Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Bash

The stadium erupts as the final period ticks down. We're neck and neck against our rivals the Redhawks. The air is charged with tension, and every cheer and shout from the stands fuels my adrenaline.

I wipe sweat from my forehead and glance at my teammates. "Let's get this shit done," I say as we skate out from the bench, our faces a mask of determination and resolve.

The score is tied, and every heart in the arena beats a furious rhythm. I feel the cold spray of ice under my skates as I dart down the rink, the puck slicing ahead of me like a bullet. Briggs keeps pace on my right, eyes locked on my movement, ready for the play we've perfected in countless practices. With a swift motion, I flick the puck his way, and he slams it into the goal. The red light blares, and the crowd's roar is deafening.

As we indulge in a group hug, I spot Sage in the stands. She looks so natural standing and cheering with the rest of the fans and the hockey wives.

I could get used to this.

But victory isn't ours yet. The final minutes are an onslaught. Our net is besieged, puck after puck launched by desperate opponents. Noah, our rock, guards the goal with something ferocious in his eyes. Every shot is met with a decisive save, his glove snapping shut like a steel trap. The tension mounts with each click of the clock, our breaths visible in the cold, a testament to the battle we're entrenched in.

As the seconds dwindle, opportunity strikes. I intercept a sloppy pass at center ice and suddenly, it's just me and the opposing goalie. The arena noise fades to a distant hum as I close in. My heart pounds—a drummer keeping time to my charge. I aim and fire, a clean shot. The puck hits the post with a clang that echoes in my chest, bounces, and then, by some sweet mercy, slips into the net as the buzzer blares.

We've done it.

The game is ours.

Gloves and sticks fly up as we crowd together, a mass of neon jerseys vibrating with joy.

Even Anders, usually so reserved, is beaming as he slaps my back hard. "Nice game, LeClerc."

His words spark a fire of hope in me, bolstering the belief that this, indeed, is our year. As we skate our victory lap, the crowd's cheers wash over us, a tidal wave of support and celebration. The thrill of the win courses through me, heightened by the knowledge of who waits beyond the rink. Tonight's victory isn't just for the team—it's for something more, something personal.

"You were amazing out there," Latham tells me. I wait for the backhanded comment that is sure to follow because… Latham. To my surprise, it never comes. He slaps my back a few times and grins. "Keep playing like that, and we'll be taking Lord Stanley home at the end of the season."

The hope in his voice forces me to acknowledge a thought I've been putting off: what will this team look like next year? Or two years from now? How long until my friends move on and find new avenues for their careers to follow off the ice? New faces will cycle in, yes, but things won't be the same.

This is the year.

Our year.

We have to win.

Even the ultimate prize seems hollow without the right people to share it with.

"Tonight, we celebrate!" Latham announces.

I wiggle out of his grip. "Actually, tonight you celebrate. I'm going home." I'm bringing my best game on the ice, but I've got my own plans for celebration. I've been doing a little reading, and I picked up a surprise for Sage tonight.

Latham scoffs. "When did you turn into an old man? Come hang out with your boys!"

Noah shakes his head. Anders elbows Latham.

Latham looks around at us in disbelief. "What? Why are you guys looking at me like that?"

Briggs cuffs him upside the head. "Dude. You're looking at a man falling in love. And his love has an expiration date. Let him go."

"Oh." Latham's eyes widen. "I get it. You and Sage are gonna…" He makes a vague, lewd movement with his hips.

"Actually, now that you mention it, maybe I should take Molly someplace nice. Rent a room at the Mona Lisa." Noah rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, lost in thought.

"Yes!" Briggs rubs his hands together. "What do you say, Ollie? Should we ditch the party and show our gals a good time instead?"

"If you're asking me to swing with you, that's a hard no," Ollie deadpans.

Briggs splutters a few times while the rest of us laugh.

"Not what I meant," Briggs clarifies. "I just feel kind of bad leaving Anders on his own."

"No, I'll go home and massage Stella's feet or something. It'll be a win all around." Anders scoops up his bag. "Are we going, or what?"

Briggs and I are the only other two ready to go, so we follow him out of the locker room. We stop short when Dante materializes out of God-knows where to catch my elbow.

"I made some calls," he whispers, as if we're talking about something illicit, which I assume he does on the regular. "I found some high-quality stables."

"You… did?" I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, so I wait for him to explain.

He huffs, and his nostrils flare. "Horse stables. For your girl." He hands me a piece of paper. "Tomorrow. Eleven o'clock. Be there." The implied or else hangs in the air between us. He doesn't specify, and I don't ask.

The locker room door opens, and Dante claps his hands. "Ah, Coop! My boy!"

Coop looks to us for help, but we're already hot footing it out of there. Briggs snickers as we make our getaway. "Whenever I'm having a bad day, I think about how grateful I am that Dante is only my boss. Poor Coop."

"I don't know how he does it," Anders grumbles.

Sage is waiting with the rest of the ladies. I give her a quick peck on the cheek and whisper, "Let's get out of here."

"No Distill tonight?" she asks with a coy smile that makes me shiver with anticipation.

"I've got something better in mind."

* * *

"Are you feeling adventurous tonight?" I ask Sage, in between peppering kisses along her throat and shoulder. The smell of her drives me wild, although I can't tell if there's perfume involved or just the smell of her shampoo and her… Sage-ness.

Sage sucks in a breath. "Do you have something in mind?"

Last time, I was worried about being too intense, too much, about not knowing when and how often to check in with her. A lot of the romance Cash has sent my way feels pretty unbalanced in that regard. Now that I know her a little better, I feel more confident that she'll speak up if she doesn't like something or wants more.

"How do you feel about restraints?" I ask.

Sage swallows so hard, I feel her throat move beneath my lips. "Good. Very good."

"Excellent." I lead her to the bed. "Undress for me, sweetheart." The endearment doesn't fit quite right—I tend to slip into French when I'm at my most emotionally intimate—but it fits the scene better. Besides, it's a good word for her. Sage is sweeter than summer fruit, and she has my whole heart already. I just wish I could tell her.

When she leaves, my heart is going to shatter. Just the thought of this house without Sage in it makes me ache inside.

Every moment with her feels like a countdown, each laugh and shared secret edging us closer to the inevitable heartbreak. It's like watching the best part of your day slip away, knowing you can't hold on to it forever. The thought of not having her around, of missing her laugh or that spark in her eyes—it hits hard, like knowing something great is ending and you're powerless to stop it. How do you brace for the mid-ice crosscheck you never saw coming? Right now, I'm just trying to memorize every detail, every moment, so when she's gone, I'll have something solid to hold onto.

Sage bites her bottom lip and takes her time unbuttoning her jeans. My mouth waters at the sight of her panties. Her shirt soon joins her pants on the floor, revealing the matching bra.

"Those are new." My voice is low and husky.

"You like?" Sage gets up and turns her back to me, jiggling enticingly as she shimmies the panties down.

"Very much." As if she can't see the outline of my eager erection and my zipper fighting for its life.

Sage removes her bra and settles back on the bed, where she spreads her legs to give me a better view. She licks two fingers and rubs them between her legs, her green eyes never leaving my face. "My pussy's really wet, Bash."

At the taunt, I surge forward and catch both of her wrists, leaning over her as I press her back to the bed. Her breathing hitches, and at first, I think I've startled her. Her needy little whine clarifies things quickly.

"Only I get to touch you there, sweetheart." In Cash's books, the guys are always growling. I'm not sure how to replicate that, but the huskiness in my voice makes Sage whimper and lift her hips to grind against me.

I owe that man a charcuterie plate or something. His advice never fails.

I rearrange Sage on the bed so that her arms are toward the headboard. If she struggled at all, I'd release her, but she makes no effort to resist. If anything, she seems to melt beneath my touch.

I love how much she trusts me. I intend to make her enjoy every second of it.

The restraints I picked up earlier aren't handcuffs, exactly, more like leather cuffs with padded lining. I secure them to her wrists, looping them through a slat in the headboard so that her movements will be limited.

"That's better," I tell her.

Sage's breaths come short and shallow. Her lips are redder than usual, and her eyes are already bright with desire. "Are you going to fuck me like this?" she asks. "With your clothes on?"

"Is that what you want?" I trace her lips with my fingers.

"Yes," she whispers. "Fuck me like you want me so much you can't wait."

Consent is so hot. I really can't see the appeal of dub-con. Who wouldn't want the most beautiful woman in the world to beg for their cock? I'll never understand that dynamic.

"Patience," I tell her and kiss my way down her body. I lick her breasts in turn as my fingers stray between her thighs, sliding into her already wet slit, relishing the warm pressure of her around me.

Sage cries out as I fuck her with my fingers. My movements are jerky and swift, and soon my mouth joins. I suck her clit, laving my tongue across her sensitive flesh. She bucks and writhes beneath me, the muscles in her thighs tightening as the pressure builds. I can feel that she's close.

She howls when I pull away and lick my fingers instead of letting her come.

"Bash," she pants, "why would you…? I need…"

I keep eye contact with her, unbuttoning my fly with the other hand. I'm never this devious in bed, but the desperate expression on her face is enough to tell me I should expand my horizons.

"Tell me what you need." I free my cock, which juts lewdly from the front of my slacks.

"You. Inside me. Bash, please." She wriggles feebly against the restraints. "Dammit, I need to come."

I oblige.

Sage almost sobs as I slide into her. She's so tight that I have to take things slow; leaving her unsatisfied before only makes her doubly desperate now. I dig my fingers into the sheets and force myself to move slowly, to give her time.

"Deeper," she says. "I need—oh, Lord!" Her thighs tense, and her toes curl as she starts to shatter all over my dick.

While she drifts down from her first peak, I deepen the depth and urgency of my thrusts. I capture one of her earlobes in my teeth, alternating between gentle bites and soft sucking until she's taut as a bow.

"Can you come again, mon amour ?" I whisper.

"Like this," she says. "Just like this, don't stop. Bash!" This time, she practically screams as she tightens around me, and I'm lost. I no longer know where she ends and I begin.

Only later, when I'm pulling out of her and reaching to unclasp her wrists, do I realize what I called her. It's the first time I've admitted my secret aloud.

I'm in love with Sage, even though I know I was never meant to keep her.