Page 54 of Gravity
Je t'aime.It's on the tip of my tongue.
“Tu es parfait.” His voice is soft, almost a whisper.
I slide down until we're face to face, cuddled as close as we can get to each other. Forehead to forehead, eyelashes caressing each other's cheeks. Lips against lips, gentle kisses sharing time with our breaths. Our legs tangle together, and he squeezes my hand before kissing my palm.
Je t'aime, mon coeur.
* * *
Our road tripends with a home game in Montréal.
A month ago, we were a collapsed team and I was the league'sconnard. Now? We've clinched the number one seed for our division, and the headlines are once again saying the Étoiles are going to go the distance.
It's our year for the Cup. I nearly lost it for this team, but,non. Things have changed. We are going to win, and we are going to do it together.
Tonight, Montréal is welcoming us home. The arena is heaving, and deafening roars reach us all the way in the dressing room. Stomps and cheers shake the walls and the rafters, and theOléis about to crack the ice and blow out the walls. Inflatable Stanley Cups bounce like volleyballs, and flags inbleu, blanc, et rougewave through the crowd. It's a party in the stands, and someone pipes the video stream from Sportsnet into our dressing room. All of our numbers are proudly displayed out there. Men have their shirts off and have painted their chests, and some women are braving the chill in skimpy bikinis with sweater numbers painted on their chests, too. Other fans went the opposite direction, and there are a few in head-to-toe onesies.
The giddiness is electric and infectious. We always fly high before a game, and especially before a home game, butthis—
This is returning home as champions. As conquerors. This is the Roman army entering the capital as rose petals fall on our faces. We have vanquished the league during the regular season, and, more than that, we have vanquished our own darkness. We are triumphant. We are home.
Each of us takes the ice individually as we are announced to the crowd. Ascapitane, I am the last announced, and as I skate out and join my team, the applause is so loud I cannot hear the thoughts inside my head. Six spotlights converge on me. The team is circling outside the glare, pounding the ice with their sticks and chanting my name. In the crowd, cries of my name turn to theOlé, and soon, the whole arena is bellowing our fight song.
We fill in at the center ice circle, and the team lifts our sticks as one, saluting our fans and the home crowd who kept the faith both for us and with us, from the start of our season and through our darkness to now.
My teammates’ faces are studies in joy. MacKenzie has both arms over his head and is shouting. Etienne is blowing kisses as he spins in a slow circle. Slava has perfected the quiet embarrassment yet surging pride of a Slavic man being adored for his athletic acumen. Valery, in contrast, simply tilts his head to the rafters and closes his eyes, letting the crowd's cheers wash over him. He's smiling, though. He's hungered for this as much as all of us.
And Hunter. Somehow, he ended up beside me, and when I turn to him, I realize he's not gazing at the crowd, and he isn't soaking up the adoration. He's looking at me.
He's looking at me with the same unrestrained jubilation that is rocketing through this arena. Like all of that passion, all of that fire, all of this elation, is an echo of what's happening inside of him.
Like,peut être, he loves me.
It's a perfect moment to take him by the hand and kiss him, to say to hell with the consequences and the world. To sayc'est la vieand fling myself out of the closet. I reach for him, and he turns to me. We're facing each other under these spotlights—
“Allez!” MacKenzie appears between us, his face flushed, his eyes alight. “Nous avons un jeu à jouer!Oui?” He laughs as he skates backward.
Hunter chuckles, and instead of kissing, we knock our helmets and share a grin before skating after MacKenzie.
“Doing anything after the game?” Hunter asks me.
“I hope so.” My gaze travels from Hunter's broad shoulders to his tight ass and then to his long legs that seem to go forever. I can still feel him inside me. I can still feel his body on top of me and within me. Every time I skate, I feel the echo of him like he's still there, or like a part of him has remained inside me.Calisse, I cannot get enough of this feeling. I want,non, I need more.
We made love again in the middle of the night, and then again in the morning. We missed breakfast, and we nearly missed the team bus to the airport. Valery passed us each a travel box of cereal and a banana he'd swiped from the buffet as we raced onto the bus at the very last moment.
Hunter flushes as we skate behind Valery's net. He bites down on the corner of his lip as his eyes shoot toward me. It's not a gaze fit for public, or for an arena filled with television cameras. He is going to set me aflame, andje brûlerai vif. I will,tabernak, I will. He will be the end of me.
A puck slams into the glass beside us.
Our teammates are giggling in the slot, where they are all dribbling pucks and each looks like the picture of innocence. Etienne is trying—and failing—to look the most innocent, so he's probably the one who took the shot.
When we join them, Slava flips a puck gently toward my chest as I snow his skates. “Asshole,” he grouses, trying to shake the ice off his laces. “You going to play hockey tonight, or you just going to skate around and make eyes like you're in love?”
I clear my throat and line up for a shot on Valery. Legs bent, hips square, twist—
Calisse, there's Hunter again. There's the feel of him inside me, like if I turn my face to the side he'll be there and we can kiss again as he drives deeper into me.
Slap. My stick connects with the puck without conscious thought, and my shot bullets over Valery's shoulder and into the net. He just missed the catch.
