Page 74 of Tempest

Odette pulls my face to hers by my hair, crashing her lips to mine as we both lose control, her cunt clenching around me like a vise, holding me in as I fill her up.

Emotion the likes I’ve never felt rush through me. It’s a combination of elation and utter regret. Like I’ve just won the Stanley Cup but somehow lost it, too. I finally have the only woman I’ve ever been truly in love with, and I regret all the things we never had, never shared. She’s in my arms, heaving with me and yet, I miss her.

We roll to our sides, her head buried under my chin, my leg hitching over her hip where I can cocoon her in my arms, keep her warm. Make her stay.

“Did you ever want children?”

“Maybe when I was little and everyone talked to us about growing up and finding a husband so you could raise a family,” she says. “But no. I don’t think it’s what I’m here for, if that makes sense. That’s not my purpose.”

“Are you sure?” I ask when she looks up through her lashes at me. I brush her hair off of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

“I’m sure. Why? Do you want more?”

“It’s not anything that ever crossed my mind.”

“Until now?”

“I wouldn’t deny you anything, Ode. Whatever else you want in life, I want to help you get.”

“That’s sweet of you,” she says, pressing a kiss to the underside of my chin. “But I think we can check that one off the list.”

“What is on your list?”

“I’m not so sure, anymore. I expected to move here, do this for a few years, then have a huge desire to go back to New York, or maybe Los Angeles. I love it more than I thought I would, though. Maybe mentoring fashion students is my purpose. Or maybe it will lead to something else exciting and new,” she says. “What about you? What are your plans after this season?”

I’ve been thinking about that a lot. When I made the decision to retire initially, I was terrified. Worried that I would become some irrelevant man with nothing to do every day. Nobody to take care of, nobody to talk to, I’d end up lonely and grumpy, yelling at the clouds all day or some shit.

Then I thought about what I love most about hockey. Winning is great, but it’s really being part of a team that is what I’m going to miss the most. It’s something I can still have in a different way.

“The way you talk about your students has inspired me. I’d like to coach. Not in The Show or anything. Maybe peewee hockey, start with the youngest group, where it isn’t so serious and doesn’t require a rigorous travel schedule. You know?” She nods in understanding. “Maybe dote on my girlfriend. Perfect my gluten-free baked goods and learn how to cook more vegetarian meals for her.”

“She sounds like a lucky lady.”

“Nah, I’m the lucky one.”

“Maybe we both are,” she says, snuggling back into my chest, where she falls silent and eventually into sleep, a soft smile on her face.

“You guys played amazing last night,” Tori says before she shoves a heaping fork of omelet in her mouth. I haven’t seen her in a few days, so I asked if she’d come over for a late breakfast and to hang out with her old man. She’s not an early riser, which works out well for me when I have to be at the arena for an early morning skate.

She probably only rolled out of bed an hour ago, whereas I’ve been up for hours now. I’ll catch a nap later, though, before heading to the arena for tonight’s matchup.

Tori’s right, we played great last night. Cohesive and like a team of guys that love each other. We do, sometimes it just doesn’t translate to the ice. But we have a winning record and I have high hopes of keeping it.

“Glad you could make it to another game. I always love it when you’re in the stands.”

“I know you do. I might not get to another one for a while, though.”

“You’re a busy kid, I get it.”

“You’re busier these days,” she says, side-eyeing me as I take a seat next to her at the breakfast bar.

“You could say that,” I say, shrugging as if there is nothing to talk about.

“Dad! Oh my god, spill. What’s going on with you and Odette?”

“What do you think about her? Now that you know her and not just of her?” I ask.

“She’s fucking fantastic. Like, literally. She’s inspiring and inspires all of us to be better but stay authentically us. Do you know what I mean? I guess you probably do. It’s a lot like Coach Cole. He wants you to improve your skill but not lose your style,” she starts rambling, her hands moving a mile a minute. “We all totally love her. If she really likes something we’re working on, she’ll say she’d wear it. We live for that, like those people on that baking show hoping for a handshake, you know? She’s told me that twice already. I marked those days on my calendar, I’m keeping count. And I don’t think she has favorites, she sees the strengths we all have so we aren’t competitive with each other, just ourselves. I think we all want to make her really proud. Which is kinda funny because she’s not a professor who is grading us or anything. But we want her high opinion more than any of our teachers. She’s like a best friend and is always honest and encouraging. I can’t say enough nice stuff about her.”

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