Page 240 of The Fall

His hands tighten at the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my damp hair, and I feel the quiet storm of him, the way he holds me like I’m both breakable and inevitable. His teeth catch my bottom lip. I press closer, craving the rough edges of him. Every part of me strains for more, for all of it. There is nothing gentle about this wanting.

Need and dread tangle inside me, wanting to sink deeper, to lose myself in him, while knowing the world could shatter this at any tick of the clock.

I pour every jagged piece of myself into this—my aching love, the sharp edge of fear, the hunger to freeze time right here. My grip on his jersey tightens, knuckles whitening, as if letting go means losing him. I can’t remember what it felt like not to lovehim, and I don’t want to. We are everything unsaid, everything unfinished. This moment is the only truth that matters; everything else can burn.

His heartbeat thunders against mine through layers of padding. Each second stretches into forever, but forever isn’t long enough. The rink’s chill fades against the heat of his mouth on mine. I want to stay wrapped in this pocket of time where the world falls away, where consequences are distant stars that can’t touch us.

A distant door slams.

We pull apart, but only an inch.

“Blair,” I whisper. “Someone could see.”

Blair doesn’t move away. His helmet drops to mine. “I don’t care.” His hand trembles where his glove touches my face again. His voice is the sound of every wall he has ever built coming down. His ocean eyes holds depths I’d willingly sink in, riptides I’d let carry me wherever they lead.

Still, I close my eyes. He said that before.

“But I know we need to talk about that.” He pulls back, clears his throat. “The boys will be wondering where we are.”

There is so much more than hockey hanging in the air. Last time, this was a question of our future, but now it’s a question of fate.

Blair wets his lips, seems about to speak, but only nods. A small cloud of breath fogs the air and vanishes. I open my hand, letting his jersey slip through my fingers.

The fabric slides away like water, like time, like all I’ve ever tried to hold onto.

His eyes meet mine. There’s something unfinished there, waiting to be said.

We skate toward the tunnel, a foot of cold air separating us.

Forty-Nine

The hotel hallwayis quiet save for the distant sounds of our teammates behind their closed doors, and it’s so easy to slip down to Blair’s room after everyone has settled in for their pre-game naps.

What does he think about, waiting for me? A low murmur from a TV filters through the wall, and I slow down before his door.

My heart kicks up as I raise my hand to knock. My fingers skim the brass numbers; the four stands out as if it’s daring me.

Footsteps draw close on the other side. The lock clicks, hinges whisper, and there he is. “Hey.”

His eyes do that thing where they warm at the edges, the corners crinkling. He’s barefoot, loose jeans hanging low on his hips, a Mutineers T-shirt stretched across his chest.

He moves aside to let me in, and as I pass, his hand ghosts over my lower back. His room mirrors mine: standard hotel fare with a king bed dominating the space. His sneakers rest by the closet, his gear against the wall. A half-empty bottle of Gatorade sits on the bedside table next to his earbuds. His suit hangs in the closet, ready for the game.

Blair settles against the headboard, and I join him.

“Game tonight,” he says.

“We’re going to crush them.”

He tips his head, chuckling. “You mean you’re going to crush them.”

“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“It is.” He nudges my knee, playful. “With you on my line? We’re unstoppable.”

The conversation flows between us like water finding its level. We talk about the team, about Coach’s pre-game speeches, about how Axel demolished three plates at the buffet this morning before anyone else had finished their first. Blair does an impression of Coach’s gravelly voice that has me stifling laughter against his shoulder. This is us at our simplest.

But then Blair goes quiet. When I glance up, he’s watching me. The light streaming through the gap in the curtains catches in his eyes, transforming them from their usual deep blue to a brighter blaze, ocean water where the sun hits. His gaze moves from my eyes to my lips and back again before his knee bumps mine.