Page 79 of Cross the Line

“Good. Tired. Morgan’s sleeping.”

“You’re a champ,” I said, amazed by her strength. “Do you want to talk to Frasier?” I walked over and tapped him on the arm.

He smiled when he saw me, but his face absolutely lit up when he saw who was on my phone screen. “Thank you.” He pulled me in for a sweaty hug then spent a few minutes talking to Bryn. He’d just won the biggest game of his career, and he only had eyes for his girls.

Carson skated over, and I bit back my smile. I wanted to jump into his arms; I wanted to show him just how proud I was. But there were too many eyes on us—there were cameras and reporters everywhere. Too many fans and friends watching not just here but from home.

“Good game.” I smiled then, hoping he could read through the lines to everything I wanted to say but wasn’t. You’re amazing. I’m so proud of you. I think I’m falling for you.

“Thanks.” The corner of his mouth curled up into a smile. “See you for the after party?”

“I wouldn’t want to⁠—”

He leaned in. It was so loud, and there was so much going on that no one was paying us any attention. “I want you there. Unless you need to be at the hospital with Bryn.”

“I’m guessing Frasier will go up there after this. I’ll visit tomorrow once they’ve settled in a little more.”

“So you’ll come?” he asked, and I remembered how much I’d wanted to celebrate my Walter Cup win with him. How happy I’d been when I’d come home to find him waiting for me.

“I’ll be there,” I agreed, unable to refuse.

“Good.” He stared at my lips, and I knew he wanted to kiss me.

“Good,” I said, realizing I’d drifted closer somehow. Realizing I wanted him to kiss me—right here, in front of everyone. I wanted them to know that he was mine, and I was his.

But I wasn’t. And we weren’t.

A tear slipped out, and he reached up as if to wipe it away before stopping himself. With his fist clenched at his side, he gnashed his teeth. “What’s wrong?” His tone was gentle despite the aggression radiating through him.

I told myself I was caught up in the moment—it had been an emotional night packed with adrenaline. It was like being sucked under by a wave. My feelings, the sensations, were so much. Too much.

But this was his night, his celebration. I wasn’t going to make this huge moment about us, about my feelings. So instead of admitting the truth, I said, “I’m so proud of you.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I sensed he wasn’t buying it. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine him cupping my cheek, leaning into his touch. Another tear slipped out, and I cursed it.

“Lo,” he chided. “Don’t lie to me.”

He saw too much, knew me too well. I should’ve expected that he’d see right through me.

I sighed. In the past, I would’ve fought these feelings and drowned. So instead of fighting, I decided to let go, unable to deny the truth anymore.

I couldn’t control what team I was playing on next year. I still didn’t know where I’d be living—Minnesota, Anaheim, somewhere else entirely. And even if I had, nothing in life was guaranteed. Derek’s death had taught me that.

And so, with my late friend’s banner fluttering above me, reminding me that life was short and we should tell people how we felt, I found myself speaking from the heart.

“I don’t want this to end.” The words slipped out, but I couldn’t say I regretted them. I told myself that Carson could believe I was referring solely to the sex. But I had a feeling we both knew I wasn’t.

“It doesn’t have to,” Carson said, his words like a lifeline, whispering promises against my skin.

“But the rules…” I swallowed hard, everything and everyone else forgotten.

“We make the rules.”

His words echoed in my mind. We make the rules.

And even though I was scared to give voice to my feelings, I wanted to show him just how much he meant to me. How badly I wanted him and not just for sex.

So much for no strings.