Page 21 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

SIXTEEN

DEVAN

Now

T he Dallas hotel is quiet as I make my way towards Tobias's room.

There's no sounds of televisions, laughter or late-night room service carts clattering past. Just this low, humming silence that somehow makes the weight in my chest heavier.

The carpet muffles my footsteps, each one bringing me closer to a conversation I desperately need to have.

My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape, knowing what's coming.

I'd been staring at my phone for the past hour. My last text exchange with Lia three nights ago still burned into the screen. Her words glowed back at me, both challenge and permission wrapped into one.

Talk to him, Dev. Not with your fists this time.

I promised her I would. I said I will make things right with him and I meant it.

For her, Chloe and for the ghost of the kid I used to be when Tobias meant everything.

When his smile was the first thing I looked for every morning, when his approval mattered more than anyone else's.

Before I threw it all away for what I thought was the safer choice.

I got up, shoved on a hoodie over my Vipers tee, and stepped out into the hall, ready to face whatever Tobias would throw at me.

Ultimately, I'm the one who needs to grovel on my knees if I have to.

I'll do whatever it takes. I'm tired of keeping him at arm’s length.

Yes, the kiss he shared briefly with Lia shook me, but after our talk the other night.

The possibility of us feels right. Not just right, inevitable, like the final chapter of a book I've been reading for too long.

Tobias’s room is a few doors down from my own.

Yeah, I may have passed it twice, maybe three times since we arrived.

Actually, who am I kidding? I've been pacing this hallway like a nervous father in a delivery room, gathering courage with each lap.

I'm surprised they put us on the same floor considering how much of a spectacle we made on the ice in LA.

The team management probably thought the proximity would force us to deal with our issues.

Blowing out a breath, I push down my nerves, raise my fist, hesitate, then knock.

The sound feeling too loud in the empty hallway.

Nothing happens. There's silence on the other side of the door.

Did I miscalculate? Did he go out and I missed him?

I check my watch, it's past midnight. Maybe he's asleep.

Or worse, maybe he saw me through the peephole and is choosing to ignore me.

I step back, about to chicken out. I go to turn around, just as the door flies open.

The sound startles me, making me jump like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't.

"Geez, Phantom. I didn't think you were in," I say, clutching my chest, trying to play off my nerves with humor, as usual.

Tobias stands there in sweatpants and no shirt, bruises still fresh across his jaw.

The bruises I put there. One under his eye is yellowing at the edges, angry and ugly.

A physical echo of what I've done. The sight makes me sick to my stomach.

I can't believe I hurt him. I mean, I wear my own bruises but I would never hurt someone I love?—

The thought stops me cold. Love. It's been years, and still, that word applies.

His eyes narrow when he sees me, suspicion and wariness clouding those hazel depths I once knew so well. "What do you want?" His voice is rough, like he might have been sleeping after all.

I swallow the instinct to crack a joke or offer some dumb apology. This moment deserves more than my deflections. "I want to talk." Simple. Direct. Honest.

"Pretty sure the last time we talked, I ended up eating the ice.

" He frowns, crossing his arms across his broad, muscular chest. The movement highlights every defined muscle, every plane of his body that's both familiar and new to me.

He's filled out since college, harder now, more defined.

Still beautiful in a way that makes my throat tight.

"I deserved to get hit back," I say in a rush, the words tumbling out before I can overthink them. "I deserved worse, actually."

He leans against the doorframe. Defensive. Closed off. His posture screams caution, like he's bracing for another blow. "You came all this way to say that?"

"No," I say, meeting his gaze directly. "I came because we need to figure this out.

For Lia and for Chloe. It's obvious she cares for you.

It's also obvious that you care about my daughter.

" I watch his face carefully, see the way his expression softens at the mention of Chloe, my beautiful little girl who seems to have wrapped him around her finger just as thoroughly as she has me.

His eyes widen and I know I have him. His shoulders drop just a little. His jaw tightens like he's trying not to feel it, but he does. Of course, he does. I remember that look, the one that says he's fighting against himself, against what he wants to believe.

After a moment, he steps aside. "Come in." It's not warm, but it's an opening, and I'll take it.

The room is dim, lit only by a bedside lamp and the flicker of muted highlights replaying on the TV.

Of course, they're playing our fight for the thousandth time.

I look away, refusing to watch my screw up again.

The sportscasters are probably having a field day with it, analyzing every punch, every word that might have been caught on camera.

I wonder what they'd say if they knew the real story.

Tobias sits on the edge of the bed, not looking at me. The mattress dips under his weight, and he runs a hand through his short, wavy hair. "I let you in. So, talk."

I rub the back of my neck, not sure where to begin. There's so much to say, years of regret and longing packed into this moment. I finally decide to throw myself on my proverbial sword. "I fucked up. Again. And I know that doesn't cover it, but it's where I have to start."

He scoffs, shooting a glance at me before looking away again. The sound is bitter, weighted with history. "You think this is about the fight?"

"No," I say quickly, taking a tentative step closer. "I think it's about all of it. Everything I did then. Everything I didn't say. Everything I ran from. Every text I didn't answer, every call I ignored, every time I saw your name and pretended my heart didn't skip a beat."

My words must hit the mark, because he looks up and gives me his full attention. His eyes lock with mine, and there's a flicker of something, maybe hope, maybe just surprise that I'm finally acknowledging the depth of what happened between us.

"When I saw you kiss her," I continue, voice lower now, "it was like the past and the future slammed into each other.

You. Her. Chloe. All of it. I panicked internally.

Because I'm used to screwing up the things that matter most to me.

Seeing you with her made me feel like I was losing both of you, before I ever got a chance to make it right.

" The confession leaves me feeling raw, exposed in a way I haven't allowed myself to be in years.

He sighs, long and weary and runs his hand down his tired face. I notice the calluses on his palms, the strength in his fingers. Hands that once knew every inch of me. "You already lost me, Devan. You left." The simplicity of it cuts deeper than any elaborate accusation could.

"I know." I sit down next to him, elbows on my knees, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching.

Not yet. "I've never stopped regretting it.

That mistake has never been far from my mind.

I thought if I chose hockey, if I made something of myself, it would all make sense.

It didn't. Nothing felt right. Not without you.

I just didn't know how to say any of it after years of being a coward.

" The admission hangs between us, heavy with truth.

He doesn't say anything. Just sits there, breathing, existing in this moment with me. The silence stretches, but it's not empty. It's full of everything we've never said.

"You said something back in my penthouse months ago," I add, breaking the quiet. "You said that this was about me never choosing you."

Tobias tilts his head in my direction, and damn if the sorrow I see there doesn't wreck me. It's like looking at a reflection of my own pain, magnified and refined by years of carrying it alone.

"I'm tired of feeling like your almost," he says quietly, each word measured and precise. "Almost boyfriend. Almost future. Almost enough. Do you know what that does to a person, Devan? To always be the second choice? The secret? The thing you were ashamed of?"

"You were never ‘almost’. I was never ashamed of you.

" My voice cracks, emotion threatening to overwhelm me.

"You were it. I just didn't know how to be that guy for you back then.

I was scared. Your dad, my image, the draft.

. .I let all of it control me. I let it make me small.

" I remember the terror I felt, the pressure from all sides, the belief that I had to choose between love and career. How young and stupid I was.

Tobias's jaw ticks, and I know he's thinking about his father, too.

The man was a storm cloud hovering over every part of us, over Tobias's life, over the choices we made, and the ones I ran from.

He always had this. . .venom. The kind that pretended to be subtle but never was.

The kind that looked at me and saw everything wrong with the world, even though his own damn wife, Tobias's mother, was mixed-race.

That only made it worse somehow. Like he'd tolerated her, loved her in some warped, selective way, and resented Tobias for the pieces of her he carried.

Her warmth. Her softness. The melanin he couldn't bleach out of his only child.