"I loved everything about hockey. It wasn't only the playing but the ritual of it. Taping your stick just right so the blade feels like an extension of your hand. I loved how the locker room went dead quiet thirty seconds before you took the ice."
Eric's fingers found mine in the darkness, resting against my knuckles like an anchor point.
"The night of the accident, I'd been celebrating signing my letter of intent in addition to graduation. When Derek picked me up, he'd already been drinking and had a beer bottle in his hand." I shrugged. "He was Derek. He always landed on his feet."
"It sounds like times worth remembering."
He didn't say worth mourning or worth regretting. Worth remembering. Like my dreams had value independent of whether they'd been realized.
"After they pulled my scholarship, I wrote a letter to the coach. I never sent it. Still have it somewhere. I told myself I'd earn my way back. That they'd see I wasn't a screw-up, but I never even mailed the damn thing."
I turned my head to look at Eric, seeing the starlight reflected in his eyes. "Most people want to know about the crash and how everything went wrong."
"I don't care about the crash. I care about the person who loved something enough to build his whole future around it. That person's still here. Maybe he doesn't play hockey anymore, but he's still here."
A meteor streaked overhead, brighter than the others, casting enough light to illuminate Eric's face for a few seconds. It faded, returning us to star-lit darkness, but something had changed. A door I'd thought was permanently sealed had cracked open just enough to let in a breath of possibility.
I shifted onto my side, propping myself on one elbow to see him properly. The movement sent a familiar stab of complaint through my knee, but I ignored it. Somewhere in the past few weeks, gazing at Eric Callahan had become as natural as checking weather patterns or testing the generator fuel levels.
"You don't look at me like I'm a broken thing."
He turned to meet my gaze. "Because you're not."
"Eric—"
"You're not. You're someone who survived something terrible and built a life that matters. You're—"
I kissed him before he could finish the sentence.
Eric's mouth was warm and tasted like chocolate and bourbon. When his lips parted slightly, I felt him exhale against mymouth—not a sigh of resignation, but something that sounded remarkably like relief.
I touched the side of his face before threading my fingers through the soft hair behind his ear. His skin was warmer than expected, and his stubble lightly scratched my palm as he leaned into the contact.
It was different from the kiss we'd shared in the rink. It was conscious and mutual, with us both fully aware of what was happening. Eric's hand settled against my chest, directly over my heart.
When we separated, I kept my hand curved against his face. "Okay?"
"Kind of perfect. I've been thinking about doing that again."
"Have you?"
"Ever since the rink." His hand pressed more firmly against my chest, fingers spreading to cover more territory. "Actually, since before that, if I'm being honest. Since you showed me how to splice rope, maybe. Or since you made me coffee that first night."
The timeline surprised me. The logical conclusion was he'd wanted to kiss me since we met.
"I know this is complicated. I know you're not looking for anything serious, and I'm only here for another two weeks, and there's the whole thing with your past and my dad and—"
I silenced him with another kiss. When I pulled back, he looked at me with a startled expression that suggested I'd interrupted a speech he'd been rehearsing.
"You think too much."
Eric grinned. "Occupational hazard of being a researcher."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're just nervous."
"Maybe I am. This isn't exactly familiar territory for me."
"Me either."
