birthdays after that," I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. "What was the point? The last one I had was the day before he left. Cake, candles, a brand-new stick he swore was going to make me the next Gretzky."

My throat tightens.

" That was the memory he left me with. The last day I felt like I had a dad."

I swallow, staring at the floor.

"A week later, we got a bill in the mail. Maxed-out credit card, under my mom’s name. She hadn’t known. Had no clue he’d drained everything we had before disappearing. She was barely holding it together as it was, trying to keep a roof over our heads, and I—" I shake my head. "I took the stick and sold it. I just... stopped caring about birthdays after that. Stopped remembering."

"Blake, I'm so sorry," Sophia says, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "I didn't know. Eli, he just-"

I force myself to meet her eyes. "You know what he did? You know Eli did that night?"

The memory flashes before my eyes. I can remember it exactly.

Sitting there in the cold of Iron Ridge's harshest winter, my too-big jersey swallowing me up, shivering and listening to the silence of the ice like it could tell me what the fuck I did wrong.

Sophia’s quiet, watching me, waiting.

"What did he do?" she finally asks, holding me.

"He threw a jersey at me. Told me to get up. Told me the Icehawks needed me." Another bitter laugh escapes and I shake my head. "The jersey was too big. I didn't care. The biggest name in Icehawks history was standing there and telling me to pick myself up. So I put it on."

"That's when the youth program started, wasn't it?" Sophia asks softly.

I nod, my fingers flexing against the bedspread. "Not officially. But yeah. That was the moment it all started. That was also the moment I knew I wanted to be that guy for someone else when I grew up. That I was going to be like Eli, not like my father."

"Blake..." Sophia's hand covers mine.

"And Sophia, that's why I hate the media." I look into her eyes, watching the tear slide down her cheek, wishing I had the strength right now to lift my hand and wipe it away. "I'm sorry. I should have been more up front with you."

"Blake, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. "

"I don't want their pity. The press, the journalists. I don't want them turning me into some sob story."

"If I knew... I never would've pushed you into that interview."

I shake my head. "I'd do it all again."

"What?"

I squeeze her hand. "Because you did it for the right reasons, Sophia. You didn't throw me to the media. You made me the shield. You put the attention on me, so they'd leave the kids alone. And, sweetheart..." My voice softens. "That means more than any birthday present I've ever gotten."

And in that second, I know she gets it.

Why I fight for the program.

Why I protect it from the board, the media, anyone who doesn’t understand what it means.

Why I almost lost her over it.

Sophia's hand is warm against mine, her thumb gently moving over my skin. I don’t know how to handle this. Any of it.

The birthday surprise. The way she looks at me. Like I’m someone worth celebrating.

I should say something, should find the words to tell her what this means to me. Maybe if I did that with my father he wouldn't have left.

But I can’t.

My throat feels tight, my chest too full of emotions I don’t know how to process.

Then, gently, she lifts a hand to my face, her fingers grazing my jaw as she tilts my chin toward her. My breath stills as her lips press to mine.

Soft, slow, not pushing for more, just being right here .

I surrender to her kiss, drinking in the warmth she's offering like a man dying of thirst. My hands itch to pull her closer, to claim more, but I'm frozen. Caught between wanting everything and having no fucking clue what to do with any of it.

Then my girl pulls back, her lips curve into that familiar smile. “Well, Blake Maddox, you’re a tough nut to crack, but I think I finally got you to admit I’m your favorite person now.”

A laugh escapes as I shake my head. "Jesus Christ."

"Admit it."

"Cocky as ever, aren't you?"

She grins. “Wouldn’t want you to get used to me being soft, Captain.”

Her fingers skim down my chest, trailing over the muscles still tense from tonight’s game. Fuck, that feels like forever ago now.

My pulse kicks up as she traces the ridges of my abs, her touch featherlight but focused, like she’s already got something planned.

I arch a brow. “So what is all this anyway? Are there any balloons left in Chicago?”

Sophia hums, tilting her head to look at the set up around the hotel room. “Oh, you know… just some gifts for my favorite person.”

"Oh really?"

She nods and stands abruptly, cutting me off with a flick of her hair and a shake of her hips.

"You know, I'm very proud of you right now."

My brow furrows. “Uh—”

She turns away, pouring herself a glass of whiskey like we weren’t just in the middle of a moment. She takes a slow, deliberate sip, leaving lipstick on the rim of the glass instead of my damn cheek this time.

Then she reaches for a small remote on the nightstand by the bed and clicks a button.

The lights dim.

Soft music hums through the suite’s speakers.

She walks around the bed with a teasing smile lazily tossed over her shoulder.

“Lucky for you, mister, you’re not the only one who planned ahead.”

My brain is still spinning from everything that’s happened tonight - the game, the birthday surprise - but now, now my focus narrows to one thing and one thing only.

Her.

Slowly, deliberately, she reaches for the tie of the silky robe draped over her body. I've been so distracted I haven't even noticed that it's Icehawks-blue satin. It matches the damn balloons.

Her fingers work the knot loose. The fabric parts.

The robe slides off her shoulders, a whisper of silk gliding down her arms. She lets it linger at her elbows for a second, just enough for me to get impatient before pooling at her feet.

And underneath…

She’s wearing dark green lace . Icehawks green lace.

"Fuck, Sophia…"

Barely-there, delicate strips of fabric tease at curves I already know too fucking well after last night. A sheer bra that hugs her breasts, cut just low enough to test my goddamn sanity. Tiny lace panties, thin straps resting high on her hips, leaving nothing to my imagination.

She walks toward me, her hips swaying. "Well, Captain… do you like your gift?"

“Oh, I love my gift, sweetheart.”

Her smile grows, satisfied. “Then why are you just sitting there?”

Christ. Fuck that.

My hands grip her waist, pulling her flush against me as I crush my mouth to hers. She gasps, but it turns into a moan as I devour her, kissing her deep and slow and thorough.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me groan against her lips. My hands slide down, gripping her ass, lifting her off the ground as her legs wrap around my waist and I toss her to the bed.

I unwrap my gift, piece by piece, savoring the way she comes apart for me.

As we give in to each other again, she looks up at me, eyes heavy, lips swollen from my hard mouth.

And I say it.

The words that have been sitting on the edge of my tongue, waiting for the right moment ever since I met her.

I brush a thumb over her cheek, holding her close as I murmur, “I love you, Sophia.”

Her breath catches.

Then, she smiles.

"I love you too, Blake."

And just like that, my entire universe shifts.

Because now, there's no going back.

I'm hers.

And I don't even want to fight it anymore.