Page 93 of From Ice to Home
My heart settles, my breath slows. Being in his arms, feeling his warmth and his mouth against mine lifts the ache of the past six days. I melt into him, into the safe, solid space where everything else fades away.
Somewhere around us there’s a cheer. Then a few claps and a whistle.
I blink, realizing there are families, strangers and teammates around us. My cheeks burn with humiliation, as I realize they’re all watching us. For a second, I completely forgot about the rest of the world…lost in my husband.
“Save it for later, bro,” EJ says, slapping Lucas on the shoulder as he walks past us.
Lucas reluctantly sets me down again, but not before brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “If you’re going to greet me like this, I might have to consider going to Vancouver alone…”
I playfully shove his chest. “Don’t you dare.”
Lucas picks up his bag and slips his fingers through mine, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“So, we’re talking to Harry about a passport?” he asks, as we walk along with the rest of the team.
“I kind of already did,” I admit, not quite sure how he’ll react.
Lucas halts mid-step. “What?” he asks, a frown between his eyes.
I gently tug his hand, to keep us moving along. We’ve still got a lot to discuss and I don’t want to hash it out in the middle of baggage claim.
“He called after your first game,” I say quietly. “He was worried about you and the pressure you’re under. He said you needed someone in your corner, and I think he just wanted to make sure that I’m going to be that for you.”
Lucas sighs, dragging his hand over his face. “He shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Hannah.”
“For what?” I ask, turning to face him. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. This is all my fault.”
The second it’s out, I wish I could take it back. I didn’t want to say anything here. I wanted to leave this conversation for when we got home. But I can’t have him thinking for one minute longer that he did anything wrong.
He stops. The expression on his face twists into that of hurt and sadness.
“Don’t ever say that,” he whispers, his voice low and raw.
“It’s true,” I say, feeling my eyes burn as tears start to form. I do not want to do this here. I swallow my tears and avert my gaze to gather myself.
“It’s me and you, Sanders,” he says, his voice steady and firm as he lifts my chin with his finger. “It’s us. There’s no your fault or my fault. We’re doing all of this together. Do you understand?” he asks, searching my eyes.
Lucas has always had a way of saying exactly what I need tohear. It’s like he knows my heart and the rhythm it beats to without even trying. He knows what calms me down, what soothes me, even when I don’t know myself.
Throwing my arms around his neck, I move closer and kiss him again. The world blurs again, everything else drowning out while all that remains is the two of us. All I know is his mouth moving against mine. Not desperate or impulsive, like in Vegas, but sure and steady. A kiss rooted in the promise of our lives together. He deepens the kiss and I get completely lost in him. The love swelling inside of me threatens to overwhelm all my senses.
Someone clears his throat behind us. And for the second time this morning, I hide my face in my hands, the heat of my cheeks burning against my palms.
“You have an audience, Walker.”
Nikolai Petrov gestures over his shoulder, before straightening his own bag and walking off to the exit. There are a few people with their phones, taking pictures or videos even.
“Oh…” My cheeks heat even more. “This is mortifying.”
“Let’s go home, Sanders,” Lucas says, picking up his bag before wrapping his arm around me. “I’ve missed my wife and I want to kiss you without anybody around.”
Leaning into his side, we make our way through the airport. With his arm around me and the whole world watching, I don’t care. Because for the first time in days, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Home.
22
LUCAS
“Ican’t tell you how great it is to be back home.”
