Page 88 of Hard Check
Riggs, across the room, stopped mid-tape roll. “Hold on. Is that why you’ve been—” He looked at Leo, then at the ceiling, then back at Leo. “How long has this been going on?”
“A while.”
“Huh.” Riggs sat with that for a second. Then nodded. “Good for you, V.”
Carter glanced over from his phone. “Bring him next time. We should meet him properly.”
That was it. Carter went back to his phone. Riggs went back to his tape. The room kept moving.
Leo’s phone buzzed. He reached for it, still half-dressed, pads on the floor around his feet.
Dawson
Ethan’s heading home. Any chance I can get a ride?
Dawson had sent his brother home. That was either the ballsiest move of the night or the dumbest, and Leo was grinning at his phone like an idiot.
Stay where you are. I’m just about done.
He finished stripping his gear. Showered as quick as possible. The hot water hit his shoulders, and he stood under it just long enough to get the game off his skin.
He dressed, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.
“I’m gonna head out,” Leo said. “I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”
“Tell Mercer we said hi,” Jonesy called after him.
Leo walked out of the locker room and down the tunnel toward the parking lot exit. The arena was quiet now, lights half-dimmed, a janitor pushing a trash bin down the concourse.
He pushed through the exit doors, and the cold hit him.
Dawson was standing near the main entrance, hands in the hoodie pocket, shoulders up around his ears from the cold.
Leo stopped walking. His keys were in his hand, his hair was still wet, and Dawson wasright there, ten feet away, in a Stags hoodie. He liked seeing Dawson in his colors. Leo’s eyes burned and his breath hitched, and he had to stand still for a second because his legs had decided they were done.
Dawson turned. Saw him. His whole body loosened—shoulders dropping, hands coming out of the pocket, chin lifting. He took a step toward Leo and then stopped, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to close the gap.
Leo closed it. Three steps, four, and then he was standing in front of Dawson. Dawson’s hand came up and caught the front of Leo’s jacket and held on, knuckles white, and neither of them said anything for a long beat. Just stood there, with Dawson gripping his jacket. Leo’s breath came out uneven in the cold air.
"Hi," Dawson said. His voice was wrecked, and Leo understood exactly what it had cost him to stand in front of a crowd of people, many who knew him, and ask for another chance.
"Hi." Leo covered Dawson's hand with his own. The fingers underneath were cold and still shaking, and he held them still, like he could press his own steadiness into them. Then he leaned in until his forehead rested against Dawson's.
He'd spent every day since the night he’d driven away wanting exactly this and refusing to believe he'd get it. Now Dawson was here, breathing unevenly against him, and the wanting finally eased into something Leo could stand. Dawson's free hand found his hip and pulled him in, and Leo stopped caring who might still be around to see.
"I can't believe you came to my game." Leo kissed him, slow, his thumb moving over Dawson's cheekbone. The most closed-off man he'd ever met had just made himself impossible to miss, in front of everyone, for him. "Fuck, I missed you."
Dawson's fingers tightened on his hip. "I'm sorry it took so long."
Leo pulled back far enough to dig his keys out of his pocket and hold them up between them. "Come home with me."
Dawson smiled — the real one, the one Leo only got when every wall was down.
"Yeah," Dawson said. "Okay."
They walked to the car side by side. Dawson’s hand brushed Leo’s between them, and Leo caught it and held on, and Dawson didn’t pull away. Twenty minutes until they’d finally be alone together. Leo wasn’t sure he was going to make it that long without saying something he wasn’t ready to say yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
