Page 143 of Unravel Me

And then she smiles at me, and it’s brilliant and detonating and everything I love. “I’m more of a pink girl, but I think I’m rocking the blue and green.”

I take my blocker off, pressing my hand against the glass. “Thank you for coming.”

Rosie’s eyes soften, and she touches her hand to the other side of the glass. “Where else would we be if we weren’t here supporting our favorite person?”

The words fill me with pride, and twenty-five minutes later, when the anthems are done and I’m taking my place in net, I’m determined to make them proud too.

I’m not truthfully sure how much of the first period Rosie actually watches. Every time I look at her, she’s looking at me. I grin, she flushes, and I grin bigger. By the second period, her eyes are following the play, and when the puck goes from Emmett to Garrett, then up to Carter, and he stuffs it in the net just over Philly’s goalie’s shoulder, she even jumps out of her seat with the rest of the girls. I’m sure Connor has no idea what’s happening, but everyone else is screaming, so he does too.

Carter spins to a stop at center ice, pointing his stick at his wife and daughter. “For my princesses!”

Olivia’s stopped burying her face in her hands when he does this, but she sure does still get red as fuck in the face. It all melts away, though, when Carter skates over, touching his hands and forehead to the glass, right against Ireland’s on the other side.

I’m playing phenomenally, stopping every shot, but my defensemen are doing their best to keep the puck from making it this far. When there’s only a minute and a half left in the game, we’ve got the only goal, and I’m on track for a shutout, Philly pulls their goalie and throws an extra player on the ice, determined to tie this game.

The play turns over at the blue line during a bad line change, and Jaxon hops off the bench, racing like hell to catch up to the centreman who’s barreling down the ice at me. I crouch down, following the puck as I inch out of my net, and when he winds up to shoot, Jaxon pokes the puck free. I nab it with my stick and shoot it off the boards, and just as Garrett grabs it, he’s sandwiched against the boards.

The puck springs free, and Philly’s right-winger speeds toward me. He pulls his stick back before sending it forward, and I dive to the right, deflecting it with my blocker. Another player snatches up the puck, firing it off before I can climb back to my feet, and I leap to the other side and catch it in my glove at the exact moment Jaxon hammers him into the boards.

The whistle blows, I pull off my mask, grab my water bottle from my net, and squirt a generous helping into my mouth before I drench my sweat-soaked face with it. Rosie’s watching me with her mouth open wide, so I wink, watching her face flush scarlet as I pull my mask back down.

With ten seconds left in the game, the puck drops in the circle to my left. When it breaks free right in front of me, clear shot to Philly’s empty net, I decide I wanna hammer home my shutout tonight. And maybe, I wanna show off a little.

I cradle the puck back and forth on the blade of my stick as I skate out of my crease, and Carter shoves the only defensemen in my way out of it. Then I pull my stick back and let the puck fly toward the empty net.

The buzzer blares a split second before the clock runs dry, and I find Rosie and Connor, on their feet and cheering.

Right before my teammates tackle me to the ice, I tap my heart twice, then point at the two people who own it.

* * *

I’ve never in my life ripped my equipment off as fast as I have tonight, jumped in the shower and scrubbed every inch of me clean before throwing on my suit, not bothering with the wet curls that cling to my skin, leaving water droplets cascading down my face.

My tie makes it back on, but the knot hangs loose and too far to the left, and I’m too buzzed to give a shit.

“Adam, are you—”

“Leaving. Bye.”

Laughter explodes behind me as I stride across the dressing room, followed by catcalls and hollers, something about me going to Pound Town and a promise to call me tomorrow so I don’t get lost there and forget to get on the plane for Washington in thirty-six hours.

As if I’m gonna spend the next thirty-six hours buried inside Rosie.

Who am I kidding? I’m spending the next thirty-six hours buried inside Rosie.

Cameras and recorders are shoved in my face, when I step out of the dressing room. I push by them, waving over my shoulder, ’cause I’m sure as fuck not hanging around to chat.

Rosie looks up from down the hall, Connor’s hand in hers, surrounded by my friends. A beautiful red flush paints her delicate features as I stride toward her, cameras on my heels, waiting to see what I’m going to do.

“Dada!” Connor shouts when he sees me. He dashes over to me on unsteady legs, and I catch him in one arm, hoisting him up to me.

“Hey, little trouble.”

He points at Rosie. “Big tubble.”

“Adam,” she whispers when I stop in front of her. “I—”

I swallow her words, all of them. Whatever the fuck they were, I swallow them with my mouth on hers. Fuck, she’s sweet. Like hot chocolate and cinnamon, my first taste of autumn. My mouth remembers all of her, and I devour her savagely, like I’ve been dreaming of nothing but this all my life.

---