Page 88 of One More Time

I looked up to him to see the look on his face. Every concern was written across his features. Would I like it? Had he gone too far? I carefully returned the jerseys to the box—then cupped his cheeks in my hands and claimed his lips. He whimpered as I pressed against his bruised cheekbone, so I moved that hand to cup the back of his neck—I was not breaking that kiss. His tongue teased at my lips, begging me for entry. I let him in, letting him seek the comfort that he needed from me.

“Do you—”

“Love them, baby. Thank you.” And I love you.

Through all the emotions battling in my chest, it didn’t escape my realization that Tyler’s number was half of mine. I wasn’t a religious man. I wouldn’t even call myself spiritual. But I couldn’t help but think that it was a sign.

Chapter forty-eight

Hunter

Sitting out on practice was torture.

Considering my condition, I’d missed weeks. I sat beside the coach with my eyes glued to Tyler. He flew across the ice, practicing with his line—that didn’t include me. I tapped my stick against the boards as I watched the scrimmage, his face a mask of indifference as he was put at center instead of on the left wing.

The puck dropped, and he was lightning quick. Colton swore as the puck was stolen from him. Tyler shot across the ice with a clean pass to Amon who sent it right back. He checked one of our defensemen—his opponent for the sake of practice. He scrambled him by dragging the puck between his legs, knocking it to Mouse who passed it back to avoid Jarman—on the rival team. In a tic-tac-toe fashion, he faked left then let the puck soar over Preston’s right shoulder.

It was a beauty.

Preston simply shook his head, his smile visible even from behind his mask. My Aussie skated to rest, preparing himself for center ice without a single celebration over his goal. Coach made notes in his little black book—and I wasn’t the only one who took notice. Colton’s jaw ticked as he saw the lineup.

The energy was palpable in the locker room, the anticipation of the upcoming games radiating through the air. It was a challenge not to be captivated by the man before me. Amidst the animated banter and shoulder knocks exchanged among teammates, he remained indifferent. We shared a bond that felt stronger than ever, gearing up for another road rotation leading to the end of the regular season, all with the hopes of securing a coveted spot in the Frozen Four.

Tyler’s gaze met mine, eyebrow quirking at the intense look I was giving him. The atmosphere crackled with electricity as we geared up for the challenges ahead, the promise of the Frozen Four hanging in the air like a shared dream.

“Easy, Boston,” he whispered in my ear as he passed me on the way to the showers. I caught the backward glance, a slight smirk playing on his lips—the only thing to break that stoic mask. I muffled my groan, trying to calm my body’s reaction to that little quirk that was a promise of what was to come. He’d been holding out on me, hell-bent on me recovering—save for a few blowjobs. But I was hoping that I showed him I was completely fine and ready to make that body of his mine.

I sat at the dining table with Jamie, bouncing between studying and catching up with the kid engrossed in his book next to me. I kept a close watch on Tyler, who buzzed around the kitchen. Rice was cooking, bulk chicken and vegetables were in preparation, all part of his meal prep for both of us.

“Baby, are you sure you don’t want any help?” I called out, seeing the frown deepening on his face as he monitored the food while reading a textbook, mumbling to himself.

“Yeah, nah, s’fine.” He waved his hand in the air while reciting more information about muscle connections.

“Yeah, as in yes, you want help, or nah, you don’t want help?”

His gaze shot to me, and I got the perfect view of his angry face—it was adorable. He was no doubt pissed at me for breaking his concentration. I’d learned the hard way that getting in the way of that man’s hyperfocus was equivalent to trying to clip a small dog’s nails—a guaranteed way for your fingers to get bitten.

“No, I am fine. If it was nah, yeah, then it would mean I need help,” he elaborated like Aussie slang was common knowledge, returning to tending to the meal prep.

I could only watch his next move helplessly from my seat. Time seemed to slow, but I couldn’t move quick enough. His eyes turned back to the textbook while his hand reached for the saucepan—missing the handle completely and grabbing the hot metal. I jumped up and rushed over as Tyler let out several choice swear words.

I cradled his hand, taking in the red lines on his finger and palm. I dragged the cursing man to the sink and shoved his hand under the cold water.

“You are juggling too many things, baby.”

“Too many things that need to get done, Boston. Let me go; I need to tend to the food so we can eat.”

“Yeah, nah,” I said, taking in the amused sparkle in his eyes. “You stay where you are; I’ll take the food off the stove.” I didn’t miss that maddening little quirk of his lip. I left him by the sink, elated that he listened to me while I finished the meal prep.

Another thing I learned about living with Tyler: he’s the most disciplined man in the world. All his meals are thought out to give him the exact calories and nutrition he needs. He also tracks his calories burned so he knows how to adjust his diet accordingly. The guy was nuts. I’d never craved sugar more in my life.

Once the food was sorted, I returned my attention to Tyler. He was leaning against the counter looking at his injured hand I made my way over to him, looking at the angry red marks that would leave blisters on his dominant hand.

“Stay here.” I went to grab my first aid kit from my hockey bag and returned to find him muttering to himself yet again.

“Fucking idiot,” he mumbled with his head hanging low.

I stepped into a space, using a single finger to lift his gaze to mine. Not many people saw this side of Tyler Riley—the side that didn’t have all his ducks in a row. But God, my man was his own worst critic. He never accepted failure; never accepted being anything but the best. Making mistakes… that led to this, him cursing himself for being an idiot. I didn’t like it, not one bit.