Page 118 of The Assist
A tired smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but it doesn’t stay. She takes the plate, murmurs a “Thanks,” and starts eating slowly, like her brain is working on autopilot. Iwatch her for a minute, then lean back, stretch out my legs. My head hits the back of the couch, and I close my eyes.
Silence stretches between us again. Heavy. Unforgiving. “I should’ve been more careful,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer right away. I open my eyes and look at her. She’s chewing mechanically, her gaze down.
“I knew the rules,” I go on. “I just thought if we kept it private long enough, it wouldn’t matter.”
“It always mattered,” she says, her voice flat. “We just didn’t want it to.”
I nod, my throat tight. “I still don’t.”
She glances at me, then back at her plate.
“You were incredible today,” I tell her. “Held your ground. Said everything I wish I could’ve.”
“Doesn’t feel like it made a difference.”
“It did to me.”
She swallows, slowly sets the plate down on the coffee table, only half-finished. “They might suspend me. Or worse.”
I hate the hollow sound in her voice. Like she’s already accepted it. Like it’s inevitable. “If they do,” I say, “I’ll walk.”
Her head snaps up. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious.”
“Dylan,”
“I told them that too. If they come for you, I’m done.”
She sits up straighter, tension rising through her shoulders. “You love hockey. You’ve bled for it.”
“I love you more.”
She flinches like I slapped her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say that like it’s that simple.”
“Itisthat simple.” I shift closer, dropping my voice. “You think I care about a club that’s ready to kick you to the curbbecause we made each other better?” Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. She’s too stubborn for that. Too proud. “I care about you,” I say. “More than any game, any team. That’s not just a line. That’s me. That’s where I’m at.”
She looks away, voice barely audible. “I can’t ask you to give it up.”
“You didn’t. I’m offering. Hell, I’m begging to take the hit if it means you get to keep doing what you love.”
“But it’s not fair,” she whispers.
“No, it’s not.”
There’s silence again. Then, after a long moment, she speaks. “I keep thinking about that photo.”
I already know which one she means.
“The one of us kissing,” she continues. “It’s actually a really beautiful picture.”
I let out a shaky breath, surprised. “Yeah. It is.”
