Page 16

DECLAN

“ L ast stop, San Francisco,” Luc announces as our bus pulls up to the hotel.

I yawn and grab my duffel, sneaking glances at Victoria a few rows ahead. Even exhausted after our win against the Bombers, just seeing her makes my chest tighten with something I’m still getting used to feeling.

Throughout the trip, she’s maintained perfect professional distance in public—just another staff member to anyone watching from outside our team circle. We’ve been careful not to draw attention from media or fans.

Coach Belanger stands at the front of the bus. “Team breakfast at eight, optional skate at ten. Game day routines, gentlemen. Three down, one to go.”

We file into the upscale hotel, Victoria hanging back with other staff as we collect room keys. Three games into our road trip, and not a single eyebrow has been raised about her presence beyond our circle—even the most eagle-eyed reporters haven’t given her a second glance.

“Third floor for staff, fifth for players,” the coordinator announces.

“I’ll catch the next one,” I tell Emile as the first elevator fills. “Knee’s a bit stiff after that hit in the third.”

He nods, giving me a knowing wink. “Sure it is. Ice it before bed, lover boy.”

I hang back until Victoria and the last group of staff board the next elevator. “Room for one more?” I slide in beside her, close enough to catch that vanilla scent that drives me crazy.

“Wondered when you’d appear,” she whispers, smiling up at me.

“Rough game tonight, huh, Declan?” Calvin asks with a cheeky grin. “You’ll probably need to work on your recovery. Lucky you’re rooming with the ballet coach.”

“You’re one to talk,” I shoot back. “You’re with the head of sports medicine. Be sure to protect your back, old man.”

“Very funny,” Olivia says, though she smiles. “But unlike you two, we’ve already announced our engagement. It’s expected we share a room.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “So that’s how it works? Just slap a ring on it and management looks the other way?” I turn to Victoria. “Ready to get engaged to me yet?”

Victoria’s eyes widen and she playfully swats my arm. “Declan O’Reilly, don’t you dare joke about that in an elevator full of people.”

I laugh and slide my arm around her waist, pulling her closer as the elevator ascends. “Who says I’m joking?”

The elevator falls silent as everyone watches us, their expressions ranging from amusement to genuine curiosity. Calvin and Olivia exchange knowing looks, while Coach’s eyebrows shoot up with interest.

“Declan.” She’s still smiling, but there’s a note of warning in her tone.

“What?” I ask innocently, enjoying the way Victoria’s blush keeps deepening. “Just thinking about efficiency. Team management approves of engaged couples sharing rooms. Very practical.”

Victoria recovers enough to roll her eyes, though her smile betrays her. “Yes, because practicality is definitely your primary motivation.”

“Among other considerations,” I admit, my voice dropping lower as I step closer, ignoring our audience.

The elevator dings, stopping at the third floor. “This is us,” Olivia announces, pulling Calvin with her while the others follow.

“See you all at breakfast,” Calvin calls as the doors begin to close. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

When the doors shut, leaving Victoria and me alone with the last of the players. She looks up at me. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“I do. And you love it,” I say, kissing her cheek.

“Debatable.” She smirks, but her fingers lace through mine as the elevator reaches the fifth floor.

“You wound me, Fletcher. And after I practiced that elevator proposal for weeks.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as we head down the hallway toward our room, teammates dispersing behind us.

Once inside, Victoria drops her overnight bag by the door and turns to me with a smile.

“Much better,” she sighs, falling into me and wrapping her arms around my neck. “Though I’ll admit, the sneaking is kind of fun, too.”

“Debatable.” I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her skin. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she replies, those two simple words somehow conveying everything we aren’t saying.

I tug her toward the bed, my mouth finding hers, hands already working their way under her t-shirt.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this since LA,” I groan against her neck, inhaling again. “Watching you being all professional on that bus was torture.” She smells so damn good.

Victoria laughs, her fingers threading through my hair. “It was only a three-hour ride.”

“Three hours too long,” I insist, lifting her into my arms. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Her legs wrap around my waist, her smile turning wicked. “I have some ideas. Care to demonstrate?”

“Demonstrations are my specialty.” I toss her onto the bed and lean over her, breathless and grinning. Her hair spills around her, and her laughter is so sweet, I want to bottle it up and keep it with me on every road trip we take.

Then I’m on her, mouth slanting over hers with all the hunger I’ve been holding back since L.A. Too many hours pretending, of watching her stay just out of reach.

“This,” I growl, dragging her jeans down, “is what happens when I can’t touch you.”

“Declan,” she gasps, breathless with laughter and heat mixed together.

I yank my shirt off and fling it somewhere, reclaiming the spot I’ve been craving. Her lips move against mine with an urgency that drives me wild.

“It’s not like you’ve made it easy for me either,” I groan as her leg slides across my back.

She arches into me, wicked and challenging. “Don’t tell me the big hockey star is having trouble keeping his focus.”

“Can’t focus on anything else,” I admit, kissing her like we’ve got only minutes instead of hours before breakfast forces us out again.

I slide her panties down, fingers teasing her just enough to make her gasp before I push inside her in one deep, claiming stroke.

She cries out, grabbing my shoulders, her back arching off the bed. “Oh, God—Declan.”

My name on her lips like that? It snaps something in me.

I thrust harder, driving into her with the kind of urgency that borders on reckless, my hand fisted in her hair, my mouth trailing hot, open kisses down her throat.

“I missed you,” I say against her skin, the words torn from somewhere deep. “Every time I have to pretend I don’t want to touch you. Every second I have to sit away from you on that goddamn bus…”

Her hips buck against mine, chasing friction. “Declan, please…”

I slip a hand between us, rubbing her clit in tight circles that make her moan, her whole body trembling around me.

“Come for me,” I growl. “Right now. Let go.”

She breaks apart like a snapped wire—tightening around me, mouth falling open on a gasped sob as I keep driving into her, relentless.

The sight of her coming undone underneath me undoes me completely. With a rough curse, I follow, burying myself as deep as I can go, pulsing inside her as I groan her name into the crook of her neck.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Our bodies are still tangled, hearts pounding like we’ve just won a playoff game in overtime. I press my forehead to hers, trying to catch my breath, still inside her.

When I finally roll to the side, pulling her with me, she tucks her head under my chin with a soft sigh.

“I needed that,” she murmurs, her voice raw and satisfied.

I stroke her back, still humming with everything we just shared. “Me too.”

I could stay like this forever. And I press a kiss to the top of her head when she lets out a contented sigh.

“Three wins in three cities.” Her fingertips draw circles on my stomach. “You’re on fire this trip.”

“Because of you,” I say, kissing her again. “I’ve never played better.”

“That’s all you,” she counters, propping herself up to look at me. “Though I’d like to think my ballet training has helped with your edge work.”

“It’s more than the training,” I admit, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s knowing you’re there. Seeing you with the team, watching from the bench... it changes everything.”

Something vulnerable flickers in her eyes. “In a good way, I hope.”

“The best way,” I assure her. “I’m so grateful you agreed to come on this trip, Victoria. Not just for the hockey—though Coach says my stats this week are through the roof—but for this. Us.”

“I’m glad I came too,” she says softly. “It’s been easier than I expected. No one outside the team has paid any attention to me at all.”

“Told you the media cares more about the games,” I remind her, pulling her closer. “Though how they’ve missed the most beautiful woman in the arena is beyond me.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is genuine. “Charmer.”

“Just honest,” I counter, suddenly serious. I’ve been holding back these words, afraid of scaring her off, but in this moment they feel too important to contain. “I think I’ve been falling for you since the moment you walked into that first training session.”

Victoria’s eyes widen.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I add quickly. “I’m not expecting declarations or promises. I just want you to know how much you matter to me. More than I can really explain.”

For a breathless moment, she’s silent, and I wonder if I’ve just committed the verbal equivalent of a game misconduct penalty—going way too far, way too fast. I mean, I’ve already joked about getting engaged and now I’m trying to tell her I love her. But then she leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to my lips as she whispers. “I’ve been falling for you, too.”

My chest swells with relief and something bigger than I know what to do with. Lust, I know how to handle—I’ve handled it often enough since Victoria Fletcher turned my world on its axis—but this feels different. Huge and terrifying and incredible all at once, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

We hold each other for hours, saying less with words and more with mouths and hands, until light begins to peek through the slats in the blinds. It’s still early, but I’m too awake, too wired, to fall asleep again.

As Victoria sleeps against me, I stare at the ceiling, a strange sense of peace washing over me. We haven’t said the actual words—I love you—but we’re so close. And she’s still here, warm and real in my arms. It’s like I can see our perfect future playing out on the ceiling above us. She’s it for me.

The energy in SAP Center is electric, the Sharks’ faithful creating a sea of teal that pulses. It’s our fourth game in five days, and though fatigue weighs heavy in my muscles, adrenaline pushes it aside as I take the ice for warm-ups.

My eyes automatically scan the staff area, finding Victoria standing with Sara and Olivia. She’s in her official Nighthawks training staff gear—navy polo and khaki pants that somehow look incredible on her despite their utilitarian design. When she catches me looking, she smiles and gives a small wave, a gesture so simple yet so meaningful that my chest tightens.

“Focus, Romeo,” Luc says, bumping my shoulder as he skates past. “Game first, mooning later.”

I grin, turning my attention back to warm-ups. “Just getting properly motivated, Captain.”

The game starts fast, both teams trading chances but neither finding the back of the net. The Sharks are always tough at home, and tonight is no exception. Toward the end of the second period, we’re 2-2, both sides desperate to get ahead for the third.

Coach Belanger calls our line out for an offensive zone face-off with just under five minutes remaining. As I take my position, I catch Victoria’s eye. She gives me that small, private smile that seems reserved just for me, and determination settles into my bones.

Luc fakes a shot, then slides the puck to me along the boards. I gather it, scanning the ice for options, the Sharks’ defenseman closing in fast.

I shift my weight, feeling the perfect balance point. Muscle memory takes over—core engaged, eyes spotting—and suddenly I’m spinning, the puck protected as the defenseman lunges at empty air.

Time slows. Nothing exists but open ice between me and the goalie. He drops to butterfly position. I fake high, then slip the puck between his pads just as another defender crashes into me from behind.

The goal horn blares. The Nighthawks section erupts. I scramble to my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Holy shit! I did it! The spin-o-rama we’d practiced for weeks—Victoria’s spin-o-rama—finally scored!

My teammates mob me, but through the tangle of arms and sticks, I find her. Victoria stands in the staff area, her face lit with a pride so pure it rockets through me like electricity.

Before I know what I’m doing, I break free and skate hard toward her. The only thought in my head, She needs to know this was because of her.

I vault over the boards, nearly crashing into her. “You did it!” she exclaims, eyes shining. “That spin was perfect!”

My body moves on instinct. I cup her face in my gloved hands and kiss her—not some quick congratulatory peck, but a proper kiss, deep and claiming, right there in front of everyone.

Her lips part beneath mine, the kiss answering with heat—until the flashes start. She stills.

“Shit,” I breathe, the full impact of what I’ve just done hitting me like a crosscheck to the chest. “Victoria, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking...”

The color drains from her face as she glances around, seeing exactly what I’ve caused. Sports photographers who normally focus on game action now train their lenses on us. The Jumbotron shows our stunned faces in high definition for the entire arena.

The fear in her eyes guts me. This was exactly what she’d been terrified of—exactly what I promised wouldn’t happen. In one stupid, selfish moment, I’ve broken that promise.

“O’Rielly!” Coach Belanger bellows from the bench. “Get your ass back on the ice! Now!”

Victoria steps back, her professional mask sliding into place with practiced efficiency. “Go,” she says, her voice steady despite the panic I can see in her eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

I skate back reluctantly, cursing myself with every stride. The remaining minutes of the game pass in a blur of motion and regret. We hold our lead to win 3-2, but the victory feels hollow in the face of what I’ve just done.

In the locker room, the guys are uncharacteristically quiet. A few pat my shoulder as they pass. Luc stands nearby during media availability, blocking most reporters from approaching me directly.

But I see it in their eyes, hear it in the questions they carefully direct elsewhere. The kiss is all anyone really wants to talk about.

“Declan, that game-winning goal showed impressive technical skill,” one reporter finally ventures. “The ballet training program seems to be paying dividends. Any comments on your choice of celebration afterward?”

Before I can answer, Luc steps in. “We’re all excited about the win and completing a successful road trip. The team’s implementation of diverse training methods, including the ballet program led by Ms. Fletcher, has clearly improved our edge work and balance. That’s what we’re focusing on tonight.”

The reporter opens his mouth to press further, but Luc’s expression makes it clear the subject is closed, and the press backs off, at least for now.

“So…” I mutter under my breath, loud enough for the guys near me to hear. “Anyone wanna trade jerseys with me and take the fall for that kiss?”

Silence. Then Luc slaps me on the back with a dry, “You’re on your own, lover boy.”

A few guys chuckle, but it’s half-hearted. Even I’m not buying the humor in my own voice.

I shower and change in record time, desperate to find Victoria and somehow fix what I’ve broken. But when I emerge, Sara meets me with an apologetic look.

“She went back to the hotel,” she explains quietly. “Olivia took her.”

My stomach sinks. “How bad is it?”

Sara grimaces, showing me her phone screen where social media is already lighting up with images of the kiss. #HockeyKiss is trending, alongside more disturbing hashtags like #He’sTheBeautyAndShe’sTheBeast and #UnlikelyCouple among other, more demeaning things.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my damp hair. “I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

“You weren’t thinking,” Sara acknowledges, but her tone is gentler than I deserve. “But for what it’s worth, it was kind of romantic. In a completely boneheaded way.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Give her a little space first,” Sara advises. “This is exactly what she was afraid of, remember? She needs time to process.”

I nod, miserable but understanding. “Will you tell her I’m sorry? That I’ll be at the hotel as soon as we’re done here?”

“Already did,” Sara confirms, squeezing my arm supportively. “And Declan? Don’t beat yourself up too much. She cares about you. A lot. This is a setback, not the end.”

I wish I could believe that, but as I board the team bus, my phone buzzing with notifications, all I can see is Victoria’s face in that moment—the fear, the shock, the betrayal. One impulsive kiss might have just demolished everything we’ve been building together.

I’ve spent weeks earning her trust, promising protection from exactly this kind of public exposure. And I’ve ruined it in seconds.

And the worst part is—I don’t regret kissing her. I only regret the timing. Fuck.

Please don’t let this be over.

I love her.