Page 169 of With the Assist

“I already am.”

Wyatt grins. “At least you get to watch us suffer.”

“I’d rather be suffering with you.”

And I mean it. The ice is where my thoughts shut up. My body knows exactly what to do without asking permission. Sitting still feels wrong.

Grayson leans against the counter, arms folded. “You’ll be back. Until then, we will adjust.”

“You better,” I say. “I don’t want to come back to a dumpster fire.”

The guys drift into easier conversation after that, trash talk, upcoming road games, and which rookie needs to stop overthinking everything. I half listen, my thoughts circling elsewhere, whether I want them to or not.

Wesley. Always back to Wesley.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I know it’s her, but I don’t move to check it right away. I’ve been waiting a few minutes before responding, not to play games, but to make sure I’m not rushing things.

Last time I was all in, she wasn’t. This time, I want to give her time to figure out if it’s really me that she wants.

Wyatt notices. “Are you going to answer that or stare into space?”

“Shut up,” I say, but I pull my phone out.

It’s her.

Wesley: How’s the shoulder today?

There’s a familiar pull in my chest that hasn’t gone away since the hospital, since she walked in and lit my parents on fire with nothing but calm conviction.

Me: Sore, but still attached to my body.

Wesley: Hang in there.

Me: I will. Good luck tomorrow.

I don’t add anything else, even though all I want to do is talk to her. I want to tell her that watching my team play without me was worse than the pain. I want to tell her that my contract is still solid. I want to tell her that this injury didn’t take anything from me the way I feared.

Mostly, I want to tell her that I still want her.That I still love her.

But I don’t.

Because that’s not what we talked about. When I mentioned starting things back up slowly, she jumped at the chance. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have me worried she’d change her mind again.

Despite the increase in flirting the past week, we’re still going slow. We need to choose each other because we want to, not because we’re sad, or lonely, or because I’m hurt and she’s scared.

Grayson clears his throat. “You good?”

I look up. “Yeah.”

He nods, satisfied.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and lean into the couch, just in time to see Liam step out of Grayson’s bathroom with a black lace bra pinched between two fingers.

The room goes dead silent.

Wyatt is the first to recover. “Ohshit.”

Grayson closes his eyes slowly, pretending that if he doesn’t look at us, we’ll disappear.