Page 33

Chapter thirty-three

Nina

T he celebration roars down the hallway, but here in my office, it’s just me—the scratch of my pen, the buzz of the lights, the hammer of my heartbeat refusing to slow.

I should still be out there, soaking in the biggest win of the season. Instead, I'm anchored to this desk, trying to finish my notes with shaking hands.

I told myself I needed a minute to breathe. It’s been half an hour.

The walls feel closer. The reports and performance plans blur together. Pride battles fear. Joy tangles with uncertainty.

They did it. We did it. And I’m still standing on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

The doorknob rattles.

I glance up, heart stopping in my chest.

Alex.

He’s still half in his gear with shoulder pads loosened, hair damp with sweat, and cheeks flushed from adrenaline and effort. His eyes find mine immediately, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then he steps inside and closes the door quietly behind him.

My throat tightens.

"Couldn’t leave without seeing you," he says, voice rough and low, still catching his breath.

I rise from my chair, slow and uncertain, my hands pressing flat against the desk like I need the grounding.

"You should be celebrating," I say, forcing a small smile.

"I am."

He crosses the room in three long strides, stopping just short of touching me.

The air shifts. Thickens.

He leans in slightly, enough that I can feel the energy vibrating off of him—wild, electric, barely contained.

"I need you here," he says, fierce and raw. No hesitation. No fear. "Not just because of hockey. Not because of what you do for the team. Because you’re… you’re part of this. Part of us."

The breath catches in my lungs.

I blink up at him, my vision blurring with sudden emotion.

God, he’s standing here sweaty, exhausted, still bleeding adrenaline. And he's looking at me like I’m the only thing he sees.

"Alex…"

He shakes his head. "You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know."

I step closer until our shoes are almost touching. My voice is barely above a whisper.

"I’m staying."

The words fall out like a breath I’ve been holding for too long.

His eyes close for a second, like he’s taking the words into his bloodstream, letting them fill all the broken places inside him.

When he opens them again, the look he gives me wrecks whatever defenses I had left.

He cups my face with both hands, still rough from his gloves, and crushes his mouth to mine.

The kiss is desperate and messy and perfect. It’s everything we’ve been holding back finally breaking free. It’s every fear, every hope, every second we almost lost each other pouring out between us.

I cling to him, fingers fisting in the loose fabric of his jersey. He tastes like salt and sweat and triumph, and I never want to forget it.

When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, he presses his forehead against mine.

"You sure?" he whispers.

I nod, smiling even as tears sting my eyes. "Yeah. I’m sure."

He pulls me in again, gentler this time, arms wrapping around me like he’s anchoring himself.

For a long moment, we just stay there, tangled up in each other, the chaos of the outside world falling away.

The team, the Cup, and the future can all wait.

Right now, it’s just us.

Just this.

And it’s everything.

***

I wake to the sound of Alex’s steady breathing beside me and sunlight peeking through the blinds. For a second, I just lie there, curled against the sheets that still smell like him and last night. Like heat and skin and sex.

It’s been a week since I told him I was staying, and waking up in his bed, in his space, feels natural. Dangerous, maybe, but right.

I shift, slowly, deliberately, and press a kiss just beneath his jaw. He stirs, eyes still closed, lips quirking like he’s dreaming something good.

“You awake?” I whisper.

“No,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “But if this is a dream, don’t stop.”

I trail my fingers down his chest. I've memorized every inch I want to kiss again. “What if I want you to wake up and earn it?”

His hand shoots out, catching my wrist, and just like that, I’m under him, his body heavy and warm and fully awake now. “Then I guess I better deliver.”

And he does.

It’s slower this time. Deep. Intentional. Every kiss feels like a vow. Every breath shared is like we’re writing something permanent into the space between us.

His mouth drags over my neck, his tongue drawing invisible promises across my skin. He pauses, lifting his head just slightly, eyes dark and gleaming.

"I'm going to unbutton this with my teeth," he says, voice rich with heat and mischief. "And you're going to sit there and enjoy every second of it."

I bite my bottom lip, already trembling with anticipation.

He leans in again, and with slow, precise motions, he works each button open of my pajama top using only his mouth—his tongue dampening the silk, his teeth catching the edge, tugging. It's maddening and erotic and achingly intimate. My panties get wetter with each pop of fabric.

"Sexiest damn shirt I’ve ever seen," he murmurs against my skin. "And it’s coming off."

I slide my fingers into his hair and smile wickedly. "Good. Because I’m ready for your mouth everywhere, Alex."

"You’re so damn beautiful when you’re like this. All mine."

The last button of my pajama top pops free under his teeth, and the silk falls open like a whisper. His gaze drops to my breasts, and he inhales like the sight knocks the breath out of him.

"Perfect," he murmurs, before lowering his head and closing his mouth around one nipple. His tongue circles slowly, deliberately, drawing it into a tight peak. I cry out, arching again as pleasure spikes through me.

He shifts to the other breast, nipping gently, then soothing with warm, open-mouthed kisses that leave me trembling. My fingers tangle deeper in his hair as I gasp his name.

"You like that?" he murmurs, breath hot against my skin.

"Yes... Alex, yes."

I arch beneath him, gasping as he trails one hand down my side, his fingers skating over my hip, gripping just hard enough to make me feel claimed.

“I want you to feel everything,” he murmurs. “No rush. No noise. Just us.”

I nod, too breathless to speak, and he kisses his way lower—teasing, tasting, lingering between my thighs until I’m trembling beneath him, and begging for more.

“Alex…"

He takes his time, building tension with every slip of his tongue, every press of his fingers. Then his hand drifts higher, sliding between my thighs. He groans when he feels the wetness soaking through my panties.

"Fuck, you're already drenched for me," he murmurs, voice low and reverent.

I gasp when he hooks his fingers under the waistband and slides them down slowly, deliberately. He yanks them off and tosses them over his shoulder like they’re nothing, and then grins like a devil.

"That’s better."

He spreads my legs and slides one finger inside me. I moan, back arching. He curls it just right, watching my face with dark, greedy eyes.

"So hot, so tight. This," he pumps again, "is going to undo me."

He adds a second finger, working them in slow, deep strokes that make me tremble. My fingers dig into his shoulders as I pant, losing all sense of time.

“Alex… please…”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

He keeps going, building me up until I’m writhing, right on the edge. And then he replaces his fingers with the thick, hard length of him, sliding into me slow and deep, a stretch that feels like heaven and heat…and home.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, anchoring him to me.

“You feel like forever,” I breathe.

His mouth captures mine, hungry now. “Then hold on.”

We move together in a rhythm that feels ancient and holy—our breaths syncing, hearts pounding, hands roaming like we’re mapping constellations on each other’s skin.

I come first, shattering beneath him, moaning his name like a secret I finally get to say out loud. He follows, burying his face in my neck, groaning low and primal as he loses himself in me.

We stay tangled, flushed and breathless, long after the final wave crashes.

“I’m pretty sure that counts as a championship warm-up,” I tease.

He rolls onto his back, arm slung behind his head, smug as ever. “There's more where that came from.”

I glance back over my shoulder with a smirk. “I'm not even sure I can walk straight, Alex. I don’t know how much more I can handle.”

Then I pause and grin wider. “At least not without food.”

“Oh, I’m making breakfast,” he calls after me. “You’ve never seen someone chef up a spinach protein scramble with this much pride.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, he’s at the stove, shirtless, flipping eggs like he’s auditioning for a Food Network competition. I sit on the counter, watching him.

“So this is your routine?” I ask.

He shrugs. “More or less. Gym, practice, torture my teammates, eat green things, avoid feelings.”

I smile. “Guess I’m messing up the last part.”

He walks over and stands between my knees. “You’re rewriting it.”

There’s a long pause. Not heavy. Just full.

“I keep thinking about where I started when I got here,” I say softly. “Alone. Unknown. Guarded. And now?”

“You’re the heartbeat of the team,” he says. “And mine.”

I blink quickly, then kiss him before he can say anything else.

Because if I speak, I might cry.

After breakfast, we settle on the couch with our coffees. I lean into him like he's my favorite pillow.

"You know," I say quietly, "I almost didn’t stay. The job offer was everything I thought I wanted. Safe. Prestigious. A straight shot to a bigger name and everything I thought I was striving for."

Alex brushes his thumb over my shoulder. "So what changed?"

"You. The team. This feeling like I belong to something tangible, not just some league memo." I pause. "But it scared me to choose uncertainty. To choose feelings. You could walk away. The team could change. But I stayed. Because this…," I press my palm to his chest, "this is worth the risk."

He’s silent for a second, takes a sip of his coffee, then says, "I’m scared too, Nina. Not of what we are, but how much I want it. I’ve never had this feeling, not with anyone. And now I don’t want to imagine anything without you."

I lift my head, searching his face. He’s not grinning. He’s raw, vulnerable, steady.

"You’re my person," he says quietly. "You’ve been that since the day you walked into the locker room and put James in his place."

Tears blur my vision, but I laugh through them. "Yeah? Well, you’ve been mine since you kept trying to read me and failed miserably."

We kiss again, softer this time, and very confirming.

***

In the afternoon, I head to the facility. It’s quiet, just me and a few players who asked for a private mental reset before the final push.

First is Connor. We sit on the edge of the therapy room floor, legs stretched out, tossing a tennis ball back and forth as we talk visualization. He opens up about pre-game nerves, about the weight of fan expectations.

"It’s not fear," he says. "It’s just… noise. I need to find the quiet."

"Then that’s your cue," I tell him. "Your phrase. When the noise comes in, you remind yourself: I choose focus. I choose fire."

He repeats it. Says it again. Nods. I see it land. Tossing the ball solidifies the mantra.

Next is Mikey, who comes in joking but gets serious fast.

"I pretend I don’t care what people think," he admits. "But I do. Too much. I’m scared to screw it up."

"So name it," I tell him. "Say the fear out loud, then beat it with a stronger truth."

He nods. Breathes. "I’m scared I’ll blow it."

"And what’s the truth?"

He grins faintly. "That I’ve trained for this. That I’m ready."

"Yes! And what’s your refocus move if you feel yourself slipping mid-game?"

He hesitates, then shrugs. "I don’t know. Breathe and… try not to panic?"

I smile gently and grab a whiteboard marker, jotting down a quick diagram. "Try this. Finger tap. Thigh, shoulder, shoulder, exhale. You don’t have to reset the world. Just reset your nervous system."

He watches, then mirrors the movement. "Like a pattern interrupt."

"Exactly. Physical cue for mental clarity."

He nods again, more serious now. "Thanks, Doc, really."

"Go crush it, Mikey."

He leaves, this time not just taller, but anchored.

I sit there after they’re gone, looking around the quiet space. My space. My team. My purpose.

We’re not promised happy endings. But we are promised chances.

And I’m taking mine.

***

Just before bed, I send Alex a text.

Let’s win it all.

About thirty seconds later he replies.

Together.