Page 98 of The Assist
He must see it in my face, because he doesn’t tease, doesn’t take his time like he usually does. He grabs a condom from his wallet, sheaths himself with shaky hands, and pushes into me in one slow, devastating stroke.
I cry out, clutching at his shoulders, my whole body arching into his. He groans against my mouth, forehead pressed to mine, hips moving in a steady, grounding rhythm. It’s not fast. It’s deep, and it’sus.
Every thrust, every kiss, every whispered promise against my skin, binds me tighter to him. When I fall apart, it’s not a crash. It’s a surrender. A letting go of all the grief and fear and guilt I’ve been carrying alone.
Dylan holds me through it, his body trembling as hefollows me over the edge. We’re tangled together on the narrow treatment table, our breathing slowly evening out, he brushes my hair back from my face with a tenderness that undoes me all over again.
“You’re not alone in this, Mia,” he says softly. “Not anymore.” I nod, my throat too thick to speak. He plants lingering kisses on my forehead. “We’ll get through it together, yeah?”
I manage a small, shaky smile. “Yeah.”
Because somehow, with him, it doesn’t feel impossible anymore. With him, it feels like maybe I’m still standing.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
DYLAN
There’s sweat slicking my neck by the time we hit the third period. The crowd is roaring, and the overhead lights are hot and overbearing, but all I can feel is her.
Every second I’m skating, I’m chasing the ghost of Mia’s hands on me, Mia’s mouth on mine. The imprint of her nails digging into my skin, and the way she whispered my name when she broke apart. It’s burned into me, and won’t shake loose. I can still taste her when I breathe too deep. Still hear her soft, wrecked sounds in my head, taunting me under the noise of the game.
The puck slaps the boards behind me and Murphy yells something across the ice.
Focus, Diesel. Focus. I grind my teeth and snap back into it, chasing the play, hammering toward the net with a ferocity that’s got their defence flinching.
I score. The crowd loses it; I raise my stick in the air with my heart thundering. My boys surge around me, slamming into me, shouting, shoving, and laughing. But even when they’re piling on, slapping my helmet, grabbing my shoulders, my gaze finds its way to the bench.
To her.
Mia’s there, arms crossed over her chest, that familiardetermined line between her brows. But there’s a softness too, tucked into the corner of her mouth, hidden under the professional mask she’s forcing herself to wear.
She’s trying not to look at me like she’s still feeling me under her skin. But I see it. Ifeelit. And it wrecks me.
After the win, it’s chaos. The locker room is a mess of sweaty gear, laughter, and a whole load of shouting as we celebrate another win. Murphy’s swinging his stick around like an idiot, and when I look around the room Danny’s flexing like he’s just scored a goddamn hat trick, he didn’t, and Ollie’s blabbering about something no one’s listening to.
I should be hyped. Iamhyped. But it’s a background buzz.
Mia’s somewhere in this building. And my body’s wound so tight from being near her and not touching her that I’m half a second away from snapping.
I shower real quick. Pull on jeans, a T-shirt, and grab a hoodie. Scruff my hair dry with a towel and then yank the hoodie over my head. My movements are sharp and clipped, like they’ll bleed out this restless energy.
Murphy clocks me the second I shove all my shit into my bag.
He’s lounging by his stall, arms folded, grinning like he knows something he shouldn’t.
Shit.
I ignore him, or at least, I try to. But Murph isn’t one to let something slide when he’s got leverage. I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, and I almost make it.
“Diesel,” Murphy calls out casually, like he’s not about to drop a bomb on me. “Got a sec?”
I stiffen and look back, trying to make it casual but figure I’m failing miserably.
“Yeah?”
Murphy pushes off the wall, grabs his own bag, and falls into step with me.
We walk out together, through the halls filled with staff, families, and arena workers. He waits until we’re far enough away from the others to say it.
