There are two types of killer whale pods—a residential pod, that feeds on fish and is a more social, less aggressive unit, and a transient pod, which resembles a pack of rabid wolves determined to rip apart any prey in their path.

Tonight, the Vancouver Canucks are the second type.

By the end of the first period, the cute little orca symbol on their jersey is starting to look a hell of a lot more menacing than it did before. By the end of the second period—when we’re down by two and feeling the burn from playing a speed game marked by relentless forechecking—morale is in the shitter.

We head down the tunnel for the second intermission out of breath and cussing the great nation of Canada for nurturing the dark hearts of these fucking Canucks and their hotshot new head coach.

“I want to go home,” Cruise whines, collapsing onto the bench in the locker room with a wince. “My ass hurts. You know that muscle in your ass, but like on the side of your ass? That one. That one hurts. A lot.”

“Shut up, Cruise,” Petrov grumbles, clearly not in the mood for jokes after being beaten within an inch of his life by the Canuck offense. “No one wants to hear your bitching.”

“Aw, you feeling the pain, Petrov?” Cruise pulls a sad face. “Well, maybe if you wouldn’t hold onto the puck like it’s your emotional support animal, you wouldn’t be so cranky.”

“Maybe if you’d get open,” Petrov shoots back, “I wouldn’t have to.”

I look to Brendan to see if he’s going to shut this down before good-natured ribbing becomes a pointless argument. But the captain’s on the phone in the corner, probably talking to his wife, our PR manager Laura, who’s eight months pregnant and no longer able to travel with him to away games. Considering Cruise is usually our other peacemaker, I take it upon myself to step in and redirect.

“You’re both right,” I say, leaning back against the wall near the water cooler. “The forwards need to offer more support, and the defense needs to unload the puck faster. With their aggressive system, there isn’t time for overanalyzing every play. We need to keep it simple, streamlined, and stay as responsive as possible. We have to be completely focused and stay in the moment, or opportunities are going to keep passing us by.”

“I feel like I’m in yoga class,” Wallace says in a hushed voice, bringing a smile to Petrov’s stormy face.

“Except your balls aren’t hanging out,” Cruise quips, sending a ripple of laughter through the room.

“I took care of that.” Wallace frowns. “I wear spandex underneath my shorts now, so you guys won’t get jealous.”

“Thank God,” Petrov says before gesturing to me. “Saunders is right, though. We can’t move fast if we’re playing on our heels or waiting for a perfect pass. We need to adapt to their game.”

“They certainly aren’t going to adapt to ours,” Cruise agrees.

We discuss strategy for the next few minutes and head back onto the ice in a more optimistic frame of mind. Almost immediately, there’s a noticeable difference in the quality of play, and first Cruise and then Nowicki light the lamp, sending us into overtime. Unfortunately, the home team nets the game winner after Wallace misses a poke check on a breakaway and an especially rabid killer whale pounces on the puck for a tap-in into the wide-open net.

It’s a loss, but it’s still a point toward the playoffs, and more importantly, it confirmed for me all over again that I’m playing with some of the best people in the league. I feel lucky to have spent my career thus far with such an excellent group of idiots, and admit I’m feeling a little sappy and emotional as I meet up with Hailey outside the exit to the Rogers Arena.

Her face lights up when she sees me even as her lips turn down. “You guys fought hard. You should be proud of that turnaround. It was inspiring to watch.”

I smile, hopefully making it clear I don’t intend to pout about our loss. “You’re inspiring to watch. Want to go order pizza and make out while we wait for our order?”

“Sounds perfect.” Eyes bright, Hailey moves into my arms, tipping her head back to welcome my kiss.

I claim her mouth soft and slow, relishing each brush of her warm skin against mine, wondering if I’ll ever get to the point where I take her kiss for granted again.

I hope I never do.

I hope I’m always this present, this focused on my girl, this committed to treasuring every single second with her.

“Hey, Will?” Hailey whispers, kissing me with the words because our mouths are still that close.

Perfectly close.

“Yes, my love,” I say without thinking, forgetting for a second that I’m not allowed to say that to her anymore—not now, not yet.

I pull back, prepared to apologize and dismiss the slip with a grin and a shrug, but when I meet Hailey’s soft gaze I dare to hope the time for keeping our distance is over. Instead of walking back, I push forward, my heart in my throat and everything I feel for her thickening my words, “Yeah, I said it. And I meant it. I love you, Hailey Marks. I love the woman you were and the woman you are and the incredible, curious, sexy, fearless person you’re becoming. I don’t want to miss a minute of you. Of us. And I don’t want this to end in a few weeks.”

“Me either,” she says, her eyes shining. “So, you think you might be open to being my sexy boyfriend again? If I promise to be very good and occasionally very bad?”

I nod slowly, chest filling with a storm of happiness as I pull her closer. “Yes. I want to be your sexy boyfriend. And I want you good, bad, and everything in between.”

“But maybe bad tonight?” She arches her back until I’m keenly aware of her breasts pressing against my chest through her sweater. “I confess I spent most of the third period daydreaming about nipples clamps and handcuffs and your hand fisted in my hair while you fucked my mouth.”

My cock is instantly rock-hard and ready to give her everything she wants and more. I lean in, bringing my lips to the perfect pink shell of her ear as I whisper, “Yes, Curious. I will make you sorry for being such a bad girl, and then I will make you come so many times you’ll forget your own name.”

“Never been fond of my name anyway, sir.” She presses a kiss to my cheek that is every bit as sweet as she is.

My sweet, dirty girl, who I truly could not love any more than I do right now, with my heart bursting with gratitude for the second chance we’ve been given.

I’m riding so high that by the time I finally get her back to the hotel I’m desperate to have her naked and under me. All I want to do is scoop her into my arms, carry her to bed, and make love to her until we’re both too tired to move. But she wants pain before her pleasure, and I want her to have everything she wants, everything she needs, everything she’s learned to crave because she was made for this, for me.

We were meant to be—it’s clear in every touch, from the rough pinch of my fingers on her nipples as I prep them for the clamps to the gentle way I carry her to the bath hours later.

I lay Hailey in the hot water and climb in behind her, guiding her to lie back on my chest as I reach for the soap and lather it between my palms. I start with her arm, massaging her warm skin with slick hands.

“That feels so good,” she sighs, only to flinch as I near her wrist. “But maybe not there.”

“Tender?” I ask.

“A little.”

I lift her arm to the light, noting several faint bluish places beneath the skin. “You might have some bruising from the cuffs. I can go buy some arnica cream when we’re done with our bath.”

Hailey hums lazily. “Don’t worry about it. It’s late, and it’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t mind being marked?” I skim soapy fingers across her clavicle before teasing the valley between her breasts.

“Right now, I don’t mind anything at all,” she says, lifting her chest until her breasts break the surface of the water. Her nipples are hard, making it impossible to keep my hands from sliding down, gliding lightly over those tight tips.

But even that gentle touch makes her wince.

“Tender here, too?” I ask, my cock thickening as a shudder rocks through her body in response to my soapy fingers circling her areolas.

She nods, her damp hair sliding against my chest. “Yes. But don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” I promise as I continue to ever so gently take her there again. I wash every inch of her before letting the water out of the bath, gently parting her thighs, and easing into her from behind.

As I glide in and out with one hand at her swollen breast and the other teasing over her clit, I tell her how much I love her, how much I need her. I tell her how good she feels and how perfect she is and how I will never want anything but her. Finally, as she comes on my cock, the sweet grip of her slickness on my engorged flesh triggering my own release, I groan against her throat, “Mine, Hailey. You’re mine. Fuck baby, tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” she gasps, fingers threading into mine as we ride out our fourth or fifth orgasm of the night. “I’m yours, Will, all yours, baby, all yours.”

And fool that I am, I believe her.

I do not doubt, I do not question, I do not force myself to stay awake, memorizing the way it feels for her to sleep, warm and heavy, on my chest. I slip into unconsciousness moments after Hailey, trusting that we have thousands of more nights like this one to look forward to, trusting that the future is nothing but hearts and flowers and fuzzy handcuffs as far as the eye can see.