Page 46 of Cold Comeback
"Not a chance." Thatcher reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "You know what wearing your tape means to me?"
I couldn't breathe.
His thumb traced my pulse point. "It means I think about you every time I tape my stick. Every shift I take." His eyes locked on mine. "It means I'm fucking yours, Gideon, whether you're brave enough to do something about it or not."
I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He'd blown through every defense I had with three words.
I'm fucking yours.
Before I could find my voice, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Thatcher stepped back, the spell broken.
"Think about it." He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, pausing long enough to add, "I'm not going anywhere."
I sat there staring at the empty doorway, heart hammering, until Knox reappeared. He'd hung around. It wasn't his usual post-practice routine—clearing out fast to beat traffic.
"Equipment room," he said, already walking. "We need to discuss your defensive strategy."
I followed, knowing he wasn't talking about hockey.
I followed him into the cramped space. He closed the door behind us and crossed his arms.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"The retreat thing." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "Same pattern as before. Get close to someone, panic, create distance."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Knox snorted. "Bullshit. You think I don't remember Jordan Mitchell? The kid went from glued to your hip to traded in two weeks. Same defensive moves you're pulling now."
"That was different."
"Was it?" Knox stepped closer. "In my eyes, you've got something good with Drake. Something real. And you're about to torch it because you're scared."
"It's not about being scared—"
"Then what's it about?" Knox's voice was sharp and cutting. "Your position? Your reputation? The same bullshit excuses you used last time?"
"The team—"
"The team likes him. The team likes you. The team likes you together." Knox jabbed a finger at my chest. "You want to know what they don't like? Watching their captain tie himself in knots over something that makes him happy."
I leaned against the equipment shelves, suddenly exhausted. "It's complicated."
"No, it's not. You're making it complicated." Knox fixed me with a stern gaze while his voice softened. "That kid left that shrine because someone couldn't be brave enough to fight for him. You want to be that guy again?"
"That's not—"
"That's exactly what it is." He moved toward the door, then stopped. "Jordan carved those initials because he had something worth carving. Drake's still wearing your tape because he thinks he has something worth keeping. Don't prove him wrong."
The door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving me alone with the ghosts of every misstep I'd ever made.
I sat in my car in the parking lot for twenty minutes after everyone else had left.
Last night, for the first time in three years, I'd felt safe enough to let my guard down completely. Instead of celebrating that trust, I was running from it.
What was I protecting? The team was covering for us. My reputation could survive this.
