Page 71 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

Elliot shouts his love for me over and over as we both thrust into each other. I feel the world tilt and spin as he makes good on his word as I come around him, his hot seed spilling into me, filling me to the brink.

Our physical reunion is a cathartic release of all the pent-up emotions, doubts, and fears we have experienced up to this point. It’s as if with each movement, each moment of connection, we’re stripping away the barriers that had once kept us apart. This isn't just sex; it is a reclaiming of each other, a reaffirmation of our bond. We lie there for a while on the floor, our bodies still, but our mouths still seeking each other. Never wanting to give each other up again.

We eventually move from the floor, making our way upstairs to the bedroom to leave our mark in another area of our new shared space. A while later we are both left breathless again. Lying tangled in the sheets of my—our—bed, the air still charged with an undertow of passion, the quiet of the night wraps around us. I reflect on how profoundly our relationship has evolved, how deeply Elliot and I intertwined our lives without even realizing. Our conversations downstairs had negotiated the contours of our relationship with a new commitment to blending our personal and professional lives, solidifying something vital between us.

We aren't just lovers caught in a whirlwind of desire anymore. We are partners, each enhancing the other's strengths, while providing constant support. This balance of love and individuality, challenge and guidance, will craft a partnership that is not only exhilarating but deeply sustaining. As I watch him sleep, his features softened in the moonlight, I feel a surge of gratitude for how things have turned out, having never expected we would end up creating something this important together, a partnership that promises as much growth as it does comfort.

As Elliot finally wraps up his commitments in Arizona and moves to Atlanta full-time, our lives enter a whirlwind phase marked by the chaos of unpacking and organizing. The initial days blur into a series of tasks, with moving boxes steadily emptying and their contents finding new places in our shared space. Despite the potential for stress, Elliot and I find our rhythms syncing effortlessly.

Our routines align naturally as if they have been waiting to do so all along, and our individual lives merge into a singular, harmonious life. We infuse the townhouse with our personalities, blending our belongings and styles to create a warm, inviting home. Laughter echoes through the rooms, and love settles into every corner, and together, we begin to weave a future filled with bright prospects of shared dreams.

One evening , as we sit on our balcony, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink, Elliot takes my hand and squeezes it gently. "I'm so glad you are in my life. Ican’t imagine a time where you aren’t here anymore," he says, meaning every word of it.

"Me too," I reply, leaning my head on his shoulder. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."

Our journey has not been traditional but realistically, whose is? It has been long and full of challenges–specifically challenges with mustaches–but it led us to this moment.

"You know," I say, trying to bring some light hearted fun to our deeply meaningful moment, "I'm really glad things worked out between us. I definitely wasn't looking forward to diving back into the dating pool and dealing with all the... strange out there."

Elliot's face twists into full grump mode, and he retorts, "Well, you better get used to it because you're not getting any strange ever again."

Before I can laugh, he is out of his chair, scooping me up with a swift motion. I have no time to squeal before I am hoisted over his shoulder, my world turning upside down.

"Elliot! Put me down!" I half-laugh, half-protest, but he is already striding confidently toward the door. His laughter echoes around us, a sound that fills me with warmth. As the balcony door slides shut behind us, I realize I wouldn't change a thing.

Chapter 52

The glow of the late afternoon sun bathes our new townhouse in warm, golden hues as I pull into the driveway. The place still has that new-home smell mixed with traces of the jasmine candles Ziggy loves. Stepping inside and being in this space with her brings me contentment. This is our sanctuary, the structure that embodies the new life we are building together here in Atlanta.

It has been a few weeks since I moved in, and every corner of the house bears signs of our combined lives. Her books mingle with my hockey memorabilia, and her vibrant art pieces are mixed among photos of my games. We have blended our worlds seamlessly.

This week is particularly exciting and nerve-wracking for me. In just a few days, I will debut as the newest studio personality on ACN, covering the hockey season. The role is aperfect fusion of my love for the game and my new passion for media, and I am eager to get started.

Settling into Atlanta, I find the anxious edges of my mind that used to be so frayed, calmer than I have ever experienced. My anxiety, a relentless companion through the highs and lows of my career, has found a soothing balm in Ziggy’s presence. I started to notice when we were together during the season but now, I now feel it in everything. It is her steady influence that calms the storms within me. As we build our life together, I realize how deeply she grounds me. Her optimism, coupled with unwavering support, helps stabilize my often turbulent thoughts.

Each morning, waking up beside her, I feel a reassuring sense of peace—a stark contrast to the solitary battles I used to fight. Our home isn’t just the place where we eat, sleep and spend time together. It is a sanctuary where my worries are met with understanding and my fears with fortitude. With Ziggy, I’m not just sharing a home; I am building a life where my anxieties are acknowledged and no longer control me.

As I step into our living room, adjusting my shirt collar, I catch Ziggy scrolling through her phone, her amused expression beautiful. I take an extra moment to observe her before interrupting her social media scrolling.

“Oren’s almost here. I’m glad you agreed to hit the town with us tonight,” I tease, watching a smile dance on her lips.

“Only because you promised to make it worth my while,” she shoots back, her eyes sparkling with her devious nature. “And because I convinced Rachel to come.”

“Yeah, at work, she said she is excited, actually. Said it’s the first real night out since the baby.” I chuckle, “whatever that means.”

I talk to Oren occasionally when we get him on as a guest host on the pod but it has been weeks since I’ve seen any of the boys. I am stoked, thinking about how much fun it’s going to be to have a little group together. Oren can make friends with anyone and Rachel has been a good friend to Ziggy, and now that we work together too, it is about time we all let loose a little, but not too loose.

The doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of my former defenseman, Oren. Opening the door, I greet him with a bear hug and hearty slap on the back. “Ready to turn this town upside down?”

Oren’s grin is all the answer I need, “Hell yeah, brother.”

"Look, man, before Ziggy comes in,” I say, pulling Oren into my office. “We need to have a little chat about something before tonight."

Oren raises an eyebrow. "What's up?"

"It’s about Rachel," I continue, my tone serious. "Under no circumstances are you to hit on her, try to take her home, or sleep with her. Got it?"

"Come on, Elliot.” Oren chuckles lightly, “I’m not going anywhere near Rachel."

---