Page 31 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

Shock ripples through the room like a stone dropped in still water.

Brea stumbles back a step, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Ridley actually blinks like his brain needs to reboot, mouth opening and closing without sound.

Alexis mutters "Of course," under her breath like she's piecing together a mystery she should have solved sooner, while Tor just whistles low, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise.

The next few hours are a blur, questions, disbelief, congratulations.

Sebastian holds Derrick's hand like a lifeline and answers with more grace than I thought possible.

He explains how he's been painting since childhood, how he created the pseudonym to keep his art separate from his hockey career.

Christian, his sharp-dressed agent, is there too, fending off reporters and offering champagne like the whole night isn't exploding around us.

He moves through the crowd with practiced ease, steering conversations away from the more personal aspects of Sebastian's revelation.

Eventually, the crowd thins as people move to different parts of the gallery, giving us a moment to breathe. Lia and I slip out the side door into the cool night air, both needing a break from the intensity inside.

"Holy shit," she breathes, hugging herself against the breeze that sends her dress fluttering around her knees.

"That was a lot," I say, pulling my blazer tighter, watching how the streetlights catch in her hair.

She nods, her eyes wide behind her glasses, still processing. "I can't believe he never told anyone. Like. . .Bast is a literal billionaire and still shows up to practice in that ugly ass old Vipers hoodie with the hole in the elbow."

"It's Bast, though. My boy doesn't care about all that flash, never has. But the news is still a shock." I laugh, and the sound surprises us both. It feels good to release some of the tension we've been carrying all night.

We're standing on the sidewalk, alone, not a person in sight, the moon overhead casting silver light across her features, the city humming around us.

The tension's been building all night, tight, suffocating.

The secrecy, the desire, the need to touch her the way I've wanted to.

Knowing that I can do that now that there's no prying eyes, no teammates watching, no expectations to manage.

"Dev. . ." she whispers, my name is a question and an answer all at once.

I step into her space, hand cupping her jaw, feeling her warmth radiating against my palm. The softness of her skin sends electricity through my fingertips. "I've been holding back all night," I say, my voice rough with want, scraped raw from hours of restraint. "I'm done pretending."

She doesn't stop me. God, she doesn't stop me.

Her mouth is soft and warm against mine, yielding yet demanding, her fingers clutching my shirt with surprising strength, bunching the fabric like she's afraid I'll disappear if she loosens her grip.

It's not soft. It's not sweet. It's hungry.

Desperate. Real. The taste of her, wine, desire and Lia, floods my senses.

Her lipstick smears across both our mouths, but I couldn't care less about the evidence we're leaving behind.

I devour her mouth without a care in the world, walking her backward until she's pressed against the brick wall of the side of the gallery, the rough texture contrasting with her softness.

Her body yields under mine, chest brushing my sternum, her hips pinned firmly between mine, as I deepen the kiss.

Her lips on mine, without any rules or stipulations or watchful eyes, it's just us.

As it always should have been. Her hands slide up to my neck, fingers threading through my hair, nails scraping my scalp and pulling me closer as she makes that little sound in the back of her throat, half moan, half whimper, that shoots straight through me and settles low in my gut, igniting a fire I've kept leashed for far too long.

By the time we reach home, cheeks flushed and clothes slightly disheveled, Tobias is stretched on the couch, shirt rumpled, a sleepy Chloe sprawled on his chest. The soft glow of a single lamp illuminates them, creating a picture of domestic peace that makes my heart clench.

He turns his gaze in our direction, eyeing us both, taking in the sight of the both of us with desire and lust pouring off in waves. His eyes linger on Lia's smudged lipstick, my loosened tie.

"Well," he says, eyes sparkling with amusement, "judging by the hair and the lipstick on your collar, I'm guessing the art was moving."

I toss my keys on the counter and grin, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "It was moving alright. Sebastian is B. Ardent."

Tobias chokes, sitting up gently and adjusting Chloe in his arms like she's the precious treasure that she is. "What?" his voice is incredulous, eyes wide.

"Yup," Lia says, slipping her heels off with a sigh of relief, wiggling her toes against the hardwood floor. "Turns out our favorite goalie's been moonlighting as a secret billionaire painter. The whole gallery was filled with paintings of Derrick. It was. . .intense."

"Well, damn. I guess we don't have to worry about being headline news anymore, Dev." He smiles, then stands, placing Chloe in her bassinet by the couch with such tender care you would think she was his.

He stares between us once she's settled, his expression shifting to something more heated. "So. . .are you guys. . .?"

I don't answer with words, instead I close the distance between us, capturing his lips with mine.

Tobias sighs into the kiss as Lia presses into his other side, her hand finding the small of his back.

Breaking our kiss, he leans down and kisses her in return, his fingers threading through her dark waves.

The three of us move as one, unspoken understanding passing between us. I scoop Chloe into my arms, cradling her sleeping form against my chest. Tobias picks Lia up bridal style, despite her protests and hushed giggles.

"Let's put our girls to bed," I say as we make our way through the house, Chloe's warm weight against me grounding everything I feel.

No more pretending.

No more waiting.

Tonight, we move forward together. This will work between us, all the puzzle pieces have finally fallen into place after months of tension, stolen glances, and unspoken desires.

We just have to arrange them in a way that fits all three of us, Lia with her fierce independence, Tobias with his quiet intensity, and me with my heart that's somehow big enough to love them both completely.

I watch Tobias carry Lia down the hallway, her head nestled against his shoulder, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. The sight doesn't spark jealousy like I once feared it might, instead, it feels right, like the final piece clicking into a picture I've been trying to complete.

Chloe stirs against my chest, her tiny hand curling around my finger even in sleep. I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, inhaling that perfect baby scent that still makes my chest ache with love every single time.

Fuck conventional relationships and what people might think.

The world of professional sports isn't exactly known for embracing the unconventional, but I've never been one to play by anyone else's rulebook off the ice.

What matters is what works for us, what makes us happy, what gives Chloe the most love possible.

I believe we can do it, build something beautiful and lasting between the three of us.

Something real. Something that honors how I've always felt about Lia, the renewed connection with Tobias, and this newfound balance that somehow makes perfect sense.

The road ahead won't be simple, but nothing worth having ever is.