Page 55 of Speed

Tennant laughed, his energy filling the room as he sat at the table. “Let me tell you, this kid right here”—he pointed at Noah—“has been a firecracker since day one. I remember he insisted on carrying tiny hockey sticks for every occasion when he was little. I mean, everywhere. Grocery store? Tiny hockey stick. Bath. It's a tiny hockey stick with a sponge. Weddings? It's a tiny hockey stick to dig into the cake. I had one custom-made for him to use in the pool because I couldn’t get over how cute it was.”

“Still have it,” Noah admitted, his voice soft but proud. “It’s in my room, along with all the other stuff I have of yours that I can sell on eBay.”

Ten clutched his chest. “Ouch!”

The banter had everyone laughing. Ten and Jared were easy to be around, and their excitement for Noah was infectious. The night included stories from when Noah was a kid, from when his dads and Ten played for the Railers, or when Jared was a defensive coach, about how he and Ten paved the way for others. However, neither of them would admit they'd done anything remarkable.

“Did you always want to play hockey?” I asked during a lull in the conversation. I’d never thought to ask him before, I kind of assumed that, like me, family legacy dictated what he’d become.

I hadn’t seen my grandfather since that day I left his house. Still, he hadn’t given up—he kept sending me emails about promotional opportunities countered with how fucking disappointed he was in me letting him down. He called me a coward so many times that I almost believed it.

At least, I would have if I wasn’t with Noah.

Somehow, being with Noah—loving Noah—made my grandfather’s controlling ways and bitterness less than nothing.

“Little Rabbit always wanted to be hockey player.”

“Apart from when he wanted to be a rodeo clown,” Erik reminded him. “Or a chimney sweep.”

“Sweeping the chimney he sees in Poppins movie. I am not sure when he sees clown in rodeo, but I know for good he could be anything he wants to be.”

I reached for Noah’s hand under the table, and he squeezed mine, his smile warm and steady. At that moment, everything felt right. The worries, the fears, the weight I’d been carrying were still there, but for now, they didn’t matter. All that mattered was this. Him. Us.

Tonight.

After we'd moved to the large living room, I cuddled into Noah’s side on the vast sectional, and Ten dozed off, his head resting on Jared’s shoulder as the room quieted. It was Stan who broke the peaceful silence, his deep, accented voice cutting through the soft hum of conversation.

“How is head?” Stan asked, his words blunt but laced with concern.

I snapped to attention, my chest tightening. Were they talking about me? Had Noah told them? My gaze flickered to him, looking down at me, searching for answers in his expression. But Noah shook his head, his eyes steady on mine. He hadn’t said anything.

Instead, he cleared his throat, his voice steady as he answered. “He’s talking about Ten.”

Stan nodded, his eyes warm as they landed on Tennant, still dozing. “When he was young man, he have big hate with other snake player. Very bad man. Evil. One game, Ten fall to ice with big crash. Very bad. Blood everywhere. No speaking from Ten for many days. Bad brain for pudding inside skull.”

Jared’s hand settled on Tennant’s back, his touch light but grounding. “It was a bad fall,” he said. “Traumatic brain injury. There was a lot of swelling, and for a while, we didn’t know if he’d fully recover.”

“Bad times,” Stan whispered.

“The good news is,” Jared added, his tone brightening, “that aside from headaches and occasional confusion, Ten is happy, coaching peewee hockey, and enjoying retirement.”

The tension in my chest eased, replaced by a strange mixture of relief and an unnamed feeling. Watching how Jared’s hand rested on Tennant and the way Stan’s eyes softened when he looked at them, I felt a pang of something reminiscent of envy.

I cuddled closer to Noah, needing the contact. He squeezed back, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a way that made my chest ache with something warm and unfamiliar.

“Good,” Stan said, his lips curving into a small smile. “He is strong. Like my Little Rabbit.”

Noah ducked his head, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Thanks, Pops.”

I stared up at my Noah, thenreallylooked at him. His blond curls were messy, his eyes bright despite the late hour, and a smile tugged at his lips. Perfect. He was perfect.

“Can we talk?” I whispered, and Noah smiled down at me, waggling his eyebrows.

“Talk, huh?” His smile faltered. He was teasing but must have noticed something in my expression. “Heading to bed!” His loud announcement woke Ten, who blinked at us and smiled.

“Already?” Ten said, with a pout, then a grin.

“Go back to sleep, babe,” Jared laughed.

---