Page 58 of Playing Rough

We both feel stronger—and calmer—from this small touch, I can tell. It's like a secret moment of closeness between us in the middle of all the rowdy team energy. But it's a reminder that I have someone to face life's challenges with. A partner in every sense of the word. Whatever comes next, London will be there to take it on with me.

And no matter how hard the clashes rage on the ice, in the quiet moments between just him and me, we can drop the act. Can show the truth of who we are and what we're becoming.

Even after our years of clashing, there's something about London that slips past my defenses. That's why just this small touch grounds me when tensions are high. Makes me feel less alone.

I spent years telling myself he didn't belong here, that he was just flash and no heart. But I know now that was all talk. Underneath it, there's more to him than I ever let myself see. There always has been. Maybe I was afraid to get to know him all those years because I could sense what he’d become to me if I stopped to really know him.

That heated promise in his eyes steels me as we board the bus back to campus. Back to the normalcy of classes and practices, a world away from the brutality of the hockey rink. Where we’re a secret to the world, but I wouldn’t give him up for anything.

As the team settles into their usual shit-talking for the ride home, London and I take seats at the back, far enough apart not to draw attention. But once we're moving, I feel London's hand slip into mine, hidden from view as his pinky hooks around mine. In the reflection of the dark bus window, I see the understanding in his eyes. The unspoken vow that he’s my person and always will be.

Maybe it's stupid to tempt fate again after the damage secrets caused before. But with my steady strength balancing London’s rough edges, I find myself not giving a fuck about anything but him. This. If everyone finds out and it ruins our futures, so be it.

Just feeling his finger curled around mine settles something in me. A reminder that I don't have to shoulder the burden alone anymore. London could've turned his back after the mess I made, but here he is, offering me another shot. Giving me his heart. That means more than I can say.

I know we've got a rough road ahead, full of challenges that'll test us. But feeling the warmth of London in the shadows, I'm ready to fight for this. For him. For us.

23

LONDON

Wakingup tangled with Riot has become the best part of my day, no contest. The smell of him, his comforting aura, the rhythm of his heart—they keep me grounded and not lost in the loneliness that I usually feel.

This morning, I let myself indulge as the first rays of sun creep across the sheets. Study the smooth muscles painted in black ink of Riot's back, his just-fucked hair sticking up every which way. Trace the tattoos scrolling down his arms—they're like the story of who he is.

When my touch makes him stir, I smile against his shoulder blade. "Go back to sleep," I murmur.

He grumbles, but soon he's breathing deep and even again.

I'd love to stay wrapped up in this little cocoon with him, keeping the world and its judgments locked outside. But then reality shows up, even when things are going well.

With a reluctant sigh, I slip from the tangled sheets and pad to the bathroom, wincing as my bruised muscles scream like a motherfucker. I scrub the scent of sex and Riot off my skin, watching the steam fog the mirror. My reflection's a roadmap of scars, but there's a new light in my eyes lately. Something dangerously close to hope.

It scares me, if I'm being real. I spent so long building up walls to keep the world's pain away. Now here I've gone and handed Riot a damn sledgehammer to those defenses. I gotta believe he'll wield it gently, but old doubts still whisper their bullshit.

You really think you can trust him with your heart? Remember how he lied to you?

I grit my teeth and force those doubts away. What Riot and I have now runs deeper than any past beef or miscommunication. He's the rock that balances out my rough edges. With him, I'm no longer brittle steel at risk of shattering—I'm fuckin' titanium. Unbreakable.

We still clash sometimes, no question. We probably always will. But we're figuring out how we fit. Walking away now would break me in ways that might not ever heal.

So I leave the past where it belongs—behind me. Riot and me, we've got our eyes on the future now. We’re gonna do big things together.

I make my way to class and it drags on endlessly. I'm itching to be back with Riot, but he's got a full slate of his own today. The way I’m addicted to him is idiotic.

So fucking dumb.

I can’t stop. Don’t want to.

This muscle physiology lecture isn’t sticking. I can’t focus for shit. My notebook fills up with plays I want to run, crosses and hooks laid out in dark slashes of ink instead of what I should be paying attention to. The margins crowd with doodled faces that slowly transform into Riot's sharp features, his piercing eyes.

Christ, you got it bad, Lancaster.

I huff a breath, gripping my pen tighter. Who'd have thought it'd be the arrogant, sharp-tongued Riot fucking Kensington that cracked through the concrete around my heart? Sure as hell didn't see that coming. But here we are. And I'm happier than I can ever remember being.

Of course, that happiness comes with a price. Namely, our relationship being a dirty little secret.

We're playing with fire and I damn well know it. On the ice, Riot and I skate the line between "just friends" and “a whole lot fucking more” so close that eventually, we're gonna cross it. The lingering glances and secret touches only hide so much when you're feeling likethis.

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