Page 15 of Puck Me at Midnight

“You’re still up,” he says, his voice rough, like the words take more energy than he has left to give.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I move toward him, not sure if he needs space or closeness, but I can’t stand the thought of him alone with his thoughts. Not after a tough game like that.

He walks into the room, dropping his bag on the floor with a muffled thud. The weight of everything hangs between us, unspoken, but I can feel it. I can always feel when something’s off with him.

I reach out, gently touching his arm. “Tough game?”

He nods, his gaze flickering toward the floor, his jaw tight. “Yeah, I couldn’t find my rhythm. I missed a few shots and felt like I couldn’t get the team back on track when they needed me. It was a disaster.”

I watch him carefully, knowing there’s more beneath the surface. I’ve seen him beat himself up after losses before, but tonight feels different. It’s like something’s eating at him, something more than just a bad game.

“You’ve been carrying a lot, haven’t you?” I say softly, my hand brushing against his, offering a quiet comfort.

He exhales, his breath shaky. “I don’t know… I’m just… worried. I don’t want to let the team down. I don’t want to let the boys down. Hell, I don’t want to let you down.” His voice falters at the end, and I see the vulnerability in his eyes, something he rarely lets anyone see. It hits me like a wave.

“Spike,” I whisper, moving against him. “You’re not failing anyone. You’re doing everything you can. You’ve been amazing with the boys. With me.”

He shakes his head, frustration building. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I’m constantly on edge, trying to juggle hockey and the boys, trying to make sure I’m there for them, but I keep screwing up. I can’t let go of that fear, Emma. It’s like this weight on my chest. Every mistake feels like I’m losing control of everything.”

His words are raw, the fear spilling out in a way I haven’t seen before. It’s all spilling out now—his fear of failure, of not being enough for everyone who depends on him. The weight of his responsibilities presses down on him, and I can see it all in his face. I want to do something to ease it, to make him feel like it’s okay to be human. To not have to carry the world on his shoulders all the time.

I step closer to him, resting my hands on his chest. “You’re only human, Spike. You can’t carry everything by yourself. And you don’t have to be perfect.”

He looks down at me, his brow furrowed. He needs to hear these words. Needs to hear that it’s okay to fall short sometimes. That he doesn’t have to do it all alone.

“You’re doing better than you think,” I add quietly, my voice soft but steady. “You’re here. You show up. That’s more than enough.”

He leans into me, his forehead resting against mine, his hand coming to rest on the back of my neck. The warmth of his touch is comforting, and I feel the tension in his body start to ease just a little.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Emma,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough. “I feel like I’m falling apart, and you’re the only thing holding me together right now.”

His words make something tight in my chest loosen, and I can’t help but reach up, cupping his face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You’re not falling apart. You’re just… you’re allowed to have moments. Moments where you’re not the tough guy, where you don’t have to be perfect. I’m here for you.”

His breath catches as he looks at me, and for a moment, everything else fades. The game, the pressures, the fears—none of it matters when he looks at me like this, with so much need, so much emotion.

Before I can say anything else, he’s kissing me. It’s slow at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and I feel the heat of him flood through me. His lips are gentle but insistent, as though he’s trying to pour everything he’s feeling into this kiss—his relief, his uncertainty, his need for reassurance.

I let myself get lost in him. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, his body against mine, the rhythm of his kiss frantic now, urgent. His touch is everywhere—his hands slide under my shirt, brushing against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

My hands thread through his hair, tugging him closer as if I can absorb all the tension he’s been carrying. We both need this—this connection, this release. It’s like we’ve been holding backfor so long, and now we’re finally giving in to everything that’s been building between us.

His hands slide lower, and I gasp into his mouth, a wave of desire crashing over me. He pulls away for a breath, his forehead resting against mine as we both try to steady ourselves.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, his voice hoarse and raw. There’s a question there, a hesitation in his eyes.

I nod, my hands sliding down his chest, pulling him back toward me. “I’m sure.”

And then, without another word, we’re moving together, every touch, every kiss, a promise. He lifts me effortlessly, guiding me toward the couch, his hands sure and gentle as we lose ourselves in each other. His lips are everywhere, tracing the line of my jaw and my neck as he pulls me deeper into the kiss. The world outside the walls of this house disappears, and all that matters is this moment.

The night unfolds between us, slow and intimate, and I can feel all the walls he’s built crumbling. In this space, with him, there’s no room for doubt, no fear. Just the two of us, tangled together in a way that feels more real than anything I’ve ever known.

When everything finally slows, and the air is thick with the quiet aftermath of it all, I curl into his arms, my body feeling light and satisfied in a way I didn’t expect. Spike holds me close, his breath steady now, his hands tracing soothing patterns on my skin.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, his voice soft but filled with meaning.

“Me too,” I reply, pressing a kiss to his chest.

Chapter Thirteen

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