Chapter 23

We escape out the back way again. Kendra came to the Fan Festival with Lovey, so she finds her to get her stuff out of her vehicle. Then we head back to my place.

We don’t talk much on the way there. My mind is busy, though, going over what we just talked about, the fact that she’s here, she believes me, and she loves me. And yet there’s still uncertainty, too. What does this mean for us?

Inside my condo, I know we should talk more but I can’t keep my hands off her. I need to touch her. Feel her. Taste her. With a long, aching groan, I pull her against me, then cup her face with both hands. I gaze down at her for a long moment, her eyes shining brightly, her pretty lips parted, the corners tilted up in the beginning of a smile. She winds her arms around my neck and I bend my head to kiss her. Need for her slams into me, and I wrap one arm around her, clamping her against me.

Kendra’s fingers glide into my hair and I fucking love it when she does that. Tingles race down my spine and pool at the base, growing into a sharp ache. We moan into each other’s mouths, sharing a kiss that tastes of longing and relief, joy and lust, our mouths moving, tongues sliding.

I never want to let her go.

I dip my knees and slide an arm behind her knees, lifting her.

“Max!” She grabs my shoulders.

I start toward the bedroom, smiling. I love how she tucks her head against me and hangs on tightly.

Still holding her, I sit on the bed, then roll her under me, stretching out over her, kissing her, pressing her into the soft duvet. My dick is a throbbing spike and I can’t help but aggressively move against her. As always, she’s eager, too, lifting into me, her hands moving over me, everywhere, setting every nerve ending on fire.

A growl of pure, primal desire climbs in my throat. “Need more,” I mutter, finding skin beneath her T-shirt. I slide my hand up and cup her breast, gently squeezing, loving how it fills my palm, her nipple a hard point beneath the thin cotton of her bra.

I rise up and shove her shirt up with both hands, then help her pull it off over her head. While she’s sitting up she unfastens her bra and tosses it aside. I study her as I unbutton her jeans and lower the zipper, then tug them down her legs. This is a bit of a workout as the jeans are snug. “Jesus.” I wrestle one leg off over her foot, then the other, and she laughs breathlessly at my frustration. The panties are gone, too, and she’s beautifully naked on my bed. I have to stop for a minute, emotion rising up in me, awe and gratitude and yeah, more lust. “Look at you.” I stroke my palms down her thighs. “Gorgeous.” My gaze moves over her arm and the words I wrote earlier in black ink. I trace them with my finger and then meet her eyes. We both smile.

Then I stare reverently at her gorgeous breasts. I lean down to kiss and lick them, nipping at the soft curves, sucking her sweet nipples. She holds my head, fingernails scraping over my scalp, making me burn, and her soft whimpers fill my ears.

I shift and kiss lower, over her taut abs, then her lower belly. Her muscles quiver there at my touch. “Want to taste you.” I kiss the curls on her mound, then lower still as my palms on her thighs part her legs.

I fill myself with her scent and her taste, stroking her with my tongue, sucking at her soft flesh, rubbing my stubble over her sensitive skin. Her soft whimpers mingle with the noises of my mouth and tongue on her, her fingers tightening in my hair and her hips arching beneath me. I lick over her clit and her body jolts, and when I suck the swollen nub into my mouth, her hips lift and twist and she cries out. “Oh, God, Max!”

I keep sucking and licking until her quivery body goes still, but even then I don’t move, inhaling her, my eyes closed, my body throbbing. Finally, I lift my head and rise up to get rid of my own clothes, my dick hot and throbbing, then move over her again. Her hands reach for my cock, and she strokes me reverently with one hand, the other cupping my balls, caressing me, testing their heavy weight. I love the way she looks at me like that, like she’s as much in awe of my body as I am of hers. Her touch inflames me even more, heat and pressure coiling inside me.

“God, I want to fuck you.”

“I want that, too. Please.” Her hands reach for me, her palms brushing over my shoulders, my biceps, my pecs. “You make me come so hard. I want you inside me.”

“Oh, yeah, I want that, too. Want to own you. Make you mine.” Christ. I sound like a caveman. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this primal need to claim ownership.

It doesn’t seem to bother her. She slides her hands all over me, rubbing my nipples, fiery sensation shooting straight to my balls as I grip my dick and find her entrance. Her hands send a barrage of sparks over my body, pleasure swelling in my belly, almost unbearable.

“Inside you.”

Hot, aching need builds in my balls. I push inside her, loving the tight clasp of her pussy. When I’ve worked my way in, every hot, wet inch of her, I pause and stare into her eyes. Together. It’s perfect. It’s right. It’s everything. “I love you.”

Her eyes shine and her hands smooth over my shoulders. “I love you, too, Max.”

We move together, our eyes still joined, making the connection between our bodies even more intimate. The sounds of our slick bodies moving together fill my shadowy bedroom. I’m dying, on fire, my blood surging in scalding pulses. I can’t look away. It’s both terrifying and wonderful. This is…something I’ve never experienced.

I slide a hand between us to find her clit, to make sure she comes again. “Yes,” she moans. “Yes…there.” I know her body, the exact place, and I rub as I thrust deeper, filling her. I feel her orgasm coming, her body tightening, and she thrashes and cries out when she comes, squeezing me, sending me over, too. Everything inside me twists up hot and hard, almost to the point of pain—sweet, beautiful pain—and I shout, too, as I come, falling over her, burying myself deep in her, pouring myself into her with long, blinding, wrenching spasms. We shudder together, her hands clinging to me, her teeth sinking into my shoulder.

We lay wrapped around each other for a long time. This…this is intense. It’s passionate. It’s powerful.

It’s love.

“We have things to talk about.”

Kendra stirs beside me. “Mmm.” She sounds half-asleep. “I know. We really need to talk about you assaulting your mascot.”

I snort. “That dipshit put his hand on your ass.”

Her lips twitch. “You were jealous of a dog?”

“He’s not a dog. There’s a fucking real live man inside there and he’s a dipshit.”

She laughs softly. “Okay, then. Thank you for coming to my defense. Though it really wasn’t necessary.”

“We live in different cities.”

She shifts toward me, blinking. “Yes. We do.”

“What do we do about that?”

“You want to request a trade?”

I see the teasing glint in her eyes and know she’s not serious. But…“I could do that.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I would. I would do that.” I set my jaw. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“I don’t expect you to give up hockey. Oh, my God, Max. I love you so much for that.” That love shines in her eyes. “But there’s no need for you to give up your team, to give up anything. You have a goal and I’m here to support you and do whatever I can to help you achieve that goal. You’re going to play for the Aces this year.”

My heart swells up huge and hot.

“I know we haven’t known each other long. Maybe we just keep going the way we have for a while.”

“I want you with me.”

She sighs. “I know. I want that, too. I miss you when I’m away from you.”

“It’s fucking hell.” I stroke the curve of her back.

“It went pretty well when I was staying here. When I came to help you. I got work done.”

“What are you saying?”

She shifts one shoulder and kisses my chest. “Maybe Jodie and I could make it work with me living here.”

“You think?”

“Well.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, her forehead creased. “I think it could work…business-wise. But…” She exhales softly. “I’d miss her and Zyana.”

The sadness in her voice wraps around my heart. Fuck. Of course she’d miss them. I’ve seen how much she loves that little girl, and I know she loves her friend, too.

“I said I’d be there for her. When she wanted to have a baby. I promised her I’d help her be a single mom. And I love them both, her and Zyana. It’d be so hard to be away from them.”

Shit. I don’t say anything, because I get it. She has commitments to people other than me. I don’t want to take her away from her friend and her child. I don’t want her to feel guilty about not being there for them. But fuck, I want her here with me.

“I’ll talk to her.” She scrunches up her face briefly. “She knows I’m here, and what’s been happening. She’s probably figured out that if things work for us, I’ll want to make some changes.”

The sadness in her voice tears up my insides. “I don’t want to cause problems for your business. Or your friendship with Jodie.”

She moves her head side to side. “I don’t want that, either. But don’t worry. I won’t let that happen.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help. Anything.”

She meets my eyes, hers warm. “Thank you. If we want this, we can make it work.”

“I know we can.” I kiss her nose. “That’s what love is.”

Sunday Kendra takes me shopping. Since it’s a new hockey start for me, we pick out some suits that I’ll need for games. She helps me select some stylish choices, the pants narrower than I’m used to, the jackets fitted. When I grab a couple white shirts, she shakes her head and makes me buy a blue-and-white-checked one that she pairs with a striped blue tie. My eyebrows shoot up.

“Come on,” she teases. “Live on the wild side. Add a little color to your life.”

I have to admit I’ve always been a conservative dresser, not like Rupper with his designer duds, but when I try on the stuff and check myself out in the mirror, I like it. I finger the bright tie, smiling.

As always, my spice girl makes me smile.

She picks out another solid blue tie, then a green shirt with a crazy patterned green, blue, and purple tie. I’m shaking my head, but the sales dude in the expensive menswear store is nodding approvingly. The suits all need some alterations, thanks or no thanks to my workouts, which have made my quads and gluts massive. Not bragging.

We walk out of the store onto Michigan Avenue arm in arm, her leaning into me and laughing, and Christ, for a moment I can’t breathe. It’s such a couple moment. I never thought I’d feel this again…this happiness. This lightness. This love. I’m not sure I deserve it. I’m not sure I deserve Kendra. But I want to. I want to be everything she needs and deserves. I want to take care of her and make her smile and make her as happy as she makes me.

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, carrying the garment bag with my shirts and ties, and I wrap one arm around her and pull her up against me for a kiss.

She draws back a moment later, breathless and pink-cheeked. “Whoa.”

I smile at her. “I love you.”

Her eyes soften and warm. “I love you, too.”

We’re attracting interested looks from passers-by, some of whom probably recognize me. I’m a pretty private person, but right now I don’t even care. Because this gorgeous, generous woman is mine and I want the world to know.

I become aware that people are taking pictures. Great. This’ll be all over social media in a few minutes. People are going to talk. I know it was in the news when Ariana died, when I took a leave from the team. I don’t really understand why anyone is so interested in my life, but I’ve learned that hockey fans are passionate about their teams and the players, and people are likely going to be curious about Kendra and our relationship.

So I slide my arm around her waist and turn to face the cameras with a smile.

“Can I have your autograph?” a young boy asks.

“Sure.” I sign the hat he’s wearing, then a couple more autographs while Kendra holds the garment bag and looks on, smiling.

When we move on a few minutes later, I ask, “Does that bother you?”

“The fans? The cameras?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s weird. But it’s fine. I understand.”

Ariana hated it. She got so annoyed with people invading our privacy. We talked about it, and she understood it, but even so, I would cut things short out of consideration for her, sometimes even avoiding fans if I could. Not that I’m the kind of guy who likes to hold court, but these are the people who pay me to play. Yeah, I love my sport, but what we do is for the fans and I’m grateful for their support. I like to give back to them when I can.

“There’s probably going to be stories about us online.” I glance at her as we walk.

She nibbles her bottom lip and nods. “Yeah.”

“You okay with that?”

We turn a corner onto a quieter side street and she stops and faces me. “It’s part of you. Right?”

“Right.” I gaze at her somberly.

“Then I’m okay with it.”

I smile. “Good.”

“I guess I better tell my parents before they see it online.”

My smile fades, knowing that her relationship with her parents isn’t that great.

“It’ll be fine.” She smiles and touches my face. “My mom might not even be interested, depending on her mood. On the other hand, she could freak out and tell me what a shitty daughter I am for hiding stuff from her.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve learned how to deal with her.”

“What about your brothers?”

“They’ll be happy for me. Except they’ll want to meet you so they can make sure you’re good enough for me.” She smiles.

We start walking again. “You don’t have to read that shit online. In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. I try not to read all the stuff sports reporters write about me.”

I made that mistake early in my career, reading blogs and, worst of all, the comments. There are some ugly people who think it’s totally okay to viciously slag someone online because they took a stupid penalty or turned over the puck to the opposing team or have a few bad games in a row. Or even just because they’re a great player—it seems like the best players in the league take the most shit. Reading that stuff does nobody any good. So I avoid it. Hopefully Kendra will, too.

Kendra goes back to New York Monday morning, and I fucking hate it, but it is what it is. I know we have some shit to get through and it’ll all be good when we get there. And I’ve got training camp to get through. The lightness of my spirit as I step on the ice makes me realize how down and dark I was feeling about things before Kendra showed up on Saturday.

Of course I take a lot of bullshit for getting into a brawl with Blade. For fuck’s sake. I don’t know why I blew up like that. I guess it was just everything…the stress of not knowing what was happening both with Kendra and with making the team, and then seeing that jerkoff put his fake dog paw on her ass…okay, he probably couldn’t even feel her through that padded costume, but still…

“He should be reported for sexual harassment,” I mutter at being razzed. “He can’t be going around groping fans.”

“You defended her.” Army stares at me, arms folded across his chest.

“Yeah.” I lift my chin at him. “We’re together. Deal with it.”

“What the fuck is with this team?” He shakes his head. “First my sister. Now my cousin. Jesus.”

“Dude.” I roll my eyes. “This isn’t about you.”

That gets laughs from the other guys in the dressing room.

Rico calls, “Hey, Army, is your mom hot? Can I meet her?”

Army flicks a middle finger Rico’s way, then looks back at me. “Just don’t be an asshole to her.”

“I already was. And I’ve apologized. I had some shit to deal with, but…I have now.” I hold his gaze steadily so he knows I mean it.

After a beat, he nods.

I let out a long breath. Okay. Army’s good with it.

Thursday is our first exhibition game at home. I’m not in the playing group, so I go to the Aces’ practice facility for a noon workout, followed by a scrimmage and an off-ice workout. That night I watch the game from the press box. There are two levels of press boxes in the Moens Center, so there’s lots of room for those of us not playing. It’s a different atmosphere here than during the regular season when anyone watching from the press box isn’t usually happy about being there, whether because of injury or suspension or being a healthy scratch—tonight it’s more lighthearted and relaxed.

I watch the game with a critical eye, taking in how everyone’s playing.

“I like that guy,” Nicky says, watching a D-man prospect. “He loves playing the body.”

“Yeah. And he has a bomb of a shot from the blue line. When he shoots.”

We turn our attention to young Jacob Flass. “Silky boots and filthy mittens on that kid,” I say.

“No shit. You see that dangle?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Gabe Gandy, who we got in a trade last year, takes a shot at the net that misses by a hair. “Look at him,” I say. “He loiters in the neutral zone like hookers in West Garfield Park. He’s just waiting for a breakout pass so he can shoot.”

“And he’s got a cannon of a shot,” Nicky says.

It’s clear to me that some of the younger guys aren’t going to make it. Others I’m less sure about. The game’s not a stellar display of defense, and our goalie prospect probably isn’t too happy when the game ends with a score of eight-six, even though it’s in our favor.

Thursday it’s my turn to play. My first NHL game in seventeen months. I’m excited and a little nervous, too.

Despite how long it’s been, I find myself starting to follow my old pregame rituals. I pause. I’m starting new. Maybe I should have a new routine.

I already have a new workout and a new diet. During the season, the Aces feed us well, and lots of healthy choices, which will work fine with my new way of eating. Today I eat a grilled chicken breast with brown rice and some steamed veggies for lunch. I already know how much better eating this way makes me feel, so I think this is a positive change.

The one thing I won’t change is my pregame nap. I’ve been doing this for so many years and I’m not ready to give that up. So I set my alarm for three o’clock and have my snooze. Then I dress in one of my new suits. I smile when I knot the colorful tie. Kendra’s brought color into my life in so many ways.

Before the game I used to eat a bowl of cereal. Today I opt for a peanut butter sandwich on whole grain bread and a banana.

I’ve been trying to prepare myself mentally for the game. I know that being nervous can be good or bad. I don’t want it to throw me off, but a little adrenaline can be a good thing if I channel it properly.

I pull the chilled air of the arena into my lungs when I step onto the ice for the warm-up. I can smell the ice and the refrigeration and yes, faintly, popcorn. I pause for a second to take in the seats that are starting to fill with fans, Ludacris blasting over the sound system.

I’m back.