Page 54 of Speed

There was nothing romantic in the words. Just history. Just understanding. Just us.

She cleared her throat. “You want me to get ahead of this if it leaks?”

“No comment always works for me.”

She chuckled. “Figured as much. But you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“I do.”

A pause, then, “Take care of yourself, Brody. Get Logan to… get him to… tell me how you are, okay?”

I glanced at Logan, who nodded. “He will.” I ended the call, staring at the phone briefly before setting it down. The car was still silent, but the world outside kept moving.

Logan droppedme at Noah’s family’s house. Erik, who hadn’t eyed me as though I was a threat, had given me all the codes: the gate, the internal gate, and the door. They took security seriously, and for that, I was grateful. They didn’t know about the extra layer of protection I’d added with the private security team, but maybe I should be honest.

I steeled myself for the dreaded conversation when I knocked on the door. But before I could say a word, the door flew open and Noah was there, grinning from ear to ear.

“I made the team!” he shouted, and before I could react, he jumped at me, wrapping me in a tight hug and swinging me around as if I weighed nothing. “I made the team!”

I clung to him out of instinct, laughing despite myself. “Noah, that’s amazing!”

“Come in! We’re celebrating!” he said, dragging me inside with an energy that lit up the entire house.

The kitchen smelled of spices and roasting meat, a warm mix of dill, garlic, and something buttery that clung to the air. Stan was at the stove, fussing over what looked like an enormous pot of stew or something, his brow furrowed with concentration. Erik leaned against the counter, nursing a beer. His posture was relaxed despite the buzz of activity around him, and he lifted his bottle in a hello. The counter was loaded with platters of food: stuffed cabbage rolls, blinis stacked high, bowls of sour cream, and tiny pickles—a feast fit for a celebration, all with a distinct Russian flair.

“Thirty minutes,” Stan warned, not even glancing up as Noah tugged me past and up the stairs.

Noah led me into the room he was staying in, and the first thing I noticed was how lived-in it felt; it must have been his childhood room. Posters of hockey players I didn’t recognize covered the walls, trophies lined a shelf, and a pile of plushies sat in the corner of the bed. It wasn’t what I expected, but it was so undeniably Noah it made me smile.

He turned to me, his eyes still shining with excitement, and before I could say anything, he threw his arms around me. We hugged, his warmth seeping into me as I held on.

When he pulled back, his grin hadn’t dimmed. “Can you believe it? I made the team! Fourth line for now, but I'm there!”

I kissed him then, quick and light, because he was so high on the moment, and I couldn’t bring myself to dim that light. Not today. “I’m proud of you, Noah. You earned this.”

His cheeks flushed, and he laughed, dragging a hand through his curls. “Thanks. It’s… it’s just huge, you know? I can’t wait for you to see me play for real, sitting in the stands or a box. Probably a box, right? And it won't matter if you get spotted because you're with me, I'm with you, and I love you!”

“I love you, too, and I'll be at every game I can be,” I promised, though the words felt heavy with everything I hadn’t told him yet. Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow, I’d tell him. But not today. Today was his moment, and I wouldn’t take that away from him.

That's my excuse, and it's valid. Right?

I'm not a coward.

I'm not.

Dinner was exactly what I needed, even if I hadn’t known it before. The atmosphere in the kitchen was light and celebratory, Stan explaining every dish in detail with pride as he served us. Erik sat on the counter; his beer forgotten in his hand as he watched his family with a quiet pride I envied more than I cared to admit. Every laugh, every joke, every shared memory filled the room with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

Halfway through, there was a knock at the door. Noah shot me a look of excitement as he jumped up to answer it, and a moment later, he returned with two men. One of them I recognized from the posters on Noah’s walls—Tennant Rowe—a hockey player, or a former one at least. The other was older, blond, with an air of calm authority and a smile that hinted he didn’t miss much.

“Noah!” Tennant’s voice was loud, his grin infectious as he pulled Noah into a bear hug. “You did it, kid! I knew you would!”

The other man, whom Noah introduced as Jared, clapped Noah on the back with a quieter, “Proud of you, Noah. Couldn’t be happier.”

And then, Tennant turned to me. “And you must be Brody.” His handshake was firm, his expression open and curious. “Noah’s been messaging me about you. A lot.”

“Has he?” I glanced at Noah, and he flushed, though he didn’t deny it.

“Uncle Ten!” Noah groaned.

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