I’m a punkrocker, yes I am

“Woah—Hey. Hey, now,” he stops you, looking back at you like you weren’t actively reading the situation. “Just. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. I’m not going to beg for your help, Garrett.”

“You are not begging me for anything,” he panics, a desperate laugh clinging to his words as his hands go tighter on your hips. “I just—why?” he asks almost bashfully, licking his lips to fight back a smile as his gaze falls to yours.

“Same reason you wanted me to tutor you. I don’t know how to do it. I want to. You’re a guy…”

“I am,” he chuckles, stepping a little closer.

“You can teach me,” your voice softens, the heat of his body radiating onto your bare skin.

“Who?” he asks, his attention falling to your lips. “You learnin’ to give head just ‘cause?”

“I’m going to a party this weekend.”

“…Yeah?” he asks as he shifts his weight, his eyebrows drawing in ever so slightly as his gaze lifts to yours.

“I tutor, you know—”

“Some of the football guys, yeah,” he tracks, answering for you, getting a little impatient about who this is all for.

“Just getting this vibe from Beau. I don’t know. He’s sweet.”

“Beau Maxwell?” Garrett asks, arms pulling away from you to cross over his chest, biceps pulling the arms of his t-shirt taut. “Is he just bein’ nice? Or…”

You scrunch your nose in annoyance, scoffing before you turn around. “Whatever, Garrett.” You chuckle weakly, bending over to grab your skirt and your sweater, but he’s scrambling again.

“Stop. Just, don’t—calm down,” he grabs the clothes off your hands, tossing them back to the floor. He lifts both hands, lashes fluttering as he rakes his fingers through his curls.

“He’s not just being nice. He’s not pitying me—”

“Well, that last part didn’t leave my mouth,” he chuckles tiredly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze travels down your body. He hangs his head for a moment, lost in thought.

“And, I know I’m just your Ancient Lit tutor, but don’t tell women to calm down—”

“You’re right. You’re right about everything, actually.”

You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes. “Well, as fun as it’s been standing in front of you for the last fifteen minutes in my bra and panties begging you to teach me—”

“You didn’t beg,” he answers, cutting you off as you spin out, his hand reaching out to grab your hand, fingers tracing down your arm to find yours, urging you closer. “You asked me once. You said please. That’s not begging.”

His thumb rubs along your knuckles, his lips tugging to the side as he thinks a little more.

“Beau’s my friend. That’s why I asked if he was being nice.”

“Okay?”

“He was supposed to be in the class with me across the hall, then I saw you walk into Ancient Lit—”

“Mhmm…”

“And I switched classes,” he continues, the corner of his mouth tipping up like he’s playing it back.

You nod, your eyes following the chain on his chest as it flickers with his quicker breathing before he speaks again.

“Already felt like I was doin’ something wrong asking you for help on day one before we even got our first assignment… Seems like a conflict of interest if I teach you how to do that, feeling like I feel. Do you know what I mean?”

The question breathes past his lips and, just like Garrett, your heart starts to race a little faster. “I think so.”

“Yeah, I like you,” he answers honestly, the words cracking a little at the end with nerves. Your cheeks swell with warmth, the little tingles in your body getting stronger.

“Were you gonna tell me?” you ask.

“Eventually… Just didn’t feel right letting you do that without knowing—” You steal the words off his lips with a kiss and he deepens it instantly, arms wrapping around your body, fingers sliding into your hair. He kisses you so deep your back bows, but he has you, holding you in his big arms, his soft lips pressing against yours.

He kisses you again, softer this time, then one more, smiling into your kiss.

“I can still teach you,” he whispers, taking off his shirt.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“If you want me,” he sighs when your palms rest on his strong chest.

“Beg,” you breathe, and he laughs against your mouth, liking how that word sounds leaving your lips.

“You want me to beg?” he asks, feeling as you hum a mhmm against his mouth. “I want you.” His rough palm falls with those words, slipping under the lace of your thong, squeezing your ass. “You have no idea what I’ve been dreaming about doing to you. This… This is exactly what I need. So, please, baby.”

“Baby?” you hum.

“You’ll call me that one day,” he says confidently, feeling your soft giggle against his lips. “Got a good feeling about us.”

“Teach me,” you smile, and he sighs, the muscles in his shoulders softening.

He looks at you for a second before he says anything, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he still can’t believe you chose him in the first place.

“You gonna let me teach you anything else?” he says quietly against your lips, stealing a kiss.

“Maybe,” you tease, fingers falling down his stomach, tracing over his abs, feeling them flex tighter under your touch. “Second session.”

“Seriously?” he asks breathlessly, following your gaze as your nails trace along the top of his sweats. “Sounds perfect.”

“So, what do I do now?” you whisper, fingers looping under the band of his pants.

“We’re startin’ the lesson from up here?” he asks, chuckling warmly when you mumble yes. “Kisses. Just like you are now. S’perfect.”

“Okay,” you hum.

“Move to my neck, and your hand.” The words leave him slowly as he grabs yours, lifting and placing you on top of that thick bulge between his thighs. “Right here.”

His breathing changes and his voice dips lower as he guides you to rub your hand on top. “Gotta tease me a little. I want this too fuckin’ bad, okay? Make me sweat a little. Don’t let me have it yet.”

You hum out a yes, kissing your way along his sharp jaw as your hand strokes his long, hard cock over the cotton. You can feel him tilt into you a little, pushing himself into your hand.

His face turns into you a little when you get to his ear, hands resting on your body still. “Tighter,” he mutters and you can hear the smile in his voice as your hand squeezes around him.

“Like that?”

“Just like that.”

You kiss under his ear and his head falls to the side, your lips working down the column of his neck, feeling his pulse hammer against your lips.

“Lick,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck to keep you close, your tongue tracing up the trail of kisses you just left. Garrett shudders out a breath, goosebumps fanning across his tan skin.

“Talk to me,” he rasps, turning his face slightly to look you in the eyes, the tension between you thick. “You want it? Let me know.”

“What I want to do to you?”

“You can lie,” he answers softly, tipping your lips toward him when his fingers hook under your chin.

“I don’t wanna lie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you answer as he draws you in for a kiss.

“Tell me.”

“I want you to teach me—”

“No,” he stops you, his brows furrowing when it sounds like less than he was hoping for—like you’re using him instead of wanting this too.

“Listen,” you breathe.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, through a soft smile.

“I want you,” you whisper, tilting closer with each word. “To teach me what you like. So, I can do it again. And, again. I want to get so good at it, that it’s all you can think about.”

“Fuck, baby,” he huffs, gaze lingering as you drop down on your knees in front of him, pressing kisses as you go, his cock painfully hard. “How are you—you sound like you know what you’re doing.”

“In theory,” you answer, wrapping your fingers around the gray material at his hips. “Not in practice.”

“That book you have, huh?” he asks as his fingers find their way into your hair, guiding you to look back at him from where you sit on your knees.

“Mhmm,” you answer, dragging the cozy material down his legs, watching his thigh muscles tense and soften.

“Looked it up. Had to figure out why you were blushin’ like that yesterday before class,” he drawls, cupping your chin in his hand, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Look so fuckin’ good on your knees, you know that?”

“Thank you,” you whisper, his smile spreading with yours. Your hands work up his thighs, resting on his boxers, tracing along the length of his thick dick, straining the material, his tip leaking through the fabric.

“Suck that. It’ll fuckin’ kill me,” he sighs as your focus stays fixed on the dark spot.

“Over your boxers?” you ask, already leaning in, your gaze flicking up to him. “You don’t want my mouth?” The question leaving your lips a hell of a lot more like taunting than asking, making him chuckle.

“You have no idea,” the words barely leave his lips when your mouth wraps around him, the fabric resting against your tongue. The taste comes second, his tip warm and throbbing—his hold on your hair tightening the wetter it gets.

You can feel the arousal soak the lace between your thighs, a steady pulse thumping, your body aching for contact—especially when that first sound of pleasure falls from his lips.

“Goddamn,” he groans, his jaw locking. You reach up without being told and he sucks a sharp breath through his nose when you cup his heavy balls in your hand. “Mhmm…” the praise breathes through a pleasured hum, nodding as you roll them in your hand, still sucking him through the cotton.

“More?” you ask, your breath hitting the place you mouthed, air filling his lungs at the sensation.

“Shit, pretty—yeah,” he slurs, drinking you in with his heavy stare as your hands follow the band of his boxers, tracing his sharp v-lines. You lean in, pressing a kiss on the soft skin below his bellybutton, just above the elastic.

He tips his chin toward you, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna be so good at this, baby,” his voice softens. “So fuckin’ perfect at everything. Why wouldn’t you be?”

His praise goes straight through you, your body drawing closer, settling a little more. He shifts his stance ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as he feels how wet your pussy is when your weight lands on top of his foot.

Your body moves instinctually, rocking your hips a little, feeling some relief you hadn’t known was building. “Feels good?” he asks, already seeing it in your body language. “Teach you how to ride my thigh. You’ll love it.” His words come out a little distracted as he watches your hands disappear behind your back.

“Next lesson?” you ask through a little smile.

“Don’t know if I can wait,” he confesses. “Take it off,” his voice dips, and you unclasp your bra, letting it fall away. He pushes out a breath, looking down at you, feeling that desperation he told you would come if you teased him—and you are.

You lift your hands, pinching the cotton, pulling down his boxers too. His cock strains—long and weighed down—that heavy walk he carries around campus clearly needed.

Your mouth starts to water, the blushed tip of his dick leaking with wet. “Kiss it off, baby,” he hums and you nod. Your lips press against the warm head of his dick, kissing it off just like he asked. “Just toy with me, yeah?”

Garrett’s words come out a little tighter and breathless. His eyes roll back in his head when your tongue curls around his tip, dipping in the slit, your other hand stroking slowly.

“Tongue out,” he tells you, wrapping his big fist around his dick, slapping the tip against your tongue. “Beautiful,” the word comes out quiet. “Kiss again,” he guides you. You press your lips into a pout, slick from spit, and he rubs his head against them messily.

He hums out a sound of approval, nodding down to his dick. Your hand circles him again, tongue dragging up the side of him as well, following a vein that maps all the way from base to top, your name dripping past his lips as his head hangs between his shoulders, chain swaying off his neck.

“Take as much as you want. You’re doing so fucking good—so, so good,” he sighs. “You can’t fit it all. That’s okay, baby. Just use your hand for the rest. Get me good and wet.”

You spit on his tip and his eye rolls back like there were two options to get him slicked up and you chose the best fucking one. Your hand circles around his thickness, stroking at the base a few times.

“Please,” he exhales, and your lips tilt into a smile before your lips wrap around him fully, taking him deep in your mouth.

You moan around him, discouraged for a moment about how much of him is left and how little you’ve taken in. Your mouth is stuffed, the look on his face letting you know that it’s more than enough for him.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Fuck, you feel so good.” When your hand wraps around him again, his eyebrows knitting tight.

You can feel his blood pumping through his cock, his hold on your head careful, like he wants you to guide the pace and not the other way around. For a moment he seemingly forgets about the task at hand as you work him with your mouth and your fist.

“Like—fuck me…” he sighs, losing his train of thought, the muscles in his thighs trembling. “Like this, baby.” He wraps his hand around yours at the thick base of his cock, twisting it slightly instead of jerking it back and forth.

“Yeah. That’s it,” he breathes, smiling as you start to bob around his length, rutting your pussy on top of him with the tempo of your mouth.

“Gonna use you a little,” he pants, resting his hands on your cheeks. “Tap out if it’s too much, alright? Breathe through your nose.”

He gives you a few shallow thrusts, melting like putty in your hand when you gag around him, smiling when you don’t push him away, resting your hands on the back of his thighs instead to keep you right where you’re at.

“Good girl,” he hums, making you choke on his cock again and again. Your vision starts to swim with it, tears pooling along your lashes. Your eyes flutter shut and the wet rolls down your cheeks.

“Goddamn,” he mumbles as he reaches his thumb out, tracing it under your eye, catching some tears as they fall.

“You’re a natural, baby,” he hums, sucking the tears off his thumb, handing back control, looking down at you like he’s proud.

“Let me thank you after this.” The words breathe past his lips as you suck and stroke, jaw aching from the stretch, moaning around his dick, the vibrations making his jaw tighten as he realizes just how much pleasure you’re getting from having his heavy cock in your mouth.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet… Fuck my thigh. Let me clean that up for you—teach you how to ride my face instead.”

His breathing changes and the grip on the back of your head suddenly tightens. The wet sounds fill the room around you, cock slipping through your spit, moans and grunts breaking past his lips getting closer and closer by the second.

“Gonna—I’m gonna cum, baby. You don’t have to swallow it,” he breathes, but you know he wants to finish deep in your throat.

Your hands move a little higher, nails sliding down the back of his ass and thighs and he loses it completely, climaxing with a deep moan, ropes and ropes of cum slipping down the back of your throat.

Your eyes slam shut and you swallow hard, sucking through it until he’s holding you in place, panting in overstimulation, each slide of your tongue making him flinch.

He smiles as he pulls you off him nice and slow, his breath leaving him shakily.

“Fuck, baby,” he hums. “Lemme see.”

You giggle breathily, holding out your clean tongue for him. He shakes his head and smiles, helping you up to your feet. His hand cradles your cheek, the other wrapping around your waist as he reaches for a breath.

“How was that, baby?” you ask.

His forehead tilts to rest against yours, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “Baby?” he breathes, kissing you gently.

You tilt your head, lips drawing to the side. “I have a good feeling about us too?”

“You do?”

“I do.”

He kisses you again, deep and claiming. “That was perfect.”

“Yeah?” you ask sweetly, feeling his hands wrap around your body, dropping low, rough thumbs slipping under your lace thong, pulling it down this time instead, humming against your lips as your breasts press against his bare chest, your panties tumbling down your thighs.

He lifts you effortlessly off your feet into his strong arms, walking with you to his bed, resting you down on top before mounting it fast, caging you under his weight.

You suck in a sharp breath as he rolls you on top of him, your knees sinking into the mattress. His hands drag up your thighs, resting on your ass, pulling you closer to his lips. The warmth of his breath hits your wet pussy and your head falls back.

“Ready for your second lesson, baby?”

Hannah needed Justin Kohl to finally notice her.

Garrett Graham needed to pass Philosophy or risk Coach ending his life before midterms.

So they made a bargain after class when he knew she did well on the assignment Garrett had leaned back, unfazed by the fact that he had gotten her name wrong “fake dating. We make people think we’re together. Justin notices. You win.” Garrett pointed at Hannah who furrowed her eyebrows.

She cocked her head “and what do you get?” She knew that it was a two way street so she didn’t know what he was meant to get from it.

Garrett motioned to his paper “an A,” he spoke in a duh tone as Hannah had stared at him for a long moment.

Then, against all better judgment, she’d agreed.

Neither of them realised what they were actually agreeing to.

Sure they knew it was going to be real to the world. 

With everyone’s eyes on them as the fifth line page as they were the newest and hottest topic. 

What Garrett didn’t expect was that he would actually want to be in a relationship with someone after this. 

What made it complicated was that it wasn’t Hannah, that he learnt to care for. 

It was you. 

The girl that was Hannah and Allie’s roommate. 

Hannah’s best friend.

The person she trusted with everything.

And the first time Garrett saw you, he completely forgot how to act like a functioning human being.

It was supposed to be a quick visit.

He’d knocked on the door expecting Hannah with her bag ready to go and study.

Instead, you opened it.

Your hair was messy and you were in one of your old band hoodies. 

Garrett stopped breathing for a second.

Just one.

But it was enough “hi there,” your fingers wrapped around the door as you cocked your head.

And he’d replied, far too late “hi,” his cheeks reddened and he swore he was in some cruel play teaching him about feelings. 

You smiled and he somehow felt lighter “Han, your boy is here!” You called out to her door where she burst out of her room. 

Hannah noticed immediately how Garrett was rattled. 

Of course she did.

Because Garrett Graham was many things, but subtle was not one of them.

Hannah giggled over her book“you know you were staring at her,” she said later that night.

Garrett scoffed as he shook his head “I was looking at the girl that opened the door.” He argued as he looked at his water bottle.

The girl grinned as she shook her head “you are,” she shot back, enjoying how she clearly she was pushing Garrett’s buttons. 

The hockey player rolled his eyes “I met her once.” He pointed out as he didn’t even know your name.

Hannah just smiled into her drink “all I’m gonna say is that love at first sight is a real thing.” He didn’t answer as he flipped to a different page in the notebook that he held. 

Which was answer enough.

What made it worse in the way that felt almost unbearable was that Garrett never acted on it.

He couldn’t.

Because the fake relationship was still going.

Because everyone thought he was Hannah’s boyfriend.

Because you were Hannah’s best friend, and he wasn’t about to turn your world into a mess.

So he stayed careful.

Polite.

Friendly.

He helped you carry things when your arms were full.

He remembered your coffee order once and then never forgot it.

He asked questions about you that he pretended were casual.

And every time, you told yourself the same thing: that he was dating Hannah and that you had to drown yourself in male attention until you could fully accept in your heart that he was off limits.

End of story.

Except it never felt like the end of anything.

What you didn’t know, and what you couldn’t know was that you weren’t totally invisible in the way that you intended to be.

You thought Garrett belonged to someone else.

You intended to take how you felt about hockey captain to your grave before anyone found out about it.

So every time your heart tripped over itself when he smiled at you, you shoved it down.

Every time he leaned in too close, you stepped back.

Every time he looked like he wanted to say something more, you convinced yourself you were imagining it.

Because you couldn’t do that to Hannah, and you sure as hell assumed that her boyfriend was smart enough not to cross that kind of boundary with you. 

So you made yourself small in all the places it mattered.

The breaking point, for you, came in October.

Garrett asked you to get coffee.

Just you.

Not Hannah.

Not a group.

Just you.

It was meant to be something so simple that you shouldn’t have been phased.

And for half a second, something bright and impossible flared in your chest.

Then reality snapped it in half, “oh,” you said carefully.

His expression shifted immediately “oh?” It felt like a slap to his face as he clenched his fist.

You cocked your head “why?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you felt like you were dancing on a tightrope.

Garrett actually let out a soft laugh “because I want to spend time with you.” He shrugged as he let his words hang in the air.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to hurt “it’s probably best I don’t,” you added quickly, forcing your voice steady.

Garrett looked like he’d been physically hit “right,” he said quietly as he licked his lips “okay.”

And then he walked away with his hands shoved into his hoodie.

And you stood there hating yourself for the rest of the day without really knowing why.

That night, he showed up at Hannah’s dorm looking like something had gone wrong in his chest “she said no,” he muttered he knew you were out on a date because Hannah had told him earlier that week that you were planning on going out with some guy from a class of yours. 

So the dorm was technically a safe, you free space.

Hannah didn’t even look up “no to what?” Hell, part of her didn’t even know who he was talking about.

“Coffee.”

Now she looked up as a grin formed on her face when everything clicked into place “you asked her out?” She pushed onto her knees as she clasped her hands together.

“I asked her for coffee.”

Garrett’s correction came with a scoff from Hannah “that’s asking her out.” She pointed out in a duh tone.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Hannah studied him for a long moment “oh my god!” She clasped her hands over her mouth as she gasped.

“What?”

Garrett’s eyes went wide as he watched the girl “you like her,” the announcement came as Hannah pointed at him. 

“I don’t.”

She laughed as he shook his head “you do,” it was clear to her now that you were the reason why Garrett was getting soft; she had nothing to do with it.

It made him finally snap “I can’t.” The captain’s tone was harsh as he tugged his fingers through his hair. 

In that moment Hannah was ready to go marching down the quad to find you and announce that the boy who liked you was in fact very single “Garrett-” or at least force Garrett to accept that he clearly did like you.

Garrett shook his head as he got up “I can’t,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Because you were on a date with another guy.

Because the fake relationship still existed.

And the media frenzy that would follow from him for going for two best friends was bound to be uncomfortable.

Because he wasn’t supposed to want anyone.

And because, worst of all, he didn’t think you wanted him back.

The weeks that followed were a slow unravelling.

You noticed him pulling back.

Less teasing.

Less lingering.

Less of whatever you’d been imagining before you convinced yourself it was never real.

And it hurt more than it should have.

You told yourself it was relief.

That it was better this way.

That you were just being dramatic.

But it felt like a loss.

Everything broke on an ordinary afternoon in November.

You came home from a morning lecture when Hannah asked to talk.

Her tone made your stomach churn “sit down,” she said gently when you dropped your bag.

That alone made your heart drop.

You started walking towards the bench as she exhaled.

And then she said it.

“We never dated.”

You blinked “what?” You dropped onto the bench next to her as your ears rang.

Hannah tucked her hair behind her ears “Garrett and I. It was fake.” You swore in that moment that the world stopped.

Like a record got scratched when the needle pushed off of it.

For a second, your brain simply refused to process the words “fake,” you repeated.

“Yeah.”

You cracked your knuckles as you ducked in your teeth “how long?” You ran your fingers along your arm.

She felt like she was setting off a live wire“the whole time,” her expression was blank as if she was waiting for you to respond first.

It felt like something inside your chest cracked open all at once “the whole time?” you whispered as you frowned when she nodded.

Your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose “so I’ve just been avoiding him for months for no reason?” You almost laughed as you couldn’t believe this.

Your body felt like it was drowning and your head was barely able to stay above water. 

Hannah argued back “it wasn’t for no reason because you didn’t know.” she said quickly as she shook her head.

“But I did,” your voice broke “I thought I was being respectful. I thought I was being a good friend. I thought-” your throat tightened, suddenly everything collided at once.

Every moment you’d stepped back.

Every time you’d stopped yourself from wanting.

Every time you’d felt guilty for even thinking about him.

Every moment you swore you were the worst friend alive for letting Garrett take up too much space in your brain.

And none of it had been necessary.

None of it had been real.

Your breath hitched, “oh my god,” you said again, but this time it didn’t sound like disbelief.

It sounded like overwhelm.

Hannah stood up, alarmed, “hey-” she reached for your hand 

You shook your head as you raised your hand to stop her “I need a minute.” Your brain felt like it had been going a mile a minute and you were desperate to slow it down.

But there wasn’t a minute.

Because there was never a minute when you wanted time to be on your side.

Because the door opened.

And Garrett walked in.

The moment he saw your face, everything in him stopped “what happened?” he asked immediately seeing how your expression was teary-eyed.

You looked at him like you didn’t know where to put all the emotion in your body “Hannah told me.” You blurted it out as you sniffled still wishing that the ground had swallowed you whole.

His expression changed instantly.

Tension. Realisation.

Then guilt “what did she tell you?” Garrett had come up with a whole speech to tell you how he felt, and this really wasn’t it.

Hell he had literally made John Logan ask you out so that Garrett could come and see you in a place that wasn’t the library or the dorm.

Your voice shook when you answered “that you two weren’t real.” He exhaled slowly, careful to not be the one to break the silence.

Behind him, Hannah quietly grabbed her jacket “I’m going to- I got nothing I’ll leave you two to this,” she said, already backing away so fast that neither one of you could argue.

He scoffed as he shook his head “traitor,” Garrett muttered, not looking away from you.

The door closed.

And the room felt too small “you thought we were together,” he said softly as he placed his bag on the floor.

You laughed once, but it came out broken “everyone thought that.” You shook your head as you brought your knees to your chest.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sighed as you looked out of the window “it was real to me,” you said, quieter now “and that was the problem.”

Something in his expression shifted “I didn’t know,” he said as he took a space on the bench next to you.

“I know.”

Garrett reached for your leg “I didn’t mean for you to-” he cut himself off as you shifted your legs away to block his hands.

Your hand wiped your cheer fearing that it was still damp from your previous tears “I know,” you repeated, sharper this time, then immediately softer. 

“I know. That’s not what I’m upset about,”

Garrett cocked his head “then what is it?” Your breath shook as your body felt numb. 

You pinched your fingers together in an attempt to steady yourself “everything I stopped myself from feeling,” you admitted feeling like an idiot. 

You didn’t want to admit the truth but when he looked at you, it was as if you’d lost your filter“because I thought I was respecting something that didn’t even exist.” The words landed between you like something fragile breaking.

Garrett went still.

Then, carefully, “you stopped yourself?” It made you roll your eyes.

You let out a shaky breath “don’t make me say it again.”A beat and then his voice dropped.

“Did you like me?”

Your eyes burned because the slight change in tense had you thinking that you were the biggest idiot of all “yes.” You nodded, your voice came out barely above a whisper.

Something in him broke open at that.

Because he had been so careful.

So patient.

So convinced he was the only one falling.

Like you were the person his mom promised him was out there since he was a kid “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he said, almost letting out a laugh 

Your breath hitched as you felt sick his laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving, “since the first day I met you.” He carried on when you didn’t speak. 

That made your chest ache harder “I thought you were with Hannah,” you said with a sigh as you finally looked at him.

“I wasn’t.”

You nodded as you licked your lips “I know that now,”he turned his body to fully face you, slower this time, like he was giving you every chance to stop him.

Garrett hated how much he felt the need to care in this moment, hell he hated how you made him feel so many emotions he didn’t think he was capable of experiencing “I was trying not to mess anything up,” Garrett brushed his fingers through his hair. 

“That’s why I didn’t- I never intended on crossing any lines.” 

It should have comforted you that you both had the same moral compass in this “you already did,” you whispered your brain shouldn’t have felt this annoyed still. 

Like there was hurt in your heart that your mouth was having to figure out how to mask in real time. 

His gaze flickered to your mouth.

Then back to your eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly “I think I did.”

The air between you felt charged now. Fragile or maybe real.

“Can I-” he started, then stopped.

You nodded before he finished the question.

That was all it took.

Garrett closed the distance carefully, like he still didn’t fully trust it.

Like you might disappear if he moved too fast.

His hand lifted to your cheek, warm and steady.

And when he finally kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain.

It was like something that had been held back for too long finally giving in.

Soft at first.

Then deeper.

Like relief.

Like relief you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

You just breathed the same air.

And for the first time all semester, nothing about it hurt.

You spent the summer in Massachusetts after picking up an internship and now the boys were back for preseason training, so with the year just about to start again the parties were in full swing. Which for most was just a week of fun, but for you it was a scheduled event that you couldn’t get out of. Dean expected you to be at his side, it’s where you had been since you were kids, so this week was no different.

So, as you watched drunken college kids making out, it was sufficient to say that you were feeling a little jealous. Not because you lacked attention, but because the guy from the football team that you were currently hooking up with was not someone to write home about, and that was putting it nicely. And you knew that you could move on to someone else, but when he had a reputation of being good in bed, you were concerned it was a you issue.

That’s how you ended up standing in the kitchen with a beer and an irritated look on your face “you okay squeak?” Dean snapped his fingers in front of you, bringing you back down to earth.

The nickname came when you were kids and had a massive fear of mice “yeah I’m just thinking.” You nodded, sending him a forced smile “you sure you’re not-” Dean followed your line of sight to the football team. He cut himself off, knowing exactly what the answer was.

You both knew you were in for another night of inevitable disappointment “what’s up with this one?” Garrett came over to both of you, the way you were in some corner like you were plotting something “nothing!”

Your eyes were wide as you shook your head, answering far too fast “she’s having relationship issues.” Deans confession made you glare at the blonde.

“I’ll kill you.”

The warning landed on deaf ears as the boys continued “don’t tell me you’re still on that boy.” Garrett shook his head as Dean nodded.

It made you hide your head in Deans shoulder “she still hasn’t dumped him.” The blonde sighed making his team captain laugh “I can’t dump someone I’m not dating!” You whined crossing your arms in the process.

They looked between each other with this weird glance “don’t even dare.” You warned sending them both a glare.

The sound of Dean’s name came from the living room “don’t let her go anywhere.” Dean pointed at you “and convince her that she should get rid of that man.” The comment came with a grin from Dean when you reached out to hit him.

As it was now just the two of you Garrett moved closer, letting the gap close between you, “don’t even.” You warned, pointing your finger at the brunette, “what makes you think I was going to?” Garrett feigned offence as he placed his hand on his chest.

You rolled your eyes letting out a laugh, “you are literally the worst person alive.” You sipped your beer shaking your head in the process

Garrett couldn’t help it when he chuckled “based on your little problem I highly doubt that.” His breath was warm against the shell of your ear, as your throat tightened over an embarrassed gulp.

that it didn’t let your warmed cheeks show through “it’s not a problem if I have my own solutions.” You waved your hands around defensively.

The boy nodded as he sipped at his beer “pretty sure it’s a problem when your boy toy isn’t good in bed.” The captain shrugged watching your brows furrow “but hey, if you want to go back to another night with having to use these at the end of it.” His fingers danced over yours.

Garrett tilted his head, eyes dragging over your face with something dangerously amused sitting behind them “maybe because it sounds like a fixable problem.”

Your stomach tightened as your cheeks grew warm “you volunteering?” The quick response came faster than you could stop it.

For a split second, he looked almost surprised. Then his mouth curved slowly into something smug enough to make you regret opening yours “careful now, someone might think you’re serious.” There had been this long game of cat and mouse between the two of you since you met, and it wasn’t going to end yet.

But that certainly didn’t mean that you weren’t going to sit there and at least think about it “Squeakers there you are!” Beau’s drunken voice was slurred as he grinned. Much like your friendship with Dean, Beau was also always around and what was why he wanted his own version of Squeak “well I’m gonna steal this one away so go find someone else to talk to flirt with?” Beau didn’t let the brunette respond as he pulled you away. The comment should have just been a teasing joke by a drunken friend, but in reality, it felt a little more on the nose than either of you wanted to admit.

Your laugh echoed through the wave of the crowd “Jesus Christ.” The boy grumbled to himself, watching you turn back to wink at him, like that whole conversation meant nothing.

Over the next few weeks it seemed that your sex problem only got worse, you had learnt how to fake an orgasm so well now that you actually wondered if you could be capable of doing the real thing. Garrett’s offer still lingered in your mind, you couldn’t take it.

Despite him and Hannah not being exclusive, you weren’t up for sharing someone. Even if you were known for your lack of a serious relationships “alright I’m coming!” You groaned hearing the sound of a fist against your door.

It was 9pm on a random Wednesday where rain was coming down, so nobody was meant to be knocking on your door. That’s why you were in nothing but one of Deans old training camp shirts that you stole. And if it had been half an hour later, you would have had a face mask on and a bag of hot Cheetos open as you were intending on watching Survivor.

Part of you assumed it was Dean or Beau wanting food “Garrett?” His soaked shirt clung to his body as he stood at your door.

The boy smiled seeing you, his curls dripping when he shook his head “hey you.” His voice was sweet as he took in the sight of you.

It made your legs feel like jelly “you gonna let me in or should I stand out here all night?” The teasing comment made you roll your eyes letting out a soft laugh, pushing the door open further to let him in.

Moments like these made you glad you had your own place “haven’t seen you in a while.” He didn’t say it in way to make you feel bad, he said it in this obvious way that somehow made you feel even worse.

You let the door to then apartment shut softly “I’ve been busy with the start of semester.” That part was somewhat true, but still everyone else in the house seemed to see you every other day, but him.

Garrett slipped his feet out of his shoes knowing how you didn’t like shoes on your carpets “you didn’t even come to Dean and Beau’s birthday.” Now that was one you had an actual excuse for, “I was sick.’

But the Graham boy knew you “last Frozen Four you came and had food poisoning all while cheering for all of us.” He was the one who held your hair when you threw up.

You knew you had been caught at that point “okay I can’t stop thinking about that damn conversation we had at the party.” The confession lingered in the air “I haven’t been able to cum and can’t even fucking make myself do it.” You pressed your hands into your head in annoyance.

Garrett had to admit that he wasn’t all that surprised about that. He had heard from Dean all about how there were different guys you were talking to “you know you could have told me if you wanted.” He spoke truthfully, “promise I wouldn’t leave ya standing alone.” Garrett leaned forward, ducking his head until his lips were inches away from yours.

You placed your hand on his torso pushing him back slightly “what about Wellsy?” Your tone was bitter, making him raise his eyebrows in surprise “what about her?” The response was quick and short, as if your question was borderline preposterous.

You couldn’t help it when you sucked at your teeth “you seemed pretty close to her on that fifth line post.” You didn’t notice how your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes sharpened.

It made him laugh “didn’t chalk you up to be jealous.” His fingers ran through the ends of your hair as he smiled “I am not jealous.” You snapped back as you shook your head.

He crossed his arms as he raised his eyebrows “mhm.”

“don’t mm me.”

You sent him a glare as you grew annoyed, “nah I gotta say it’s kind of sweet Squeaker.” He teased letting his fingers catch the ends of your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world

A smile softly broke through your gaze “god you are annoying.” You grumbled feeling his hand grip at the fabric of your shirt, bringing you closer to him.

Garrett nodded licking his lips in the process, “yeah like you give a shit.” His tone matched yours.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it “and for the record, she is only really a thing because I needed a distraction from you.” Part of the reason he was down to help Hannah get Justin was the fact that he thought that if he could get your attention. It might be more than just an added bonus.

As your eyes went wide he realised how that probably sounded bad “look I needed a good grade and she wants this guy so-” Garrett rambled finally getting cut off as you kissed him.

The kiss was needy as his tongue swiped across your lower lip, your hands came under his shirt as he let out a grunt, feeling your cold fingers against his skin. It was hot as you moaned into his mouth, the boy was quick to pick you up wanting more of you, if that was even possible.

Your legs were wrapped around Garretts torso as you pulled away from him “he can never find out about this.” You announced knowing just how Dean would react.

The blonde never evoked any kind of hands off laws around you but anyone close to him knew you were off limits. You were like a twin sister to him so if he wasn’t going to have both your heads on sticks after this. The requests to be the godfather of your nonexistent hypothetical children would be what would come next.

Garrett nodded agreeing completely “to our graves.” He knew the way he was agreeing made it sound like this was going to be a one time thing, but if he could get his way. This was going to be the start of a whole load of fun for the both of you.

If you weren’t ready to get the boys clothes off in front of you, you would have been impressed that he knew the path to your room “god Gar.” You breathed out as the boy lay you onto your bed.

Your body felt warm as he grinned, “think you’re wearing too much.” His fingers ran along the hem of your shirt “so what are you gonna do about that?” The game you were playing was dangerous, and luckily for you, he was all for it.

Garrett sucked at his teeth, “god you’re lucky that I need ya.” His confession came as he pulled your shirt over your head, leaving the sight of you in nothing but your thong.

The lacy black number made him swear that this was going to be in his dreams for the rest of his life “lay back.” His voice was soft while his hands ran over breasts, the thought of everything he could do to you was consuming his mind “don’t you want them off too?” You motioned to your panties frowning as you listened to him.

He pulled his own shirt off as he laughed “last time I checked I am here to help you cum?” The hockey player let his knee settle between your legs.

The reminder was the truth, you were beyond sexually frustrated and needed something to change “so how about.” Garrett kissed your lips “you let me do what I know I can do well.” It came from his lips like an order.

And you weren’t in any position to be told twice “okay.” You nodded watching how he turned his attention further down your body.

Sloppy kisses formed a trail down your neck making you gasp. The boys hands ran over your body as if he was worried you’d slip out from under him “Garrett please.” You gasped watching his eyes come back to yours.

He hovered over you, his legs settling with one of your legs between him “such a pretty thing.” Garrett cooed, running his thumb over your breast. Causing your nipple to form a stiff peak “you know we can stop at any time right?” Of course he didn’t want to.

But if he was going to piss Dean off, he certainly wasn’t going to hurt you in the process, “you fucking leave me high and dry and so help me go-” Garrett cut you off as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, his free hand made sure that the other side was equally paid attention to.

You were embarrassed to admit how good it felt. His tongue flicked over your nipple as the other rolled between his fingertips “please.” You moaned, nodding along as your back arched, trying to get more of him.

It made his cock strain in his pants, the sight of you desperate beneath him was so much better than he had ever imagined. For weeks this had been what he imagined when he had his hand wrapped around his cock, your hands gripped at the sheets beneath you as you drove your hips against his thigh in an attempt to relieve the tension in your core.

Garrett let your breast go from his mouth with a pop, a trail of spit went with it as he clicked his tongue “you trying to go against our rules now?” He shook his head, tapping your hips motioning to you to lift them.

His fingers were rough against your sides watching how your now bare cunt stared back at him. Garrett smirked, pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee “how am I the only one naked?” You whined as your hands came down to your breasts, cupping them in a lousy attempt to provide some minimal coverage.

The way your teeth caught your lips made the boy grin “cause you are gonna cum before I even fuck you.” Garrett spoke in this duh tone that would have made you roll your eyes, but in that moment, you just wanted his ego to be right.

The boy let his fingers run over your clit, collecting your wetness on his fingers “god you’re already soaked.” Garrett wrapped his fingers around his digits, allowing himself to taste how sweet you were.

The sight made you moan, going to shut your thighs before he stopped them “none of that tonight, princess.” He clicked his tongue pressing a kiss to your inner thighs on either side, before he let his face hover over your cunt.

You looked up at your ceiling, convinced that if Garrett couldn’t make you cum then you were destined to be the old cat lady above someone’s apartment “think you can watch me?” The words were innocent as he wanted to gauge where you were at in your head.

He watched you swallow hard before you turned your head down to face him “I’ll be good.” The promise came as he wrapped one arm around your leg and let the other rest on your stomach for you to grab.

You didn’t think you were nervous but you didn’t hesitate to lock your fingers into his. Your legs settled against his back as he smirked. At first he was gentle, placing a kiss on your clit, not letting his eyes leave yours.

But when you squeezed his hand he took it as the green light to continue, letting his tongue focus on your aching hole. It felt good as his nose hit your clit making you moan.

Garrett was moving like he couldn’t get enough of you, his tongue going in and out letting the squelching noises of your cunt echo in his ears. The boy groaned when you pressed your heels into his lower back, sending shivers all throughout your body “fuck.” You groaned rolling your hips into him instinctively as you needed more.

It made him grind his body into your bed as he let his tongue recoil from your cunt “open.” He tapped your knee, sticking two of his fingers out for you as his eyes never left your mouth.

You nodded, quick to listen as you followed his instructions, allowing him to slot his fingers into your mouth. Your lips wrapped around them as he slowly began to thrust them, allowing them to get slick with your spit. The whole thing felt weirdly domestic when he kissed your knee, still having your hand locked into his. The way he watched you made your skin feel warm, as if you could be any more naked than you already were.

He felt his mouth go dry when a trail of your spit broke from his fingers, landing right of your boob. Garrett could over think about how he wished his fingers were his cock as he thrusted them into your cunt. His lips latched onto your clit and as he sucked at the sensitive nub, it finally hit.

This raw and shaky moan left your lips, letting him know that he hit the perfect spot “shit Gar.” You let your free hand lock into his hair, slightly tugging as your eyes screwed shut.

His fingers pushed these obscene strokes into your cunt, arching at the perfect spot to hit the points that made your body shake “don’t stop please.” You begged, desperation oozing from your voice refusing to let this be a repeat of all those other hookups.

The boy nodded continuing his movements as if they were from a recipe book, feeling his cock throb each time your cunt clenched around him.

Your eyes had long left his as you were left shaking for the man that was between your legs, waves of pleasure that your body had been missing for so long were now practically drowning you.

Garrett’s skilled tongue and relentless strokes caused your moans to grow louder and more reckless. Your knuckles turned white each time he’d hit the perfect spot, sucking on your clit as if you were a lollipop.

You were lost in a haze of whimpering and moaning as Garrett hit all the spots you needed, when all of a sudden the coil in your stomach snapped. Your eyes screwed shut as stars painted your vision and your body convulsed, legs tightening around his head “fuck I’m cumming!” You chanted those words as your cunt clenched around his fingers.

The boy didn’t let up as he continued to suck at your clit through every little aftershock that made your body shake. Your body swore it would lose control if he didn’t slow down.

He felt you press your hands on either side of his temples to help pull him away from your cunt “fuck you taste so good.” He pressed a kiss against your pubic bone before finally looking at you.

It felt like a sight for sore eyes when you bit the your lip as your body felt on fire “holy shit you did it.” Your eyes were wide as the boy grinned, “you say that like it was hard.” He wanted to tease you about it, but in that moment, all he wanted to enjoy was the fact that he did what you thought he couldn’t.

And it meant he could let his shit talking of the football players, be fair “well thank you.” You sat up, bringing your knees to your chest.

The boy smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair “if that’s what’s gonna happen every time I could get used to you thanking me.” Your cheeks grew warm at the statement, your body felt like jelly on the inside.

The captains hand wrapped around your leg pulling you closer to him “please.” You begged feeling his knee against your thigh. Slowly moving your hips to try to help relieve the tension between your legs that was already forming again.

The plead made the boy smirk “you still want more huh?” Garrett laughed letting his lips hover over yours when he stood up.

His eyes scanned your face only to realise that your eyes hadn’t left his. So rather than responding you opted to kiss him, letting out a whine when you realised you could taste your release on his tongue “as much as I’m enjoying this.” He brought his hand up to cup your cheek when he smiled “I’m gonna fucking combust if I don’t fuck ya.” Your eyes went to his hardon and you weren’t surprise. The grey fabric strained over his body, making it look like the pants that fit him when he arrived were now sizes too small.

He pulled his boxers and sweats off, letting his cock spring against his pubic bone. Garrett looked sculpted by the Greek Gods and that was the man you got to enjoy in your bed, “taken you long enough.” The comment was meant to stay inside your head but when it came out your eyes went wide, immediately feeling embarrassed.

But it made the boy laugh “hey when you do little work, you don’t get to make requests.” The brunette teased as he settled back onto your bed, letting the mattress dip with his weight.

The head of his cock ran over your slit a few times up and down, teasing your clit “asshole.” You whined, still feeling sensitive from your first orgasm.

It made the boy smile, lifting your thighs to pull you closer to him “now is that any way to talk to the man that just made you cum?” Garrett clicked his tongue as he bent down to peck your lips before you could respond.

He knew he was big, and the fact that his cock had been straining in his sweats since he got to yours didn’t make him feel less like he was about to explode “I’ll take it slow, okay?” His words were sweet, reminding you that he had your best interests above all else tonight.

The tenderness wasn’t something you were used to “I promise you, Garrett, I can handle-” he cut you off, allowing his cock to slot into your cunt.

Its walls stretched around him as your eyes screwed shut, “thought you said you could handle it, huh?” He teased, pressing his hands onto the back of your thigh to help ease the burn.

If you didn’t feel so full, you would have glared, “gimme a sec.” Your teeth gritted, slowly beginning to roll your hips as you grew used to his size.

In that moment, you understood why girls enjoyed him in bed so much because you swore he felt better than most toys you had tried. Not that you’d ever let him or anyone else, for that matter, get to know that one.

Garrett placed a string of kisses against your jaw, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume, “not in any rush doll.” He promised letting his eyes screw shut as your cunt clenched around him.

Your hand reached for his bicep as your eyes opened “glad to have you back with us.” He teased sending you a smile as you nodded “I’m ready.” It was a comment that came off as if you were in fact not sure of yourself. Yet somehow the two of you managed to move together like clockwork.

Garrett watched as your eyes stared back into his, sending him a smile as he pecked your lips “move quicker, please.” The request was soft and innocent, almost making Garrett feel protective as he obliged.

Your hair was slick with sweat against the back of your neck but somehow the boy still made you feel like the hottest person in the world, “can’t believe we’ve waited.” Now, he wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment, he believed that whatever god there was made you for him.

You nodded in agreement, raking your fingers through his hair “almost let those little football boys think they could ruin his pretty pussy.” He placed an open kiss on your neck, causing a moan to vibrate through your throat.

Your hips met his in this hungry race that somehow had perfect rhythm “gonna let me ruin you for all those shitty little boys?” His cock throbbed, feeling you clench around him at the threat of him being possessive.

In that moment you swore you were about to combust, tits bouncing with every thrust that he made “I know your pussy agrees with me.” His thumb circled your clit making you catch your lower lip between your teeth “now I need your mouth to as well.” You knew what he was asking but the head of his cock grazed a part of your cunt that had you swearing you forgot the English language.

His free hand rested around the base of your neck “suggest you answer me pretty girl or else next time is gonna be a lot more fun for me.” The warning should have had you squirming, but instead, you were just excited at the concept of getting to do this again with him.

If it was something that Dean wasn’t allowed to find out about, the two of you may as well get your use out of it “I’m yours cap.” It was the name you used the entire preseason mockingly after finding out what his new role was going to be. Of course Garrett sometimes pictured it coming from your lips when he had his hand around his cock. But in that moment, he swore he was a dead man walking as he could have finished right on the spot.

The sound of skin slapping echoed off your walls, the apartment probably feeling happy that it was finally getting to hear the sounds of genuine moans from your lips “fuck you feel perfect.” Garrett sucked at your earlobe as he felt your thighs tense around him.

Warmth ran through your body as the boy kept on hitting spots that made you swear you were seeing stars “please.” The word came out so softly that if Garrett hadn’t been right by your lips he wouldn’t have heard you.

Your eyes fluttered as the brunette kissed your lips “let it go.” His words came out soft, like it was permission rather than asking you as he too was hanging on a thread and refused to contemplate screwing up by finishing first. His thumb circled your clit as your cunt spasmed around his cock.

Waves of pleasure crashed over you causing your toes to curl. Loose flurries of his name left your lips sending him over the edge as well. Garrett let his teeth sink into the crook of your neck as he groaned, sending shivers through your body as you came down from your highs.

Garrett pulled out letting his cock slip from your soaked cunt “you good in there pretty girl?” He asked, pressing a kiss against your temple before he got up.

It was as if you had forgotten how to speak, instead opting to just nod, giving him an exhausted thumbs up in the process, which made him laugh as he headed into your bathroom “holy shit Gar.” You mustered out the words, looking down at your legs.

The captain grew concerned at your tone “what?” He called out trying to figure out if there was any kind of urgency in your voice.

Your head felt heavy against your mattress again “I think that’s the hardest I’ve like ever cum in my life.” The confession made him laugh, taking in the sight of you in your fucked out state.

Judging by the way he looked at her when she opened the door, hair messy, mouth curved, one hand already reaching for her waist like the rest of the evening had been mutually agreed upon by fate and grey sweatpants, it was very much the second.

“Hey, baby,” he said, warm and low, stepping inside before she could fully decide whether to warn him.

“Hi,” she said, and shifted the baby higher on her hip.

Garrett’s hand stopped halfway to her waist. His eyes dropped. For one perfect second, the great Garrett Graham, Briar’s captain, top-line centre, walking highlight reel, man who could read a defender’s shoulder from half a rink away and decide how to ruin his life in under two seconds, stared at the tiny six-month-old baby in her arms with the blank, careful horror of someone who had walked into an exam for the wrong subject.

The baby stared back. She had one fist shoved in her mouth, cheeks round and flushed from her bottle, dark lashes blinking slow and judgmental like she, too, had expected better situational awareness from him.

Garrett’s gaze flicked from the baby to her face. Then back to the baby. Then back to her. “Uh,” he said.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

His brows pulled together. “Did I… miss something?”

That broke her. A laugh came out before she could make it pretty, bright and helpless enough that Pippa startled, then smiled around her wet little fist like laughter was a game she had just invented and expected royalties from.

“No, idiot.” She bounced the baby once when Pippa’s legs kicked happily against her stomach. “This is my niece. Pippa.”

Garrett blinked. “Your niece.”

“Yes.”

“Right.” He nodded too many times, visibly reorganising the entire evening in his head. The door clicked shut behind him with his heel. “Yeah. Obviously. I knew that.”

“You absolutely didn’t.”

“I did.” His eyes dropped to Pippa again, his mouth doing something strange, not quite a grin yet, like he was afraid any sudden facial expression might commit him to childcare. “I just didn’t know she was gonna be… here.”

“She lives a very busy life.”

“Looks like it.” He leaned a little closer, cautious in a way she had literally never seen from him. Garrett Graham had taken hits from men built like refrigerators and grinned blood off his teeth. But faced with one damp, sleepy baby in a yellow onesie covered in tiny ducks, he suddenly looked like he was approaching an unexploded device. “Hi, Pippa,” he said, voice dropping into this awkward, overly polite register. “Nice to… meet you.”

Pippa took her fist out of her mouth with a soft pop and blew a bubble at him.

Garrett’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah. Cool.”

She laughed again, softer this time, because he looked so stupidly sincere about the whole thing. “Garrett, she’s a baby.”

“Okay, sorry I’m being respectful.” He shot her a look, then glanced back at Pippa, who had started patting her own chest with one open palm like she was applauding the conversation. “I don’t know her yet. I’m making a good first impression.”

“You came over to hook up and now you’re networking with an infant.”

“I’m versatile.”

“You’re scared.”

His head snapped up. “I’m not scared.”

“Babe.”

“I’m not.” He straightened a little, like the accusation had challenged his captaincy. “I’m just being careful. She’s tiny.”

Pippa made a happy little shriek at the exact same moment, startling herself so badly her eyes went huge. Garrett froze. She immediately shoved her fist back into her mouth and drooled down her wrist with the calm recovery of someone who had no idea she had just almost sent a six-foot-two hockey player into cardiac arrest.

Her whole chest went warm. Garrett standing in her entryway, still built for sex and hockey, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands because there was a baby in the room and the baby was looking at him like he might be interesting if he proved himself.

She shifted Pippa higher, the baby’s warm little body settling against her side, one socked foot digging into her thigh. “My sister’s anniversary dinner ran late. She asked if I could take her for a few hours.”

Garrett nodded, still watching Pippa like she might evolve in real time. “Right. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool.”

“You can go, you know,” she said, amused, because it was easier than admitting how weirdly sweet he looked standing there trying to adjust. “I know this probably isn’t what you had planned.”

His eyes lifted to hers at once, and the grin finally arrived, crooked and familiar and much easier to recognise. “Depends. Is she gonna be here the whole time?”

She stared at him. He lifted both hands. “I meant for hanging out. Jesus. Don’t look at me like that.”

“You had exactly one thought when you walked in.”

“I’m a man of focus.”

“You’re a man of grey sweatpants and bad timing.”

His grin widened. “You noticed the sweatpants.”

“I have eyes.”

He sucked at his bottom lip. “Good ones.”

“Don’t flirt with me in front of my niece.”

“She doesn’t know.”

Pippa squealed again, louder this time, and slapped her hand against the front of her sweatshirt hard enough to leave a damp little print.

Garrett looked at her. “Okay, maybe she knows.”

“She’s very advanced.”

“Clearly.”

She moved toward the living room, and Garrett followed, slower than usual, his bag dropped near the door, hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie like he did not trust them unsupervised. Her apartment had been fully taken over in the last hour by things that were not hers. 

A soft blanket on the rug. A half-collapsed baby gym with dangling animals in colours nature had never intended. A bottle cooling on the coffee table. A diaper bag open on the couch, packed with enough wipes, tiny clothes, and unidentified pastel objects to suggest Pippa was planning a weekend away rather than a three-hour visit.

Garrett stopped beside the play mat and looked down at it. “She comes with gear.”

“She does.”

Pippa watched him over her fist, drool shining on her chin. Garrett watched her back. His mouth twitched. “She’s kind of staring me down.”

“She’s deciding if she likes you.”

“Important process. I respect it.”

“She usually likes everyone.”

His head turned toward her, offended. “Don’t say that. I wanna earn it.”

That got her again, the laugh catching lower this time, softer around the edges. She set Pippa down carefully on the blanket, one hand supporting the back of her head until she was settled on her tummy. Pippa made a small grunt of effort, immediately kicked both legs, and then began the serious business of trying to eat a cloth giraffe.

Garrett crouched beside the mat, forearms resting loosely on his knees, the size of him absurd next to all that baby softness. Big hands. Broad shoulders. Hoodie stretched over muscle. Hair falling slightly over his forehead. He looked like someone had dropped a golden retriever into a nursery and told it to act natural.

Pippa lifted her head, saw him closer, and smiled so wide her whole face folded into it. Garrett went still. “Oh,” he said, quieter.

She felt the sound more than heard it, tucked under the faint hum of the dishwasher and the cartoonish crinkle of the giraffe toy. His face had changed. His eyes had gone a little softer, caught on this tiny person who had decided that he wasn’t a threat and maybe even funny-looking enough to enjoy.

“She smiled at me,” he said.

“She did.”

“Like, on purpose?”

“Probably.”

“Okay.” He nodded, trying very hard to look normal about this development and failing badly. “Yeah. She’s smart.”

“She likes the ceiling fan too, so don’t get cocky.”

Pippa drooled onto the giraffe. Garrett pointed. “Is that… fine?”

“That’s fine.”

“She’s eating it.”

“She’s gumming it. It’s made for babies.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the giraffe again, then at Pippa. “Carry on, then.”

She lasted maybe eight more minutes before Pippa decided the play mat was a cruel prison and began making the small, offended little sounds that meant she wanted to be upright, involved, and possibly worshipped. 

She picked her up first, mostly on instinct, rubbing a hand over Pippa’s back while the baby huffed against her shoulder, warm cheek pressed to the collar of her sweatshirt. Garrett watched from the couch, elbows on his knees now, all that earlier awkwardness hidden under interest he was clearly trying to pretend was casual.

“You wanna hold her?”

The question hit him like a puck to the sternum. His eyes lifted. “Me?”

“No, the other enormous hockey captain in my living room.”

He looked at Pippa, then at his own hands, like he was reassessing whether thumbs were enough. “I mean. Yeah. I can.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to.”

“You look like I just asked you to defuse a bomb.”

“That’s dramatic.” He sat up straighter, shoulders squaring. “Give me the baby.”

She paused. “Never say it like that again.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a nervous edge under it that made her smile before she could stop herself. “Okay, fine. May I please hold Pippa, the baby, respectfully?”

“Better.” She stepped between his knees and shifted Pippa carefully in her arms. “Okay, put your arm like this.”

Garrett’s hands came up, big and hesitant. He had beautiful hands, which was an annoying thing to think right now, but also true. Hands that knew sticks and steering wheels and the back of her neck in the dark. Hands that could be careless with his own body but were suddenly so careful around Pippa that her throat did something strange.

“Support her head,” she said softly, guiding his palm under the baby’s neck. “Yeah. Like that. And this arm under her bum. There you go.”

Pippa transferred over in a warm, squirming little bundle, and Garrett’s whole body went rigid. Alert. The way he got before a faceoff, only if the puck had chubby thighs and one sock sliding off.

“Oh my God,” he said under his breath.

She laughed, one hand still hovering near Pippa’s back. “You’re fine.”

“She’s moving.”

“She does that.”

“Cool. Great.” Garrett stared down at the baby now nestled against the crook of his arm, his voice lowering like volume itself could destabilise her. “Hey, Pippa. We’re good, right? You and me?”

Pippa stared up at him, serious for one second, then reached out with one damp fist and grabbed the string of his hoodie. 

Garrett looked at her. “Strong grip.”

“She likes strings.”

“She can’t have it if it’s dangerous, right?”

“Right.”

He immediately tucked the other string away with his free hand, jaw set in concentration. “No choking hazards. I know that.”

“Look at you.”

He glanced up at her, smugness making a brave return despite the fact that he was still holding Pippa like she was made of glass and university liability. “Told you I got this.”

“You’re sweating.”

“I’m post-practice.”

He carefully adjusted Pippa higher, the movement clumsy for half a second before his instincts caught up and his hold settled into something sturdier. The baby’s cheek turned into his hoodie. Her little fist stayed locked around the fabric near his chest, and Garrett looked down at her with such focused, faintly stunned attention that the joke waiting on her tongue dissolved before it could leave her mouth.

Pippa made a sleepy sound and rubbed her face into his chest.

Garrett’s eyes lifted to hers, quieter now. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice came out softer than she meant it to. She cleared her throat. “She likes you.”

His mouth curved. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Smart girl.”

“She also likes licking table legs.”

“Still smart.”

She shook her head, smiling, and sat beside him on the couch, close enough that her thigh pressed into his. Garrett didn’t move away. If anything, he tilted slightly toward her, careful not to jostle Pippa, letting the baby’s weight settle between them like something neither of them had expected and both of them were, in their own ways, trying not to overreact to.

The TV was on low, some episode of a show neither of them was watching moving blue light across the room. The apartment smelled faintly like baby lotion and Garrett’s soap and the pasta she’d eaten standing at the counter before Pippa’s bottle because babysitting had made time weird and dinner had become whatever she could fork into her mouth while bouncing a tiny person with opinions. 

Somewhere outside, a car rolled down the street with music thudding faintly through closed windows. Normal stuff. Little stuff. The kind of evening that would not have felt dangerous at all if Garrett didn’t look so unexpectedly right with a baby tucked into his arm.

She hated that, a little. The sweetness of it. The way it slipped under her skin without asking. Garrett glanced over and caught her staring.

His grin appeared immediately, soft and unbearable. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not a nothing face.”

“I’m just watching you panic.”

“I’m not panicking. I’m thriving.”

She laughed and leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, careful of Pippa between them. Garrett’s cheek tipped down for half a second, brushing the top of her hair. It was so absent, so automatic, that it made her chest tighten more than if he’d said something sweet on purpose.

Pippa’s eyelids started to droop. Her fist loosened in Garrett’s hoodie, fingers uncurling one by one. He noticed before she did. “She’s doing something.”

“She’s getting sleepy.”

His voice dropped even lower. “Oh.”

“You can breathe, babe.”

“I am breathing.”

Pippa sighed then, a full-body little sound that ended with her mouth falling slightly open against Garrett’s chest. Garrett went still again, but differently this time. Less fear. More wonder trying very hard not to show up as wonder because he was still a twenty-one-year-old hockey player in grey sweats who had come over intending to get laid and had instead been promoted, temporarily, to furniture for a sleeping infant.

His hand shifted carefully over Pippa’s back, one broad palm almost covering the whole of her. He rubbed once, slow, then looked at her for confirmation.

She nodded. “That’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His mouth softened. He looked back down at the baby. “She’s tiny.”

“She’s actually chunky for her age.”

“She’s tiny,” he repeated, like this wasn’t up for debate, and there was something in his voice that made her stop teasing.

For a second, she wondered if he was thinking about his own family. Sometimes, when something gentle entered the room too suddenly, she could see the way he didn’t quite know where to put his hands around it. Like softness needed instructions. Like if he held it wrong, someone might blow a whistle somewhere only he could hear.

So she didn’t say anything too big. She only reached over and fixed Pippa’s fallen sock, tugging it back over one tiny heel, and let her fingers brush Garrett’s thigh on the way back. “You’re doing good,” she said.

His eyes came to her face. For once, he didn’t grin immediately. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Natural.”

That made him huff. “Liar.”

“A little,” she admitted, smiling. “But you’re cute, and very brave.”

“I know.” His grin came back, smaller now. “Might put it on my résumé. Can hold one baby under supervision.”

She scoffed softly. “Barely.”

“Successfully.”

“For seven minutes.”

“Still undefeated.”

She laughed softly, and Pippa stirred against him, face scrunching. Both of them froze. The baby sighed and settled again. Garrett exhaled through his nose, triumphant and silent, like he’d just won a championship in not waking up infants. She had to press her lips together to keep from laughing again.

He looked at her, eyes bright. “Did you see that?”

“I saw.”

“Handled.”

“You did.”

“Captain material.”

She leaned into him a little more, her shoulder tucked against his arm, the warmth of him spreading through the old sweatshirt she was wearing. His body was still keyed underneath the stillness, all coiled athlete forced into gentleness, but his breathing had slowed. 

Pippa’s small back rose and fell beneath his hand. The room seemed to soften around the three of them, domestic in a way she didn’t want to name because naming it would make it too real and maybe too much.

Garrett was quiet for a while. He didn’t rush to fill the space with some joke about her baby-trapping him or ask if this meant his original plans were permanently cancelled or make one of the million stupid comments he could have made to rescue himself from looking soft. He just held Pippa and let his thumb move, once, twice, barely there over the baby’s back. Then, very quietly, he said, “She smells good.”

She looked at him.

He glanced back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking something.”

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I was thinking you just discovered babies smell nice.”

“Well, I didn’t know.” He looked down again, faintly defensive. “I don’t hang out with a lot of babies.”

“Your loss.”

“Clearly. Pippa and I are boys now.”

“She’s a girl.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

He nudged her knee with his. “Don’t start.”

She smiled down at Pippa, asleep against the big Briar captain like this was a perfectly reasonable place for a nap. Her cheek was squished into the soft cotton of Garrett’s hoodie, one hand curled near his collar, one sock already trying to escape again. Garrett followed her gaze and, with great seriousness, adjusted the sock before it could fall.

Her stomach did something deeply stupid. His eyes flicked to her face, and the grin that spread this time was slow. Warm. A little cocky around the edges, because Garrett Graham could hold a baby for ten minutes and immediately become insufferable about it.

“What?” he asked.

“You look very pleased with yourself.”

“I am.”

“Because you’re holding a sleeping baby?”

“Because I’m good at it.”

“You were shaking when I handed her to you.”

“Yeah, and now look at me.” He nodded down at Pippa with all the confidence of a man who had survived one diaper-free interaction and was ready to write a parenting manual. “Growth.”

“She’s asleep. That’s mostly her doing.”

“Team effort.”

“Sure.”

His grin widened, then softened again when Pippa moved, tiny mouth working against the fabric of his hoodie. Garrett’s eyes dropped, and his hand stilled until she settled. He looked ridiculous. Gorgeous and too big for the couch and smug over the smallest possible achievement, with a baby asleep in his arms and his original plans for the night lying somewhere dead in the entryway beside his gym bag.

She leaned up and kissed the corner of his jaw.

Garrett’s eyes cut to hers, interested immediately despite Pippa, because he was still Garrett and there were some instincts not even a sleeping infant could fully neutralise. “Careful.”

She smiled against his skin. “What?”

“You start kissing me while I’m holding a baby, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“That’s tragic for you.”

“That’s cruel.”

“It’s one kiss.”

“Yeah, that’s how it starts.”

She laughed under her breath, and Pippa didn’t wake this time, only snuggled closer into Garrett’s chest like she had decided he was acceptable and possibly permanent. 

Garrett watched her for a second, then looked back at the girl beside him, his mouth softer than his voice when he spoke. “So,” he said. “How long until your sister gets back?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Garrett.”

“What?” He looked almost offended, except his grin was doing too much damage. “I’m asking because I care about Pippa’s schedule.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“I’m deeply invested in her routine.”

“Her routine is bottle, nap, diaper, maybe scream at a lamp for no reason.”

“Sounds like Dean.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder to muffle the laugh, and Garrett smiled down at her, his hand still steady over Pippa’s back. For a while, they stayed like that. Pippa asleep. Garrett pretending not to be proud. Her tucked into his side with one hand resting lightly on his thigh, feeling the warmth of his body, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the tiny rise and fall of the baby between them. The evening hadn’t gone where he wanted. Not even close.

But when her phone buzzed twenty minutes later with a text from her sister saying they were on their way, Garrett looked down at Pippa, then at her, and frowned. “Already?”

She stared at him.

He shrugged, defensive. “What? We were hanging out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“You like her.”

“She likes me.”

“She’s asleep.”

“Exactly. Trust.”

She smiled so hard she had to look away. His knee knocked gently into hers, and when she looked back, he was watching her with that soft, stupid, dangerous warmth that always made her feel like she’d missed a step coming down stairs.

“What?” she asked, quieter.

He shook his head once, eyes dropping briefly to Pippa before coming back to her. “Nothing.”

“That’s not a nothing face.”

“Yeah,” he said, and leaned in carefully, Pippa still asleep between them, to kiss her once. Soft. Quick. Warm enough to make her toes curl against the edge of the rug. “But you like it.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when he pulled back, and Garrett, holding her sleeping niece like he’d been trusted with the Stanley Cup and maybe something more important, looked far too pleased to be proven right.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

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It all started because you both needed a partner.

A simple arrangement was all that it was meant to be. 

You had to prove to your brother Beau that you were absolutely, undeniably not in love with his best friend Dean, that every lingering glance, every argument, every moment you accidentally ended up in the same room as that blonde meant nothing. 

And Garrett had to prove to the boys that he was fine. That he was over Hannah and seeing her with Justin wasn’t an issue at all.

Maybe it was because the two of you suggested this when you were a few too many beers in to be making logical decisions, or maybe it actually had a chance to work. 

But with a pinky promise and a cheers of your beers, somehow you two made it work. The fifth line had already posted the two of you and everyone was convinced. Even Beau had the threatening talk to Garret about how if he hurt you, the whole football team would come for him. Because 3 weeks later, you were standing in the middle of a crowded campus party with Garrett’s arm draped around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

Like you belonged there. 

Like you belonged with him. 

Your body felt on fire as he whispered something in your ear about actually looking like you wanted to be there.

Someone whistled as they walked past you, “Graham’s got himself a girlfriend?” The question came far easier than it should have. In the crowd, unbeknownst to both of you, Hannah and Dean let their eyes fall onto the two of you. 

Beau is heard pretending to gag in the crowd and somehow that was what kept your body from tensing up “yeah don’t cry about it.” Garrett smirked as he pressed a kiss onto your lips. 

The moment went as quickly as it came, as some people laughed before turning back to what they were doing.

Somewhere along the way you slipped out of his embrace to go get a drink. It was meant to be a quick moment away but of course it was never going to be that simple. 

“The two of you look cute together.” 

The voice made you freeze as you knew that it was the certain blonde that you spent so much time trying to avoid, “thanks Dean?” You turned to face him, seeing that he was standing against the wall behind you.

Dean pushed off of the wall as he finally stood up tall, the scent of his cologne found itself in your nostrils “gotta say I didn’t think you would go for a guy like that.” His words were packed with so much more than meets the eye as he smirked. 

He actually smirked, watching you process what he had said “well maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.” You took a step closer to the boy, arm reaching past him to get another drink. 

What neither one of you saw was that from across the house, Garrett was watching you. He had tuned out Tuckers conversation with Logan about 30 seconds ago and now all he could focus on was you and how you looked talking to Dean. 

The blonde said something that made you smile into the rim of your cup before you rolled your eyes. 

You looked like you were enjoying the conversation when Dean lowered his head to your ear and you leaned into the touch. 

And somewhere along the way, when your hand ended on Dean’s arm Garrett realised that what was going on between the two of you was no longer just a cover for him. 

Which is why his feet started moving quicker than his brain could process “wait what-” Logan cut himself off as his eyes followed Garrett’s path “oh shit.” Tucker nodded, watching you throw your head back laughing.

Before you knew it there was an arm wrapped around your waist “there you are.” Garrett forced a smile onto his lips when your eyes met his. 

They looked warm and genuine, like they always did. And that was what killed him, “was just talking to Dean baby.” You mumbled as you kissed his cheek, almost wondering why he was over there with you both. 

Garrett felt his exterior soften in that moment but only for about half a second when he remembered who was in front of him. 

The very boy that was your reason for being in this. 

The very boy who just made you laugh. 

And the same blonde fucker who you were just touching.

Dean nodded into his cup “yeah baby we were just talking.” Garrett swore in that moment that Dean was lucky he was his teammate or else the blonde who had been about ten feet under. 

You could see the way that he was feeling. It wasn’t intentional at first but you quickly learnt how to read Garrett. 

And even then, when his fingers were digging into your hip. It felt pretty hard to not get the hint “Dean I think Beau was looking for you.” It was a lie that you knew would work out. 

By this time of the night, Beau would be drunk enough that he’d see Dean and act like he hadn’t see him in fifty years. 

Dean looked between you and Garrett, letting his eyes linger on you for a moment longer than they probably should have “yeah he is.” Garrett’s eyes sharpened as he wanted the blonde to move “I will see you two later then.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle when Dean walked away “now what could be so funny?” Garrett grumbled not trying to hide that he was annoyed “you’re cute when you’re jealous.” 

Your words made the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. Not because this was fight or flight, but because you read him like he was a book “why would I be jealous?” He cocked his head in your direction seeing that your smile had not fallen since you spoke. 

You shifted yourself so that you were stood in the space between his legs as he rested against the counter “because you like me.” If you were sober, you would have sworn that you were sounding like the cockiest person in the world. 

But drunk you? Drunk you didn’t give a shit.

Because as Garrett stayed quiet, the silence should have made you nervous. 

Instead it made your heart beat louder. His eyes flickered over your face, searching, measuring, like he was trying to find the joke. 

You smiled anyway, still sure. It was ckear you weren’t going to back down as you knew you felt it too. Somewhere along the way, the feelings you used to feel towards Dean were now how you were starting to feel about Garrett.

And you knew the perfect cherry on top of the seein how Garrett felt cake.

Garrett watched how your head turned back seeing Dean laugh at something your brother said, “because if I am wrong I am sure I could go find-” He didn’t give you the chance to finsh that sentence as his lips were on yours. 

He let his hands squeeze your ass making you moan into his mouth “don’t finish that fucking sentence.” He warned, never taking his lips off of yours.

Usually, this wasn’t uncommon; it seemed whenever alcohol was inserted into the mix, the two of you did get touchy with each other. Which was why everyone just treated you like another loved-up drunken couple. 

“Shit, sorry.”

It also meant that you were basically a solid target now for anyone who was too drunk to notice what they were practically shoulder-charging, “how about we move literally anywhere else?” You muttered when you felt someone’s elbow in your back as they walked past. 

Garrett laughed at the way that your eyebrows furrowed when you were annoyed “c’mon.” He nodded as he held his hand out for you to grab onto.

You hadn’t been in Garrett’s room before, at least not like this. Not while his hands are traveling under your shirt while he has his tongue in your mouth as the moment you two got up to the hallway, where the bedrooms where it seemed your hands were on each other again “fuck I need you.” The words made you freeze. 

Not because you didn’t feel the same way. 

But because you didn’t know what you were meant to do. 

And Garrett being Garrett, he noticed immediately, “did I do something wrong?” His question made you feel bad as he retracted his hands as if he was scared you’d burn him. 

You tried to pull him closer, “it’s not that Gar lets just.” You went to kiss him but he stepped back shaking his head “no what’s on your mind?” 

He could knew he’d be the biggest asshole in the world if he just continued on “you have fucked so many girls before.” Your words came out quicker than you could stop them. 

Garrett pursed his lips together as he waited for you to continue “and I’ve only been with two.” Both guys had happened at university and neither one of them was in a bodycount bracket like Garrett “did you just call me a manwhore?” 

The question made your face drop as you stammered, “n-no oh my god no!” It was enough to make crack a laugh as he let his hands fall onto your sides when he stepped closer to you. 

Your cheeks were red “it’s just that I don’t know what I’m doing in here.” You motioned to the room around you, focusing on his bed. 

It made Garrett smile as he thought your nerves were sweet “well then it’s a good thing I have had plenty of experience.” The moment the words left his mouth you both cringed, “okay that sounded like way better in my head.” He announced, making you laugh as you nodded in agreement. 

Garrett couldn’t help it when he let his eyes settle on your lips “my point is that we can go slow.” He was trying to be delicate because he didn’t know how to approach this “we don’t even have to-” you cut him off this time. 

“Oh no I want to.” 

The captain chuckled at the way you seemed sure of yourself “you’ll tell me if you’re not okay?” The way he cared for you made your legs feel like jelly as you nodded. 

So with that he grabbed your hand and brought you over to his bed, sitting down first before he pulled you onto his lap “tell me about the things you’ve done that you liked.” His words were followed by him nipping at your jaw and your silence “this is the part where you start naming things.” Garrett reminded you as you chewed on your lip. 

He stopped to focus on you “this feels stupid.” You complained, not wanting to do it any longer than you realistically needed to. 

Garrett ran his fingers through your hair, tucking. a strand behind your ear “no it’s not.” He shook his head “I like it when girls ride me.” The words practically rolled off of his tongue.

It made your thighs tense up as you looked down at him “or waking up with a blowie.” His words were sweet as he pressed a kiss against your lips urging you to give it a shot. 

You racked your brain for things that you have liked that you have experienced before, “well I like it when they play with my boobs.” You figured that it should have been an obvious one, but Garrett almost looked surprised by it. 

In his silence you carried on “I think it’ll be cool to be eaten out.” You knew that this was a place to put your likes and dislikes but you figured you’d slide a want into there too. You had heard girls in the halls talk about how good it felt but you never got the chance to experience it. 

“Hold on you’ve never had your pussy eaten?” The question made your cheeks turn red. 

Garrett looked at you like you had three heads “honestly, should we even count the guys that you’ve been with?” He scoffed, almost wanting to fight those guys, for you. 

You opted not to answer him as you wanted your list to at least have someone on it “can I eat you out?” The question threw you off, almost making you laugh. 

“why did you ask as if you were asking for homework help?”

It made the boy roll his eyes, “because it helps to have a bit of consent in a relationship.” He shot back as he picked you up. 

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his body “throw in a please and I’ll consider it.” Your words made him swear that he was in some sick joke. 

“You are infuriating.” 

“Remember, you’re the one who was all jealous fifteen minutes ago.” 

Garrett licked his lips as you looked down at him. Your lips stood dangerously close to his “can I eat your pussy please?” He forced the words out, causing you to finally kiss him “okay.” 

He kept you up there as he kissed you back, enjoying the peacefulness of it, not wanting to lose that yet.

It took him a moment to lay you down on your bed, but when you did all of your nerves came flooding right back to your cheeks “you’re okay pretty girl.” His voice was sweet as he nodded, pulling his shirt off of his back. 

You felt your mouth almost water “I’m all yours.” Garrett added, pressing a kiss against your lips. 

It was different from before. 

There wasn’t any lust or desire or need to put on a show with it. This just felt comfortable. It just felt safe.

You also found yourself not just accepting his words but also agreeing with them “I know.” You sent him a soft smile, and Garrett knew he was already so whipped for you. 

That was how he kept his movements slow, not because he thought you were delicate, but because he was determined not to hurt you, not to push you past a point that you were comfortable speaking up on. 

So that’s why he practically watched you like a hawk when he pulled your panties down your legs. Studying you in case there was a change in your reaction that made you want to pull away, but instead you just caught your lower lip between your teeth and he swore he’d cum on the spot just at the sight, “you know how hot you are?” He gasped as if he was exhausted from watching it, watching you. 

All you could do was shake your head, because honestly, you were clueless about the effect you had on the boy in front of you. From the way he found himself finding your perfume anywhere in a room. To how Logan swore, Garrett forgot how to speak English if you were in something slightly more revealing, “god I think I might actually be obsessed with you.” Garrett mumbled as he nipped at the skin on the inside of your thigh. 

Even though his words were quiet, you heard them perfectly “please Gar.” You begged not knowing if you wanted him to hurry up and get a move on or if it was the fact that you wanted him to carry on talking. 

You looked desperate, even if you tried not to. And honestly? Garrett loved the way your freshly manicured nails looked, gripping into his sheets “since you asked so nicely.” He smirked, finally dropping his head to your cunt. 

The feeling was something you felt immediately, as if your spirit almost left your body the moment that his tongue grazed your clit “oh my god.” Your hand slapped over your mouth as your eyes stayed stuck to the ceiling. 

Garrett couldn’t help it when he let out a low laugh “just me now doll.” He teased you as he wrapped his arms around your thighs. 

He didn’t give you a chance to offer some kind of smart rebuttal as he settled back into your cunt. 

It was as if you were a meal he didn’t know if he’d get to try for a second time so he made sure that he was going to enjoy this enough. The way his tongue moved between your clit and your hole with such precision and in a methodical way you wondered why you hadn’t done this before. 

When the boy added his fingers so that his mouth could focus on your clit “don’t stop.” You pleaded bringing your hips up to his face as if he could get any closer to you. 

His fingers stretched out your walls making you push your chest into the air as you arched your back “fucking hell.” You whimpered as your fingers tugged at his hair. 

He grunted against your glistening cunt, sending shivers through your body “god you’re good at this.” You pressed the balls of your feet against his shoulder blades. 

His tongue lapped at your cunt making your body shake “you close pretty girl?” Garrett used his thumb over your clit when you nodded. 

The boy grinded his hips against his bed as the sounds of you being a whimpering mess made his cock throb “I wanna cum so bad.” You should have been embarrassed how quickly you found yourself close, but honestly, you didn’t care. 

Not when your body felt like it was rocked with please “made a mess.” Garret ordered as he let his tongue replace his fingers, fucking your cunt with his tongue. It only took him a few more thrusts for you to finally each your high. 

Your eyes screwed shut as your mouth fell open. Garrett didn’t let up on you as he let his eyes come back up to you. His tongue lapped at your release, bringing your mind into a state of brain fog. 

Your body practically convulsed as you used the little strength that you had left to pull the boy from your cunt. You brought his face to yours as you cupped his face in your hands. Your release was salty on his tongue as it mixed with your spit when he kissed you. 

It made you moan as you pulled him on top of you. 

He let his hands rest on either side of you as your legs wrapped around his waist, softly grinding your hips against his aching cock “shit baby.” Garrett pulled away from you as he let his head sink into the crook of your neck. 

His teeth nipped at your skin “I’m gonna cum and I really don’t wanna before I fuck you.” His words were enough to make you moan, clenching your thighs around his waist. 

You licked your lips when you locked eyes with him “whatchu waiting for then?” Your mouth moved quicker than your brain as your eyes went wide realising what you had just said. 

Garrett smirked “well when you put it like that.” He teased you as he stood up on his knees “you sure you want this?” His question came as he leaned over you to grab a condom from his nightstand. 

Your hand wrapped around his arm “nope.” It made him freeze. 

“I wanna ride you instead.” 

It wasn’t something you had done before so you figured it was a good person to start with “are you sure you?” Yeah he wanted to, but he knew it was a lot more work than regular sex for you. 

You nodded as you sent him a sure look “I trust you Garrett.” There was something so sweet in your words. Something he had never gotten the chance to experience hearing before. 

Because the moment you said it, Garrett swore that it was the best praise he had ever gotten in his life “as long as you mean it.” You sat up now to face him properly “I really do.” You pressed a soft kiss on his lips to prove to him that you were being serious.

That’s how you ended on top of Garrett “just take it slowly.” His words were comforting as he placed his hands on your hips. 

You nodded as you drove the head of his cock against your clit “shit.” You gasped when you sank down onto his cock. 

Garrett watched how your head fell back when your cunt swallowed his cock “you’re so big.” You whimpered, letting your legs settle on either side of him. 

The boy smirked as he licked his lips “take your time.” He leaned forward to kiss your lips as his hand reached back and unclipped your bra with one hand. 

Your cunt clenched around him when he threw it across the room “that might be the hottest thing that I’ve ever see in my life.” Your confession caused the boy to laugh as he nodded. 

“Plenty more of where that came from.” 

You finally rolled your hips against his torso making you both grunt in pleasure “just like that pretty girl.” Garrett helped guide your hips against his cock as he leaned forward to wrap his lips around your breast. 

He sucked at your nipple, softly letting his teeth nip at the skin “you feel so good.” You felt his cock throb inside of you as your head felt light. 

The boy felt how your hands tugged at the ends of his hair “can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” He clicked his tongue against your skin as his hands gripped at your ass. 

You nodded in agreement as Garrett let his thumb drag over your clit continuing to fuck your cunt “you feel so good.” He grunted as he knew that he wasn’t going to last long. 

Your pussy was tight, walls practically sucking his cock dry as he felt his eyes flutter. The sound of your cunt squelching around him echoed in your ears as you continued to rock back and forward, “boys before didn’t fuck you right did ya?” He rambled on as you whimpered at the way his eyes looked at you. 

Like they were staking his claim on you, “no they didn’t.” You cried out as your thighs shook. 

You felt your face scrunch in pleasure, “only you do.” Garrett felt a wave of jealousy course through his veins that he didn’t know he was capable of feeling “jesus fuck you’re gonna make me cum in ya.” The boy kissed your shoulder as you nodded. 

The thought made you begin to lose control of your hips, the boy took over driving your hips over him “please Gar.” You begged finally sending him over the edge. 

As he shot his release into the condom, it triggered your own orgasm. Your cunt spasmed around him as your eyes screwed shut, pleasure ran from your head to your toes as your body fell forward. Your head landed on Garrett’s shoulder.

The boy slowly moved your hips until his movements came to a halt “you still with me doll?” Garrett asked as he ran his fingers through your hair. 

He laughed as you nodded, not saying a word “let me clean you up okay?” He added as his hands cupped your cheeks so that he could look at you. 

You smiled “okay.” The boy pulled out of you, laying you onto his bed as he got up. 

He couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes, but somehow you had fallen asleep by the time he came back. You looked really cute as your arms wrapped around yourself and you softly snored “what am I gonna do with you?” Garrett laughed as he grabbed a hoodie of his from the chair so that he could get you into something. 

By the time the sun rose, you woke up seeing the light coming through the curtains as you yawned. 

You started connecting the dots as you felt the arm wrapped around you. You turned around to see Garrett fast asleep.

The boy looked at peace as he rested against you. As you shimmied out of his grip, you walked to his mirror. 

You saw just how your makeup was smudged under your eyes and how your hair was tangled in a mess. 

When you looked back at Garrett was as if you had a lightbulb moment. 

The boy was fast asleep and as he lay there in nothing but his boxers you remembered what he said the night before. 

A morning blowy. 

Garrett knew that he wasn’t dreaming. Not when the bed dipped next to him. Not when his legs all of a sudden felt cold. And especially not when he felt his cock getting sucked off. 

That’s how he woke up to put your hair into a makeshift pony almost immediately, “jesus fuck.” He groaned as his eyes opened, finally seeing you beneath him. 

You let his dick out of your mouth with a pop “it’s just me Gar” Your hand replaced your mouth as you focused on his balls, softly massaging them between your fingers making him grunt out in pleasure. 

The boy let out a shaky breath when you put his cock back in your mouth. 

You sucked it, letting your tongue lap at the underside of his length. You gagged on his dick as he moaned “you feel so fucking good.” Garrett used his hands to softly bring your head further down as the boy did everything in his power not to totally fuck your face. 

He swore his strength was wavering when you hollowed out your cheeks swirling your head like he was a lollipop “I won’t last much longer if you keep on doing that.” Garrett swore in that moment you were a fucking minx. 

He didn’t know how you swore you hadn’t been with many people because all of the girls he had been with had never made him feel like this before. It was as if words were trapped in his throat while he watched you focus on making him feel good. 

It seemed as if the peduluem flipped from last night as now all the focus was on him. And in that moment he really didn’t care. 

Not when made him feel like this “don’t you wanna cum f’me?” You asked as you wrapped your hand around his cock, slowly palming at him as you batted your eyelashes in his direction. 

The way you lips pulled into a pout made him swear that he was going to explain “i-i” his eyes screwed shut when he felt your warm mouth back on him again, and he knew he was a goner. 

He pushed your head down onto his cock as his body thrased against you making you breathe from your nostrils.

It brought him back to how he felt the first time a girl sucked him off. His orgasm was messy and needy, sticky warm ropes of cum coated your throat. 

His grip on your hair softened as he didn’t think he knew how to breathe anymore. 

He looked at you, watching in awe as you used your thumb to wipe the spit that slipped from your lips before you wrapped your lips around your thumb. Garrett swore that he was ready to cum again when you smirked “cat got your tongue pretty boy?” You asked as you ran your fingers along his thigh. 

You sit up slowly, every muscle in your body screaming in protest. Your throat feels like you swallowed glass. Your face throbs. When you catch sight of yourself in the mirror across the room, you barely recognize the person staring back.

The bruises are worse than you thought. Dark purple handprints wrap around your throat like a necklace. Your left cheek is swollen, a deep red-purple that’s going to turn black soon. There’s a split in your bottom lip you don’t remember getting.

You look like you went twelve rounds with a professional fighter.

You look like a victim.

The thought makes you want to throw up.

There’s a knock on the door — soft, hesitant.

“Y/N?” Garrett’s voice. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” Your voice comes out raspy, damaged.

“Can I come in?”

You pull the blanket up higher, suddenly aware you’re still in yesterday’s clothes. “Sure.”

The door opens and Garrett steps inside, carrying a tray. He’s showered and changed — different sweatpants, a clean t-shirt, hair still damp. He looks almost normal except for the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

“I brought breakfast,” he says. “Nothing fancy. Just toast and eggs and coffee. Tucker made it. He’s weirdly good at cooking for a guy who lives on protein shakes and beer.”

He sets the tray on the desk, and you see he wasn’t kidding. Scrambled eggs, buttered toast, a mug of coffee with cream. There’s even a glass of orange juice.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say.

“I know.” Garrett leans against the desk, arms crossed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

“Yeah. You look-” He stops himself. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“I know what I look like.”

There’s a long pause. Garrett’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read. Concern, maybe. Or pity. You’re not sure which is worse.

“I think you should go to the police,” he says finally.

Your stomach drops. “Garrett-”

“I know you’re scared. I know you think he’ll get away with it. But Y/N, look at yourself.” He gestures toward the mirror. “You have evidence. Documented injuries. That’s assault. That’s attempted murder.”

“His parents are lawyers-”

“I don’t give a shit if his parents are on the Supreme Court.” Garrett’s voice is hard. “What he did to you is a crime. You have rights. You have options.”

“And if he gets away with it? If they make me look crazy? If no one believes me?”

“Then at least you tried. At least there’s a record. At least the next time he does this — because there will be a next time, to you or someone else — there’s a paper trail.”

You want to argue. Want to explain all the reasons why this won’t work, why it’s pointless, why you should just disappear and hope Cameron forgets about you.

But Garrett’s looking at you with those dark eyes, and you can see the plea in them. The desperate need to do something, to fix this, to make it right.

“Will you come with me?” You ask quietly.

“Every step of the way.”

***

The police station smells like bad coffee and bureaucracy. You sit in a hard plastic chair in the waiting area, Garrett beside you, while an officer processes your intake paperwork.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” the desk sergeant says, barely looking up from his computer.

Shortly turns into twenty minutes. Then thirty. You’re about to suggest leaving when a female officer appears.

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Officer Murphy. Come on back.”

She leads you and Garrett to a small interview room. It’s exactly like the ones on TV — gray walls, metal table, chairs that look designed to be uncomfortable. There’s a camera mounted in the corner.

“For documentation purposes,” Officer Murphy explains, following your gaze. “Everything we discuss will be recorded. Is that okay?”

You nod.

“I’m going to need verbal consent.”

“Yes. That’s okay.”

Officer Murphy sits across from you, pulls out a notepad. Garrett takes the chair beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body.

“So,” Officer Murphy begins. “You’re here to file a report about an assault?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened? Start from the beginning.”

You take a breath. Try to organize the chaos of last night into something coherent.

“My boyfriend — Cameron Beck — he attacked me last night. At my dorm room.”

“What time was this?”

“Around eight PM, I think. Maybe a little after.”

Officer Murphy is writing everything down. “And what precipitated the attack?”

“He found a phone number in my bag. He thought I was cheating on him.”

“Were you?”

The question catches you off guard. “No. It was just—someone gave me their number and I kept it. That’s all.”

“Okay. So he found this number and then what?”

“He got angry. Started yelling. Threw my stuff everywhere. Then he-” Your voice catches. “He put his hands around my throat. Choked me until I couldn’t breathe.”

Officer Murphy’s expression doesn’t change. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“Almost. I thought I was going to die.”

“What happened next?”

“He let go for a second. Hit me. Across the face. Twice.” You point to your cheek. “Then he started choking me again.”

“How did you get away?”

“I kneed him. In the groin. He let go and I ran.”

“Where did you run to?”

“Just … ran. Down the street. I called for help.” You glance at Garrett. “He came and got me.”

Officer Murphy looks at Garrett for the first time. “And you are?”

“Garrett Graham. I’m-” He hesitates. “A friend. She called me and I picked her up.”

“You’re a student at BU as well?”

“No. Briar University.”

Something shifts in Officer Murphy’s expression. Recognition, maybe. “You play hockey.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And the boyfriend — Cameron Beck — he plays for BU?”

“Yes.”

Officer Murphy writes something in her notepad. You can’t see what.

“Okay, Y/N. I’m going to need to document your injuries. Is it alright if I take some photographs?”

Your stomach churns. “Do you have to?”

“It’s important for the case. Physical evidence of assault.”

You look at Garrett. He nods slightly, encouraging.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Officer Murphy pulls out a digital camera. “I’ll need you to remove your sweatshirt so we can see your throat and face clearly.”

With shaking hands, you pull off your sweatshirt. You’re wearing a tank top underneath, which means the bruises on your arms are visible too. The ones from before last night. The finger-shaped marks that have faded to yellow-green.

Officer Murphy’s jaw tightens. “How long has he been hurting you?”

“I don’t know. A while.”

“Months? Years?”

“About a year. It started small. Then got worse.”

“And you never reported it before?”

The judgment in the question makes you flinch. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was scared. Because I thought I could fix it. Because he said no one would believe me.” Your voice rises. “Because I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters,” Officer Murphy says firmly. “It always matters.”

She starts taking photos. Flash after flash, documenting every bruise, every mark. Your throat from multiple angles. Your face. Your wrists. Your arms. You feel like a crime scene.

Which, you suppose, you are.

Garrett has gone completely still beside you. You can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“Alright,” Officer Murphy says finally, lowering the camera. “You can put your sweatshirt back on. I just need to get the rest of your statement.”

She asks you to walk through the entire relationship. When it started. When the abuse began. How often it happened. You try to remember specific incidents but they all blur together after a while. The time he threw your laptop across the room. The time he locked you in his apartment for two days. The time he pushed you down the stairs and then convinced everyone, including you, that you’d just tripped.

Officer Murphy writes it all down without comment.

Then she asks: “Did he ever sexually assault you?”

The room goes very quiet.

You can’t look at Garrett. Can’t bear to see his reaction.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Can you describe what happened?”

“He would-” Your throat closes up. “He would force me. When I didn’t want to. When I said no.”

“How many times did this happen?”

“I don’t know. A lot. Too many to count.”

“Most recently?”

You close your eyes. “Yesterday morning. I woke up and he was already—he didn’t ask. He just-”

You can’t finish the sentence.

Beside you, Garrett makes a sound. Almost like a growl. When you glance over, his hands are clenched into fists so tight his knuckles have gone white. There’s something wet on his palms.

Blood.

His nails have cut into his skin.

“Garrett,” you whisper.

He doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes are fixed on the table, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle jumping.

Officer Murphy notices too. “Mr. Graham, do you need to step outside?”

“I’m fine.” His voice is rough.

“You’re bleeding.”

Garrett looks down at his hands like he’s surprised to see them. Slowly, mechanically, he unclenches his fists. Crescent-shaped cuts mark his palms.

“I’m fine,” he says again.

Officer Murphy doesn’t look convinced, but she continues. “Y/N, I know this is difficult, but I need you to be as specific as possible about the sexual assaults. Dates, times, locations if you remember them.”

You do your best. You tell her about the times in his apartment. The time in his car. The time in a bathroom at a party when you were too drunk to consent. You tell her until the words stop meaning anything, until you’re just reciting facts like they happened to someone else.

Through it all, Garrett sits beside you, silent and bleeding.

When you’re finally done, Officer Murphy closes her notepad.

“Okay. This is what’s going to happen next. We’re going to issue a warrant for Cameron Beck’s arrest. Based on your statement and the photographic evidence, we have probable cause for assault, battery, strangulation, and sexual assault. Those are serious charges.”

“Will he go to jail?” You ask.

“That depends on a lot of factors. The DA will review the case and decide whether to prosecute. If they do, there will be a trial. You’ll have to testify.”

Your heart sinks. “I have to see him again?”

“In court, yes. But we’re also going to help you file for a restraining order. That means he can’t contact you, can’t come within a certain distance of you. If he violates it, he goes to jail immediately.”

“His parents are going to fight this,” you say. “They have money. Lawyers.”

“Let them fight. We have evidence. We have your testimony. And frankly, based on what you’ve described, this isn’t going to be a hard case to make.”

You want to believe her. Want to believe that for once, the system will work the way it’s supposed to.

But you’ve been disappointed so many times before.

“What do I do now?” You ask.

“Go home. Rest. We’ll contact you when we have more information. In the meantime, avoid any contact with Mr. Beck. If he tries to reach out, document everything and let us know immediately.”

“Okay.”

Officer Murphy stands, offers her hand. “You did the right thing, coming here. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re incredibly brave.”

You shake her hand, but you don’t feel brave. You feel exhausted and broken and terrified of what comes next.

Garrett stands too, still favoring his bleeding palms. Officer Murphy notices.

“Mr. Graham, you should get those looked at.”

“They’re fine.”

“They’re not fine. There’s a first aid kit at the front desk.”

Garrett just nods, but you can tell he has no intention of doing anything about it.

You follow Officer Murphy out of the interview room, back through the station. At the front desk, she hands you a folder.

“Resources,” she explains. “Domestic violence hotlines, counseling services, legal aid. And my card. Call me anytime if you have questions or concerns.”

“Thank you.”

You walk out of the station into the gray February morning. The cold hits you like a slap. You don’t have a coat. You left everything at your dorm when you ran.

Everything except your phone and your life.

Garrett guides you toward his car with a hand that doesn’t quite touch your back. Protective but not possessive. It’s such a contrast to Cameron that you almost cry.

Once you’re both in the car, Garrett turns to face you. “Where do you want me to take you?”

You hesitate. “My dorm, I guess. My roommate should be back by now-”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not taking you back there. Not where he knows where to find you. Not where you’ll be alone.”

“Garrett, I can’t just hide forever-”

“I’m not saying forever. I’m saying until we know he’s been arrested. Until we know the restraining order is in place.” He starts the car. “You’re coming back to the house.”

“I can’t impose like that-”

“You’re not imposing. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”

You want to argue. Want to insist you can take care of yourself. But the truth is, you’re terrified. Terrified Cameron will show up at your dorm. Terrified he’ll convince you to take him back again. Terrified of what he’ll do when he finds out you went to the police.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

Garrett drives back to his house in silence. His hands are tight on the steering wheel, and you can see the blood from his palms smearing the leather.

“You’re still bleeding,” you say.

“I know.”

“You should clean that.”

“I will.”

But he doesn’t sound like he cares. He sounds like he’s somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark and violent.

When you pull up to the house, there are two other cars in the driveway. Garrett parks and turns to you.

“My roommates are home. They know you’re here — I told them last night. They’re cool, I promise. But if you want to go straight to the room and not deal with people, that’s fine too.”

“It’s their house. I should at least say hi.”

“You don’t owe them anything.”

“Still.”

You follow Garrett inside. The house looks different in daylight — messier but homier. There are hockey bags by the door, shoes scattered everywhere, a pile of mail on the hall table. It smells like coffee and something cooking.

“G, that you?” A voice calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah. And Y/N.”

Three guys emerge from the kitchen. You recognize one of them from Briar Hockey’s most recent post on Instagram — Logan, Garrett’s best friend. The other two you don’t know.

They all stop when they see you. You watch their expressions change as they take in your injuries — shock, anger, pity.

“Jesus,” one of them breathes. He’s auburn-haired, built like a tank. “He did that to you?”

You nod, unable to speak.

“I’m Tucker,” he says. “And when I see that motherfucker, I’m going to break every bone in his body.”

“Get in line,” Garrett mutters.

The third guy — tall, blond hair, kind eyes — steps forward. “I’m Dean. And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. Seriously.”

“I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not.” Logan’s voice is firm. “Any friend of Garrett’s is a friend of ours. And anyone that piece of shit hurt automatically gets our protection.”

You’re overwhelmed suddenly. These boys — these strangers — are offering you sanctuary without hesitation. Without judgment. Without demanding anything in return.

“Thank you,” you manage.

“You hungry?” Tucker asks. “I made chicken noodle soup earlier this week.”

“I could eat,” you say.

“Good. Sit. I’ll heat it up.”

Garrett leads you to the dining table — a beat-up wooden thing that’s seen better days. You sit, and Garrett takes the chair beside you.

Logan grabs a first aid kit from under the sink. “Let me see your hands.”

“I’m fine,” Garrett says.

“You’re bleeding on my chair. Let me see your hands.”

Reluctantly, Garrett holds out his palms. The crescent-shaped cuts are deeper than you thought, still seeping blood.

“What the hell did you do?” Dean asks.

“Nothing.”

Logan starts cleaning the cuts with antiseptic. Garrett doesn’t even flinch.

“We went to the police this morning,” Garrett says. “She filed a report. They’re issuing a warrant for Beck’s arrest.”

The room goes quiet.

“Good,” Tucker says finally from the kitchen. “Fucking good.”

“Did they believe you?” Dean asks you.

“I think so. There’s evidence. Photos. My statement.”

“And if he tries to come near you?”

“Restraining order. But it takes time.”

“Until then, you stay here,” Logan says. It’s not a question. “We’ll make sure you get to your classes, get whatever you need from your dorm, whatever. But you don’t go anywhere alone.”

“I can’t ask you guys to do that-”

“You’re not asking. We’re offering.” Tucker brings over two bowls of soup, sets one in front of you. “Eat. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

He’s not wrong. You can’t remember the last real meal you had. You pick up the spoon, take a bite.

It’s delicious. Rich and warm and exactly what you need.

“This is really good,” you say.

“Told you.” Tucker grins. “Hockey and cooking. My only two skills.”

Despite everything, you almost smile.

Garrett’s still watching you with that intense expression. Like he’s memorizing every detail. Like he’s afraid if he looks away, you’ll disappear.

“You’re safe here,” he says quietly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. I know you’re scared. But we’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

You look around the table at these four boys — these strangers who are treating you like family. Who are offering you protection without asking for anything in return. Who believe you, unconditionally.

“Why?” You ask. “Why are you all doing this?”

The boys exchange glances.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Logan says simply.

“Because that asshole deserves to rot,” Tucker adds.

“Because you deserve better,” Dean says.

Garrett doesn’t say anything. Just reaches over and squeezes your hand gently. Carefully. Like you’re something precious.

You squeeze back.

And for the first time since last night, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you’re going to be okay.

***

Three weeks feels like both an eternity and no time at all.

Garrett’s been counting down the days like a prisoner marking time on a cell wall. March 14th. The date he highlighted in his calendar. The date he’s been waiting for.

The date he’s going to make Cameron Beck pay.

He’s in the locker room now, lacing up his skates with mechanical precision. Around him, his teammates are going through their pre-game routines. Logan’s taping his stick. Tucker’s blasting music through his headphones. Dean’s doing some complicated stretching routine that looks like yoga.

Everyone knows what tonight is. What it means.

You filed charges. Cameron was arrested. And then, less than twenty-four hours later, he was released on bail. Fifty thousand dollars — pocket change to his parents. He walked out of that police station like nothing happened, posted some bullshit on Instagram about “false accusations,” and went right back to his life.

Including hockey.

Boston University’s administration reviewed the case. Looked at the evidence, the photos, your statement. And then decided that since Cameron hasn’t been convicted yet, he should be allowed to continue playing while awaiting trial.

Innocent until proven guilty, they said.

Never mind the handprint bruises on your throat. Never mind the records documenting your injuries. Never mind that you can barely sleep without having nightmares.

None of that matters to BU’s athletic department as much as their winning record.

Garrett’s jaw clenches so hard his teeth ache.

Coach Jensen appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Alright, boys. Listen up.”

The room quiets.

“We all know what tonight is,” Coach says, his eyes scanning the team. “We all know who we’re playing. And I’m going to say this once: I don’t care about your personal feelings. I don’t care about drama. I care about hockey. You play clean, you play smart, you win the game. Got it?”

There’s a murmur of agreement.

Coach’s eyes land on Garrett. “Graham. My office. Now.”

Garrett stands, follows Coach down the hallway to his office. Coach closes the door behind them.

“Sit.”

Garrett sits.

Coach leans against his desk, arms crossed. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?”

“You’re thinking about that girl. About Beck. About what he did.”

Garrett doesn’t confirm or deny.

“I get it,” Coach continues. “I do. What happened to her is horrific. But Garrett, you’re the captain of this team. You’re a junior. You’re probably going to the NHL in a year. You can’t throw that away because you want revenge.”

“I’m not throwing anything away.”

“If you go after him tonight, you will be. You’ll get suspended. Maybe for the rest of the season. Maybe permanently. Is that really worth it?”

Garrett meets Coach’s eyes. “Yes.”

Coach sighs. “I can’t stop you. But I’m asking you to think about your team. About your future.”

“I have thought about it.” Garrett stands. “And I’ve made my decision.”

He walks back to the locker room. His teammates look up as he enters, reading his expression.

“Well?” Logan asks.

“Same as always. Play clean, win the game.”

“And are you going to play clean?” Tucker asks with a knowing smile.

Garrett doesn’t answer. Just pulls on his jersey — number 44, GRAHAM across the back in bold letters.

When it’s time to head to the tunnel, Garrett catches Coach Jensen’s eye one more time.

“Coach?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Coach’s brow furrows. “For what?”

“For the fact that the team will probably have to play without me for a few games.”

Coach opens his mouth to respond, but Garrett’s already moving down the tunnel. He can hear Coach calling after him, but the words don’t register. There’s only one thing on Garrett’s mind now.

The ice.

***

You’re sitting on Garrett’s bed, laptop balanced on your knees, streaming the game. You probably shouldn’t watch. Your therapist — the one the victim services advocate connected you with — said you should avoid triggers. And watching Cameron skate around like nothing happened, like he didn’t try to kill you, is definitely a trigger.

But you can’t help it.

You need to see this.

The arena is packed — a sold-out crowd for what the announcers are calling “one of the most anticipated matchups of the season.” Briar versus BU. First place versus second place in the conference standings.

They have no idea what else this game means.

The camera pans across the Briar bench. There’s Garrett, sitting between Logan and Tucker, face hard and focused. He looks dangerous. You’ve never seen him look like that before — like violence contained in a hockey uniform.

Then the camera cuts to the BU bench and your stomach drops.

Cameron.

He’s there. Number 14, sitting at the end of the bench, laughing at something one of his teammates said. Like this is just another game. Like he didn’t assault you. Like he didn’t rape you. Like he didn’t leave you so broken you still can’t look at yourself in the mirror without flinching.

The commentators are talking about him. About his stats, his performance this season, his NHL prospects. They mention, briefly, that he’s facing “personal legal issues” but don’t elaborate. Wouldn’t want to damage his reputation with something as trivial as the truth.

You feel sick.

The door opens and Beau, Dean’s best friend, pokes his head in. He promised the boys to keep an eye on you while they are at the game. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look okay.” He comes in, sits on the edge of the bed. “You know you don’t have to watch this, right?”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

“I need to see it.”

Beau nods like he understands. “Want company?”

“Sure.”

He settles in beside you, close enough to be supportive but not so close it feels invasive. It’s something you’ve noticed about all the boys — they’re incredibly careful about your boundaries. They never touch you without asking. Never get too close. Never push.

It’s the opposite of Cameron in every way.

The puck drops.

***

Garrett’s never been a dirty player. He plays hard, plays physical, but he doesn’t cheap shot. Doesn’t go for injuries. Doesn’t use his stick as a weapon.

Tonight’s going to be different.

He’s skating his shift, focused on the puck, when he sees Beck coming up the ice. Their eyes meet across the neutral zone and Beck smirks. Actually fucking smirks at him.

Garrett’s vision goes red for a second, but he forces it down. Not yet. He needs to wait for the right moment. Can’t just jump him in the middle of open ice or the refs will toss him before he gets a chance to do real damage.

The first period is surprisingly restrained. Both teams feeling each other out, testing boundaries. Garrett gets a few good hits in — all legal, all clean — but nothing that satisfies the rage burning in his chest.

Logan scores midway through the first. Dean gets an assist. Briar’s up 1-0.

The period’s winding down — about three minutes left — when Garrett finds himself lined up against Beck for a faceoff in the defensive zone.

They’re at the dot, sticks ready, waiting for the ref to drop the puck.

Beck leans in close.

“Hey, Graham,” he says, voice low enough the ref can’t hear. “How’s my girl doing?”

Garrett’s stick tightens in his grip, but he doesn’t respond.

“She still staying at your place?” Beck continues, that smirk playing on his lips. “That’s cute. Playing house. But we both know she’ll come back to me eventually. She always does.”

The ref’s getting into position.

“She’s a good fuck though, right?” Beck’s voice drops to a whisper. “Tight. Eager. Especially when she cries.”

Something inside Garrett snaps.

The puck hasn’t even dropped yet when Garrett rips off his gloves and launches himself at Beck.

His first punch catches Beck square in the jaw. Beck’s head snaps back and he goes down hard, hitting the ice, but Garrett doesn’t stop. He’s on top of him, raining down punches with methodical precision. Face, ribs, face again.

Beck tries to cover up, tries to fight back, but Garrett’s bigger, stronger, and absolutely fucking furious.

“You piece of shit-” Punch. “You fucking coward-” Punch. “You think you can talk about her like that-” Punch.

Beck’s nose breaks with a satisfying crunch. Blood sprays across the ice.

The refs are shouting, trying to pull Garrett off, but he shrugs them away. Gets in two more solid hits before two refs manage to grab his arms and haul him backwards.

Garrett’s still trying to get at Beck, still ready to throw more punches, but the refs have him locked down.

Beck’s on the ice, face a bloody mess. His teammates are rushing over. The crowd is going absolutely insane — some people cheering, some people booing, everyone on their feet.

One ref is talking into his mic. “Number 44, Briar. Five-minute major for fighting. Game misconduct. You’re done.”

Garrett doesn’t argue. Doesn’t protest. Just skates toward the tunnel, ripping off his helmet.

The Briar bench erupts.

Every single player starts tapping their sticks against the boards. The sound echoes through the arena like thunder. It’s the hockey equivalent of a standing ovation.

Support. Solidarity.

They know why Garrett did it. And they’re backing him one hundred percent.

Coach Jensen is standing behind the bench, shaking his head, but even he’s fighting a smile.

As Garrett disappears into the tunnel, he catches one last glimpse of the ice. Beck’s sitting up now, holding his face, blood pouring through his fingers. His coach is yelling at the refs, demanding Garrett be suspended, banned, arrested.

Garrett doesn’t care.

It was worth it.

***

You watch the whole thing happen in real-time.

One second, they’re lined up for the faceoff. The next, Garrett’s on Cameron like a feral animal.

Beau jumps up beside you. “Holy shit!”

You can’t speak. Can’t breathe. You just watch as Garrett hits Cameron again and again and again. Watch as the refs try to pull him off. Watch as Cameron’s face turns into a bloody pulp.

The commentators are losing their minds.

“Absolutely vicious attack by Graham — completely unprovoked — this is going to be a lengthy suspension-”

But it wasn’t unprovoked. You know that. Something happened at that faceoff. Cameron said something. Did something. Pushed Garrett past his breaking point.

And Garrett responded.

For you.

The camera follows Garrett as he skates toward the tunnel. His face is set, determined, completely unrepentant. Blood — not his own — is splattered across his jersey.

Then the camera cuts to the Briar bench and you see it. Every player tapping their sticks. The sound might not come through clearly on the broadcast, but you know what it means.

They’re supporting him.

All of them.

“Did you see that?” Beau’s grinning. “The whole fucking bench. They all know.”

“Know what?”

“Why Garrett did it. They’re telling him they’ve got his back.”

Your throat feels tight. Your eyes are stinging.

Garrett just got himself ejected. Probably suspended for multiple games. Maybe even kicked off the team. And he did it for you. Because Cameron said something about you. Because he couldn’t let it slide.

The game continues. BU gets a five-minute power play because of the major penalty, but Briar’s penalty kill holds strong. Dean blocks three shots. Tucker strips the puck from a BU forward and clears it down the ice.

When the period finally ends, it’s still 1-0 Briar.

You close the laptop.

“You okay?” Beau asks.

“I don’t know.”

“That was pretty intense.”

“He did that for me.”

“Yeah. He did.”

“He’s going to get in so much trouble.”

“Probably.” Beau shrugs. “But Garrett doesn’t care. You should’ve seen him these past three weeks. He’s been counting down to this game like it was Christmas.”

“I need to-” You stand up. “I need to call him.”

“He’s probably in the locker room or getting reviewed by the league officials right now.”

“I don’t care. I need to talk to him.”

You grab your phone, pull up Garrett’s number. It rings four times before going to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Garrett. No phones allowed on the ice. Leave a message.”

Beep.

“Hey, it’s me. I just—I saw what happened. What you did. And I-” Your voice cracks. “Thank you. I know that probably sounds crazy. I know you’re probably in trouble and I should feel bad about that but I just—thank you. For standing up for me. For not letting him get away with it. For everything.”

You pause, trying to find the right words.

“I’ll be here when you get back. We can talk then. Just be safe, okay?”

You hang up.

Beau’s watching you with a soft expression. “You care about him.”

It’s not a question.

“He saved my life,” you say.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You sit back down on the bed. “I don’t know what I feel. Everything’s so complicated and messed up and I’m barely holding myself together most days. But yeah. I care about him. How could I not?”

“He cares about you too. A lot. Like, a scary amount.”

“What do you mean?”

Beau hesitates. “He doesn’t really talk about his feelings. None of us do — we’re athletes, we’re emotionally constipated. But the way he is with you? I’ve never seen him like that with anyone. He’s protective to the point of obsession.”

“I don’t want to be his redemption project,” you say quietly.

“You’re not. Trust me. If you were, he’d be treating you like a victim. Like someone who needs to be saved. But he doesn’t do that. He treats you like a person. Like someone who deserves respect and autonomy and choice.” Beau stands, stretches. “Anyway. I’m going to make some popcorn. You want some?”

“Sure.”

He leaves and you’re alone with your thoughts.

You pull the laptop back open, reload the stream. The second period is underway. Briar’s still up 1-0. BU’s pressing hard, trying to tie it up, but Briar’s goalie is playing out of his mind.

The commentators are still talking about Garrett’s ejection.

“We’re hearing that Graham will face supplemental discipline from the league. Likely a multi-game suspension. Possibly more serious consequences given the severity of the attack.”

Good, you think viciously. Let them suspend him. Let them punish him. It was worth it.

You think about Cameron’s face. The blood. The way he looked genuinely scared for the first time since you’ve known him.

You should feel bad about that. Should feel guilty that you’re glad Garrett hurt him.

But you don’t.

You feel vindicated.

***

Garrett’s in Coach’s office when the game ends. Briar won 3-1. Logan got another goal in the second, and Tucker scored an empty-netter in the third.

But Garrett wasn’t there to see it.

“The league’s reviewing the footage,” Coach says, arms crossed. “They’re talking about a five-game suspension minimum. Maybe more.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

Garrett shrugs. “What do you want me to say? I knew what I was doing. I knew there would be consequences.”

“Did you know Beck is in the hospital?”

That gets Garrett’s attention. “What?”

“Broken nose, fractured orbital bone, possible concussion. They took him out on a stretcher.”

Garrett should feel bad about that. Should feel some kind of remorse.

He doesn’t.

“Good,” he says.

Coach’s expression hardens. “Garrett-”

“He did horrible things to her, Coach. Too many times to count. He strangled her until she thought she was going to die. He made her so scared she couldn’t even function. And BU let him keep playing because they care more about winning than doing the right thing.”

“So you decided to take justice into your own hands?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“That’s not your job.”

“Maybe not. But someone had to do it.”

Coach is quiet for a long moment. “What did he say to you?”

“What?”

“At the faceoff. Right before you hit him. What did he say?”

Garrett’s jaw tightens. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it pushed you that far.”

“He talked about her. About-” Garrett can’t repeat the words. Can’t make himself say them out loud. “It was disgusting. Disrespectful. And I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.”

Coach sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “You know I have to suspend you from training as well. Team policy.”

“I know.”

“You’re probably done for the season.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Garrett meets Coach’s eyes. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Coach studies him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiles. “You’re a good kid, Graham. Stupid as hell sometimes, but good.”

“Does that mean you’re not kicking me off the team?”

“I should. But no. You’ll serve your suspension and then we’ll see where we are.” Coach stands. “Now get out of here. I’m sure you’ve got someone waiting for you.”

Garrett doesn’t need to be told twice.

He showers quickly, changes into his street clothes. His hands are sore — he definitely bruised his knuckles on Beck’s face — but it’s a good kind of pain. Satisfying.

His phone has seven missed calls and twice as many texts. Most from teammates, congratulating him. A few from reporters, asking for comment. One from his dad, which he deletes without reading.

And one voicemail from you.

He listens to it in his car, sitting in the parking lot.

Your voice is shaky but sincere. Thanking him. Telling him you’ll be there when he gets back.

Something in his chest loosens.

He starts the car and drives home.

When he walks through the door, the house is quiet. Beau’s on the couch, watching TV.

“She’s in your room,” Beau says without looking up.

Garrett takes the stairs two at a time.

His door is closed. He knocks softly.

“Come in.”

You’re sitting on his bed, laptop closed beside you. You look up when he enters and something in your expression makes Garrett’s breath catch.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“I watched the whole thing.”

“And?”

You stand, walk over to him. You’re close enough now that he can see the fading bruises on your throat, the shadows under your eyes.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“You already said that. In your message.”

“I know. But I wanted to say it to your face.” You reach out, hesitate, then gently take his hand. Look at his bruised knuckles. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

The smallest smile touches his lips. “Maybe a little.”

You hold his hand carefully, like it’s something precious. “You’re probably suspended.”

“Yeah.”

“For multiple games.”

“Probably.”

“Because of me.”

“Because of him,” Garrett corrects. “Because he’s a piece of shit who deserved to have his face rearranged.”

You look up at him, and there’s something in your eyes Garrett can’t quite read. Gratitude, maybe. Or something deeper.

“No one’s ever stood up for me like that before,” you say.

“They should have.”

“But they didn’t. You did.”

Garrett wants to close the distance between you. Wants to pull you into his arms and promise that he’ll always protect you, always fight for you, always be there.

But he doesn’t.

Because you’re not his to protect. Not really. You’re just someone he couldn’t walk away from. Someone he couldn’t save until you decided to save yourself.

“Get some sleep,” he says instead. “We can talk more in the morning.”

You nod, but you don’t let go of his hand.

“Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad it was you. That night. When I called. I’m glad it was you who answered.”

Something in Garrett’s chest cracks open.

“Me too,” he says.

You finally release his hand and he steps back into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

He leans against the wall, closes his eyes, and lets himself feel everything he’s been holding back for three weeks.

The rage. The fear. The overwhelming need to protect you.

And something else. Something he’s not ready to name yet.

But it’s there.

Growing stronger every day.

***

The suspension comes down two days after the game: four games for “excessive violence and intent to injure.”

Garrett doesn’t even blink.

Four games. That’s it. He was expecting worse — six, maybe eight. The fact that the league went relatively light on him suggests that maybe, just maybe, someone up there knows what Beck did. Knows why Garrett did what he did.

“Four games,” Logan says, reading the official statement on his phone. “That’s nothing.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Garrett replies, sprawled on the couch with an ice pack on his still-swollen knuckles.

“Could’ve been better. Could’ve been zero games and a medal.”

Tucker walks in from the kitchen, protein shake in hand. “Did you see the prospect rankings?”

“What about them?”

“You moved up.” Tucker grins. “Apparently scouts love a forward who can put up points and throw down when needed. The Bruins are talking about you even more now.”

Garrett sits up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Check Twitter. Hockey analysts are going crazy. Half of them are calling you a thug, but the other half are saying you’re exactly what the league needs. A player with skill and grit.”

Dean appears in the doorway. “There’s already a highlight reel of the fight on YouTube. It’s got like two million views.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re famous, man. In the best and worst way possible.”

Garrett doesn’t care about fame. Doesn’t care about the projections or the highlight reels or what analysts think. He cares about one thing: that Beck is in the hospital with a face that looks like ground meat, and everyone knows why.

You appear at the top of the stairs, wearing one of Garrett’s old Briar Hockey hoodies that swallows you whole. You’ve been staying in his room for three weeks now, and the house has adjusted around you. The boys treat you like a little sister — protective, teasing, careful. It’s the safest you’ve felt in over a year.

“What’s all the noise about?” You ask.

“Garrett’s trending on Twitter,” Tucker announces.

“For the fight?”

“For being a badass, apparently.”

You come down the stairs, curl up on the couch next to Garrett. It’s become natural now, this casual proximity. He doesn’t flinch when you’re near. You don’t panic when he moves. It’s taken weeks to build this comfort, but it’s there.

“How are the knuckles?” You ask.

“Better. Still ugly.”

“Battle scars.”

“Something like that.”

Your phone buzzes. You pull it out, check the screen, and Garrett watches your expression change. The color drains from your face.

“What?” He asks immediately.

“The DA. The trial date got moved up.”

“To when?”

“Three weeks from now.” Your voice is shaky. “April seventh.”

Garrett does the math. That’s right after his suspension ends. Almost like fate scheduled it that way.

“You okay?” He asks.

“I don’t know. I thought I’d have more time to prepare.”

“You’ve been preparing for weeks. You’re ready.”

“Am I?” You look at him, and there’s real fear in your eyes. “What if I mess up? What if I freeze on the stand? What if his lawyers tear me apart?”

“Then I’ll be there to put you back together.”

It’s a promise. Simple and absolute.

You lean into him slightly, and Garrett puts his arm around your shoulders. The gesture is still new enough to feel significant. Still careful enough that either of you could pull away.

But neither of you do.

***

The three weeks pass in a blur of preparation.

The DA — a sharp woman named Katherine Doherty who looks like she could argue a case in her sleep — meets with you six times. Goes over your testimony, prepares you for cross-examination, teaches you how to stay calm under pressure.

“They’re going to try to discredit you,” she says during one session, Garrett sitting quietly in the corner. “They’re going to imply you’re lying, that you wanted it, that you’re just trying to ruin his life because you’re bitter about the breakup. And you cannot let them see you break.”

“How do I not break?” You ask. “How do I sit there and listen to them call me a liar and not fall apart?”

“You remember why you’re doing this. You remember that you’re not just fighting for yourself — you’re fighting for every woman he might hurt in the future. Every girl who might think she deserves to be treated like he treated you.”

Garrett watches you absorb this. Watches you straighten your spine, lift your chin.

“Okay,” you say. “I can do that.”

“I know you can.”

The night before the trial, you can’t sleep. Garrett finds you in the kitchen at 2 AM, making tea with shaking hands.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You jump, nearly dropping the mug. “God, you scared me.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t sleep either.”

“Tomorrow’s the day.”

“Yep.”

You pour hot water over the tea bag, watch it steep. “What if he gets away with it?”

“He won’t.”

“But what if he does? His parents hired the best lawyers in Boston. They’ve got money and connections and-”

“And you have the truth.” Garrett moves closer, takes the mug from your hands before you spill it. “You have evidence. You have photos. You have medical records. You have me.”

“You can’t testify. You weren’t there.”

“No, but I can sit in that courtroom and make sure you know you’re not alone.”

You look up at him, and in the dim kitchen light, Garrett can see the fear and determination warring in your expression.

“I’m terrified,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“But I’m also angry. I’m so angry at him for what he did. For what he took from me. And I want him to pay.”

“He will.”

“Promise?”

Garrett shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep. Shouldn’t guarantee an outcome that’s out of his control. But looking at you — brave and broken and desperately needing something to hold onto — he can’t help himself.

“I promise.”

***

The courthouse is exactly as imposing as you imagined. All marble and high ceilings and the kind of quiet that feels heavy.

You’re dressed in a simple navy dress that Katherine helped you pick out. Professional but not severe. Respectful but not apologetic. Your hair is pulled back. Your makeup is minimal.

Garrett’s beside you in a suit that looks uncomfortable on him. He’s a jeans and hoodie guy, but today he looks like he walked out of a magazine. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, tie that Logan had to help him knot.

“You look good,” you tell him as you wait outside the courtroom.

“I look like I’m going to a funeral.”

“And still very handsome.”

He manages a small smile. “You ready?”

“No. But let’s do this anyway.”

Katherine appears, all business in her sharp pantsuit. “Alright, let’s go over this one more time. You tell the truth. You stay calm. You don’t let his lawyer bait you into anger. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Remember, the evidence is on our side. The medical records, the photos, the police report. This isn’t a he-said-she-said. This is a he-said-she-said-and-she-has-proof.”

You nod, trying to absorb her confidence.

The courtroom doors open and you walk inside.

It’s smaller than you expected. Maybe forty seats in the gallery, half of them filled. You recognize some faces — your parents, who flew in from wherever they’ve been. Julie, who’s been your rock through all of this. Some of Garrett’s teammates.

And Cameron’s parents. Sitting in the front row, looking like they’re at a country club meeting instead of their son’s rape trial.

You don’t look at Cameron. Can’t. Not yet.

The bailiff calls the court to order and the judge — an older woman with gray hair and sharp eyes — takes her seat.

“The People versus Cameron Jameson Beck,” the bailiff announces. “Charges of rape in the first degree, assault in the second degree, and attempted murder.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

The trial begins.

***

Garrett sits in the gallery, three rows back, and watches everything unfold.

The prosecution goes first. Katherine is methodical, building her case piece by piece. She presents the medical records — the photos of your bruises, the hospital documentation of your injuries. She presents the police report, Officer Murphy’s testimony about the state you were in when you came to the station.

She presents your Instagram, showing the jury the transformation from bright, happy student to hollow-eyed ghost.

Cameron’s lawyer — a smarmy guy named Robert Coburn who probably charges a thousand dollars an hour — objects to nearly everything. “Relevance, your honor.” “Speculation.” “Prejudicial.”

Most of his objections get overruled.

Then it’s time for your testimony.

You take the stand, right hand raised, and swear to tell the truth. Your voice is steady, but Garrett can see your hands shaking.

Katherine approaches with a gentle expression. “Can you state your name for the record?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“And how old are you, Y/N?”

“Twenty.”

“And you’re a student at Boston University?”

“Yes. Junior. Journalism major.”

“Can you tell the jury how you met the defendant?”

You take a breath. “We met at a party. March of last year. He was charming. Funny. He asked me out and I said yes.”

“And when did the relationship turn abusive?”

“Gradually. It started with small things. Criticizing what I wore, who I talked to. Then it escalated. He’d grab my wrist too hard. Shove me. Call me names.”

“And did you tell anyone?”

“No. I thought I could fix it. Thought if I just tried harder, he’d go back to being the person I fell for.”

“When did the physical abuse become severe?”

“Last summer. He pushed me down a flight of stairs. Told everyone I tripped. I had bruises for weeks.”

Katherine presents photos. The jury studies them, and Garrett watches their faces shift from neutral to horrified.

“And the sexual assault. Can you describe what happened?”

This is the hard part. Garrett can see you steeling yourself.

“He would force me. When I said no, he’d do it anyway. He said I owed him. That it was my job as his girlfriend.”

“How many times did this occur?”

“I don’t know. Dozens. Maybe more.”

“And the incident on February nineteenth of this year. Can you describe that?”

You detail it all. The napkin. His rage. The choking. The fear that you were going to die.

By the time you finish, half the jury is crying.

Then it’s Coburn’s turn.

He stands, adjusts his expensive tie, and approaches you like a shark circling prey.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you claim my client raped you. Is that correct?”

“It’s not a claim. It’s a fact.”

“A fact. I see. And yet you never reported these alleged assaults until after you left him. Why is that?”

“I was scared.”

“Scared. Of what?”

“Of him. Of what he’d do if I told anyone.”

“But you told Mr. Graham, didn’t you?” Carlisle gestures toward Garrett. “A hockey player from a rival school. Isn’t it true that you were having an affair with Mr. Graham and fabricated these accusations to justify leaving my client?”

Garrett’s hands clench into fists.

“No,” you say firmly. “I never even met Garrett until the day before it happened. He saw Cameron hurting me after a game and tried to step in. And I didn’t fabricate anything, Cameron tried to kill me.”

“Allegedly tried to kill you.”

“There’s nothing alleged about it. He choked me until I blacked out.”

“Or perhaps you two had rough sex and you’re retroactively withdrawing consent because you regret it?”

Katherine jumps up. “Objection! Badgering the witness.”

“Sustained,” the judge says. “Mr. Coburn, watch yourself.”

But Coburn isn’t done. “You say my client raped you dozens of times. And yet you stayed with him. You continued to see him, to sleep in his bed, to appear with him publicly. Does that sound like the behavior of a rape victim?”

“Yes.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “It sounds exactly like the behavior of someone trapped in an abusive relationship. Someone who’s been manipulated and gaslit into thinking they deserve it.”

“Or someone who’s lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You expect this jury to believe that my client — a decorated student athlete with no prior criminal record — is a rapist and attempted murderer based solely on your word?”

“Based on my word and the medical evidence and the photos and the testimony of everyone who saw what he did to me.”

Coburn smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “No further questions.”

You step down from the stand and Garrett wants to go to you, wants to pull you into his arms and tell you how incredibly brave you are. But he stays seated, hands gripping the bench in front of him so hard his knuckles turn white.

The defense presents their case. It’s weak — character witnesses who talk about what a great guy Cameron is, how he volunteers and gets good grades and wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Cameron himself takes the stand. Denies everything. Claims you were the aggressive one, the unstable one. Says you threatened to ruin him if he ever left you.

It’s all bullshit and everyone in the courtroom knows it.

When both sides rest, the judge gives instructions to the jury. They file out to deliberate.

And then you wait.

***

Two hours feel like two years.

You’re in a conference room with Katherine, drinking terrible coffee and trying not to throw up.

Garrett’s there too, because they couldn’t make him leave. He sits beside you, not saying much, just being present.

“What if they don’t believe me?” You ask for the hundredth time.

“They will,” Katherine says.

“But what if they don’t?”

“Then we appeal. But they’re going to believe you, Y/N. The evidence is overwhelming.”

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom, asking for updates. You ignore it. Can’t deal with her nervous energy on top of your own.

Garrett’s phone buzzes too. He checks it, smiles slightly.

“What?” You ask.

“Logan. He says if Beck walks, they’re going to handle it themselves.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

Despite everything, you almost laugh.

There’s a knock on the door. The bailiff pokes his head in. “Jury’s back.”

Your stomach drops. “Already?”

“Quick verdicts are usually good for the prosecution,” Katherine says, standing. “Let’s go.”

You walk back into the courtroom on legs that feel like jelly. The gallery has filled up — more people heard about the verdict and came to watch.

Garrett takes his seat in the gallery. You sit at the prosecution table with Katherine.

The jury files in. You try to read their faces, but they’re all carefully neutral.

The judge addresses the foreperson. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, your honor.”

“On the charge of rape in the first degree, how do you find?”

“We find the defendant guilty.”

The courtroom erupts. Cameron’s mother gasps. His father starts shouting. The judge bangs her gavel.

“On the charge of assault in the second degree, how do you find?”

“Guilty.”

“On the charge of attempted murder, how do you find?”

“Guilty.”

You can’t breathe. Can’t process. Guilty. Guilty on all counts.

The judge is talking about sentencing, but you can’t hear her over the roaring in your ears. You turn around, looking for Garrett, and find him already standing, pushing his way toward the railing that separates the gallery from the floor.

“Twenty-five years,” the judge announces. “With possibility of parole after twenty.”

Twenty-five years. Cameron won’t be out until he’s almost fifty.

Katherine is hugging you. Julie is cheering. You’re crying.

And then you’re moving, pushing past people, until you reach Garrett.

He meets you at the railing and you throw yourself at him. He catches you, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close.

“We did it,” you sob into his shoulder. “He’s going to prison.”

“You did it,” Garrett corrects, voice rough. “You were so fucking brave up there.”

“I was terrified.”

“But you did it anyway. That’s what brave means.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are wet, you realize. Garrett Graham is crying.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, tucking your head under his chin. “So goddamn proud.”

Behind you, bailiffs are handcuffing Cameron. Leading him away. He’s shouting something — probably threats, probably curses — but you don’t care. Can’t hear him over your own heartbeat.

You’re safe. Finally, truly safe.

You look up at Garrett and something shifts. Something clicks into place.

He’s looking at you with an expression you’ve seen before but never fully understood. Fierce and protective and something else. Something deeper.

“Garrett,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You don’t have words for what you’re feeling. Don’t know how to explain that this boy — this stranger who became your savior who became your friend — has somehow become everything.

So you don’t say anything.

You just reach up, cup his face in your hands, and kiss him.

For a second, he freezes. Surprised. Then his hands come up to cradle your face, gentle and careful, and he kisses you back.

It’s nothing like kissing Cameron. There’s no demand in it. No ownership. Just soft and sweet and full of promise.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both crying.

“Was that okay?” You ask, suddenly worried you misread everything.

“That was-” Garrett’s voice breaks. “Yeah. That was okay.”

Around you, the courtroom is clearing out. People are talking, crying, celebrating. But you and Garrett are in your own bubble.

His thumbs brush your cheekbones, wiping away tears. His touch is so gentle it makes your chest ache. You think about all the times Cameron grabbed your face — harsh, controlling, meant to intimidate. And then you think about this. About Garrett holding you like you’re something precious. Something worth protecting.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything. For answering the phone that night. For believing me. For fighting for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do. Because you didn’t have to do any of it. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t.” Garrett’s forehead touches yours. “Not from you.”

Katherine appears beside you, tactfully clearing her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s some paperwork we need to go over. And the press is outside — they’re going to want a statement.”

You take a shaky breath. “Can Garrett come?”

“Of course.”

You don’t let go of Garrett’s hand as you follow Katherine to another conference room. Don’t let go as she explains the next steps — the appeals process that Cameron will probably pursue, the restraining order that’s now permanent, the victim services available to you.

Don’t let go as you walk outside and face the cameras.

You read a prepared statement that Katherine helped you write. About believing survivors. About holding abusers accountable. About how justice, while imperfect, still matters.

The whole time, Garrett stands beside you. Not in front of you, not behind you. Beside you.

When it’s finally over, when you’re back in Garrett’s car heading home, you let yourself feel it. All of it. The relief and the grief and the rage and the hope.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” you say.

“It’s not over,” Garrett replies. “He’ll appeal. There will be more legal stuff. More healing you have to do.”

“But the worst part is over.”

“Yeah. The worst part is over.”

You look at him — really look at him. This boy who became a man in your eyes. Who taught you that not all strength is violent. That protection doesn’t mean possession.

“What happens now?” You ask.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know. I just know I want you in it. Whatever it is.”

Garrett reaches over, takes your hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And for the first time in over a year, you believe that someone’s promise to you actually means something.

You believe in tomorrow.

You believe in healing.

You believe in love — the real kind. The kind that doesn’t hurt.

As Garrett drives you home, your hand in his, you think about that girl in the old Instagram photos. The bright, ambitious journalism student who wanted to change the world.

She’s not gone.

She’s been sleeping. Waiting. Healing.

And now, finally, she’s ready to wake up.

***

One year later.

You’re standing on the sidelines of Agganis Arena, camera crew behind you, microphone in hand, and you’ve never felt more alive.

The scoreboard reads 4-2, Briar. Opening game of the season, and your alma mater just got demolished by your boyfriend’s team. You should probably feel some kind of loyalty conflict, but honestly? You’re just happy to be here.

Happy to be doing what you love.

Happy to be yourself again.

“Alright, Y/N, we’re live in thirty seconds,” your producer says through your earpiece.

You smooth down your blazer — BU red and white, professional but not stuffy — and check your notes one more time. Post-game interview with Briar’s captain and star center, who just scored a hat trick.

Who also happens to be the love of your life, but you’re trying to keep it professional.

“And we’re live in five, four, three …” The producer counts down with his fingers, then points at you.

You smile at the camera. “I’m here with Garrett Graham, captain of the Briar University hockey team, who just led his team to a dominant 4-2 victory over Boston University in tonight’s season opener. Garrett, congratulations on the win.”

Garrett’s in his full gear minus his helmet, hair damp with sweat, face flushed from exertion. He looks good. Unfairly good. But you keep your expression neutral, professional.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Feels great to start the season with a W.”

“You had three goals tonight. Walk me through that second one — the wraparound. That was pretty spectacular.”

“Yeah, I mean, their goalie was cheating to the far post, so I saw an opening and just tried to jam it in. Got lucky.”

“Lucky?” You raise an eyebrow. “That was pure skill and you know it.”

Now he’s definitely smiling. “Well, I’ve had some good coaching. Great teammates. It’s a team effort.”

“Speaking of team effort, this is your senior year. How does it feel knowing this is your last season playing college hockey?”

Something shifts in Garrett’s expression. Gets more serious. “It’s bittersweet, you know? I love this team. Love this school. But I’m also excited for what’s next.”

You consult your notes, but you’ve memorized these questions. Did the research like you do for every interview. The fact that you also know Garrett’s favorite breakfast order and the way he likes his coffee doesn’t matter right now. Right now, you’re a journalist doing your job.

“Your team has high expectations this year,” you continue. “Returning most of your starters, strong recruiting class. Do you think Briar can make a run at the national championship?”

“I think we’ve got the talent and the drive. We’ve been working our asses off—sorry, can I say that on air?”

You fight back a smile. “We’re cable. You’re fine.”

“Well, we’ve been working really hard in the off-season. Everyone’s bought in. Everyone wants it. So yeah, I think we’ve got a real shot.”

“And what about you personally? Any individual goals for the season?”

Garrett looks directly at the camera. “Honestly? I just want to make the most of it. Enjoy every game. Play for my teammates. And hopefully leave Briar better than I found it.”

It’s a perfect answer. Humble but confident. Team-oriented but ambitious.

You should wrap up the interview. Move on to the next player. But there’s something in Garrett’s eyes — a warmth, a familiarity — that makes you relax slightly.

“So,” you say, going slightly off-script. “Three goals on opening night. That’s got to feel pretty good, especially against BU.”

“Oh, especially against BU,” Garrett agrees, and now he’s definitely teasing. “No offense to your school.”

“Some taken. We did make it competitive for two periods.”

“You did. That third period though …” He makes a yikes face.

“Okay, rude.”

“I’m just stating facts. As a journalist, I thought you’d appreciate factual accuracy.”

You bite back a laugh. “I appreciate winning more.”

“Well, you’re dating a Briar guy now, so technically you did win tonight.”

Your producer is probably having a heart attack in the truck, but you can’t help it. You grin. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Plus I scored three goals. You should be very impressed.”

“Oh, should I?”

“Definitely. I expect appropriate celebration later.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Garrett, we’re on camera.”

“I know.” He’s absolutely shameless, that smile widening. “Just keeping things interesting for the viewers.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

And okay, you do. You love this — the easy banter, the way he can make you laugh even in the middle of a professional interview, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the arena.

“Alright, I think that’s probably enough for tonight,” you say, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. “Garrett Graham, congratulations again on the win. Best of luck for the rest of the season.”

“Thanks for having me.”

He starts to walk away, then turns back. Before you can react, he’s leaning in and kissing you — quick and sweet but definitely not professional — right there on camera.

When he pulls back, you’re frozen, face burning, completely flustered.

“See you at home,” he says with a wink, then jogs off toward the locker room.

You turn back to the camera, trying to compose yourself. Your producer is definitely going to kill you, but you can hear him laughing through your earpiece.

“And that’s … that’s the post-game report from Agganis Arena,” you manage. “Back to you in the studio.”

The camera light goes off and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your producer appears, shaking his head but grinning. “Well, that’s going viral.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Are you kidding? That was gold. Adorable, authentic, exactly the kind of content people eat up.” He claps you on the shoulder. “Great job tonight, Y/N. Really great work.”

You pack up your gear, still blushing, and check your phone. There’s already a text from Julie: OMG I SAW THAT. YOU AND GARRETT ARE DISGUSTINGLY CUTE.

Then one from Logan: G’s getting chirped so hard in the locker room right now. Worth it though.

Then one from your mom: Sweetie, you looked wonderful! Very professional! Well, mostly professional 😊

You’re laughing as you head out to the parking lot. Your car is parked next to Garrett’s truck — you drove separately since you had to be here early for setup, but you’ll both end up at the same place.

Home.

It still feels surreal sometimes. That you’re here. That you’re happy. That you wake up every morning next to someone who treats you like you’re precious.

You drive home on autopilot, your mind replaying the interview. The way Garrett looked at you. The easy chemistry between you. The kiss that’s probably being GIF’d and memed as you drive.

When you pull into the driveway, his truck is already there. Lights are on in the living room.

You let yourself in — still a small thrill every time, having a key, being welcome, being home — and find Garrett on the couch, showered and changed into sweatpants and a Briar t-shirt.

“Hey, superstar,” you say, dropping your bag by the door.

He looks up, grins. “Hey, yourself. How’d the rest of the interviews go?”

“Fine. Though none of them involved impromptu kisses.”

“I couldn’t help it. You looked too good.”

You flop down beside him, and he immediately pulls you into his side. It’s automatic now, this casual affection. So different from the careful distance you maintained those first few months.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you say, but there’s no heat in it.

“With who? Your producer loved it.”

“With my professional reputation.”

“Your professional reputation is that you’re a talented journalist who asks great questions and happens to be dating the extremely handsome captain of Briar’s hockey team.”

“Extremely handsome? Really?”

“I’m just reporting the facts.”

You laugh, tilting your head up to look at him. “You played really well tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. That second goal was beautiful. And the assist to Logan — perfect pass.”

“Are you analyzing my game?”

“I’m a sports journalist. It’s literally my job.”

Garrett’s expression softens. “You know what I love about you?”

“My devastating good looks?”

“Well, yes. But also that you never stopped chasing your dreams. Even after everything. You could’ve given up on journalism, on sports media, on everything. But you didn’t.”

You think about that. About the girl you were a year ago — broken, terrified, barely functional. About the slow, painful process of putting yourself back together. The therapy sessions. The nightmares that still happen sometimes. The moments of panic when someone moves too fast or raises their voice.

But also about the victories. Getting back on camera. Doing your first post-game interview. Continuing with your journalism degree. Landing the job with BU’s sports network.

Coming home to Garrett and feeling safe.

“I had help,” you say quietly.

“You did the work.”

“We did the work.”

Because it hasn’t been just you. Garrett’s been there for every step. Patient when you couldn’t be touched. Understanding when you had nightmares. Gentle when you needed gentleness and strong when you needed strength.

He’s been to therapy himself — dealing with his own trauma, his own guilt about his mother. Learning how to be supportive without being controlling. How to protect without possessing.

You’ve healed together.

“Come here,” Garrett says, pulling you fully into his lap. You go willingly, straddling him, your hands on his shoulders.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi.”

He kisses you properly this time. Not the quick peck from the arena, but slow and deep and full of promise. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles through your shirt.

When you break apart, you’re both breathing harder.

“I’m really proud of you,” he says. “For tonight. For everything. You were amazing out there.”

“It was just an interview.”

“It wasn’t just anything. You stood on that sideline in the arena where he used to play and you did your job like the professional you are. That takes guts.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way. Hadn’t consciously registered that you were in BU’s arena doing what you love without fear.

“He’s in prison,” you say. It’s a fact you remind yourself of sometimes. When the anxiety creeps in. When you wonder if he’ll somehow find you. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Garrett agrees. “And even if he could, he’d have to go through me first.”

“My fierce protector.”

“Always.”

You kiss him again, and this time it’s different. Deeper. More urgent. His hands slide under your shirt, warm against your skin, and you arch into the touch.

“Bedroom?” He murmurs against your lips.

“Bedroom,” you agree.

He stands, lifting you easily, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you upstairs — something that should be cheesy but somehow isn’t, not with him — and lays you gently on the bed.

The first time you slept together, four months ago, you cried. Not from pain or fear, but from the overwhelming realization that intimacy could be tender. That sex could be about connection instead of control.

Garrett held you through it, whispered that you were safe, that you could stop anytime, that he loved you.

You don’t cry anymore. Now it’s just … good. Better than good. Amazing.

He takes his time with you now, kissing down your neck, your collarbone. His hands are reverent as he removes your clothes, piece by piece, checking in with every new touch.

“This okay?”

“Yes.”

“And this?”

“Yes.”

It’s something he always does. Always asks. Even a year into your relationship, even though you’ve done this dozens of times, he never assumes. Never takes.

Only gives.

He kisses the spot on your throat where Cameron’s handprints used to be. The bruises are long gone, but the memory lingers. Garrett knows this. Treats these places with extra care. Extra tenderness.

“Beautiful,” he whispers against your skin. “So fucking beautiful.”

You pull him up to kiss him properly, to tell him without words how much he means to you. How much this means.

Hours later, you’re both exhausted and sated, tangled together in the sheets. Your head is on his chest, his arm around you, fingers drawing idle patterns on your shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks.

“How different everything is.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“The best different.” You tilt your head to look at him. “A year ago, I couldn’t imagine being happy again. Couldn’t imagine feeling safe or loved or … whole.”

“And now?”

“Now I can’t imagine anything else.”

Garrett’s quiet for a moment. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know. I love you too.”

“I’m going to marry you someday.”

It’s not a proposal — just a statement of fact. But it makes your heart skip anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. When you’re ready. When we’re ready. But someday, I’m going to put a ring on your finger and spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt how loved you are.”

You should probably be scared by that level of commitment. Should feel trapped or pressured or uncertain.

But you don’t.

You feel safe.

“Someday sounds good,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses the top of your head, and you settle back against his chest. Listen to his heartbeat. Let yourself drift.

You think about the girl in those old Instagram photos. The one who was bright and ambitious and full of dreams. The one who thought she could change the world.

She’s still here. She’s been here all along, just waiting to be found again.

And she’s got so much left to do.

Stories to tell. Games to cover. A career to build. A life to live.

But for now, in this moment, wrapped in the arms of someone who sees all of her — the broken parts and the healing parts and the parts that were never damaged at all — she’s exactly where she needs to be.

“Garrett?” You murmur, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for answering the phone that night.”

His arms tighten around you. “Thank you for calling.”

Outside, the world keeps spinning. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new victories, new moments to navigate. But tonight, you’re safe and loved and whole.

And that’s more than enough.

Garrett shakes his head immediately, pulling you closer like you’ve said something insane. “No.”

“Garrett—”

“Need this,” he grinds out against your mouth. “Barely get you alone. Barely get to have you.” His grip tightens at your waist, his stare going heavier on yours. “I need this tonight, baby.”

“Okay,” you breathe as he lowers himself to your lips. His muscles tremble beneath your hands as they wrap around his biceps. You shift underneath him, arching just enough for him to realize something needs to change.

Garrett notices immediately. He wets the split in his lip, eyes narrowing with slow amusement. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Get on your back, Garrett.”

“What?” He laughs softly, still hovering over you like he thinks there’s no chance you’re serious.

“Back. Now.” You try to roll him but he grabs your wrist, pinning you to the mattress.

“You serious right now?” He whispers against your lips, letting out a raspy laugh before hissing when the smile tugs the cut back open.

“Now.”

Garrett lets out a rough breath like he’s too sore for this, shifting onto his back beneath you, broad chest rising and falling harder once you settle over his waist.

A dark bruise shadows the side of his ribs, already blooming beneath tan skin where he got slammed into the boards earlier.

His hands slide to your thighs automatically—big palms squeezing instinctively—but you catch his wrists before he can settle them there.

“Uh-uh.” Your voice comes out softer this time and he cocks an eyebrow at you, loving wherever the hell this is going. “Coach said you have to relax. R e l a x,” you breathe as you guide his arms over his head, fingers tracing over the thick muscle of his forearms until your hands lace together above him.

“I don't wanna relax,” he chuckles.

“I don't care.”

“You’re bossy tonight,” he says with a tilted smile, already breathless.

“Maybe,” you smile down at him like you already knew you’d win this. “But you’re a problem.” Your fingertips drag lightly down the center of his chest. “Not now that I’ve finally got you pinned down for once.”

Garrett lets out a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head against the pillow. “Control? You know how easily I could get it back, baby?” He tilts his head against the pillow to look at you better.

Then your hand reaches across the bed for your pink lace panties—discarded somewhere in the mess—and Garrett clocks what you’re doing about one second too late.

“Wait,” he breathes, eyes narrowing. “Hold on—” His head tips back into the pillow as you loop the lace around the headboard, knotting it around his wrists while he watches with parted lips and a slow swallow working down his throat. “You’re serious.”

“You keep hurting yourself,” you sigh as your thumb brushes carefully near the cut in his lip. “You don’t listen. All you do is fight.” You lean closer, softer now. “So now you don’t get to be in charge for a little while. Baby, you're stuck—”

“It’s a pair of pink panties.”

“And yet,” you murmur softly, tightening your grip around his wrists for a second, “look how good you’re behaving for me.”

He sucks his teeth and chuckles at that. “Behaving?” He scoffs. “Behaving. I've been getting chirped about you all night and I snapped once after he slashed me. He threw the first punch. Ten minute major. Now you’ve got me tied up in a thong. What more do you want from me?”

“Maybe I just wanted you to sit still long enough for me to take care of you,” you whisper, your mouth brushing over his. “Thank you like I’ve wanted to since you stepped into the penalty box. Does that sound so bad?”

He lets out a deep breath, nodding like that’s exactly what he needed to hear.

Your body dips lower, back arching as your ass lifts slightly while your lips trace his ear. “Maybe, I wanted to tie you up, and make you my bitch.”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, a dark laugh breaking past his lips as he turns his head, burying himself in your neck. “M’not your fuckin’ bitch, alright?”

“You’re not?” You soften your voice and his whole body loosens beneath you.

“…Fine.”

“Fine what, baby?” You ask as your gaze meets his again, his eyes falling to your lips as you smile.

“I’m your bitch,” he says under his breath, intentionally quiet enough to piss you off.

Your mouth falls open dramatically, hand pressing against his abs, moving lower making his breathing catch. “Well, that wasn’t very convincing, baby.”

Garrett laughs again, deeper this time, turning his head like he’s embarrassed by how easy he is for you, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I’m your bitch, baby,” he repeats a little louder now, brown eyes sliding back to yours. “Happy?”

“Very.”

“God,” he huffs, smiling despite himself. “You like fuckin’ with me, don't you?”

“More like love, but yeah,” you tease, leaning down, lips pressing against his neck, shifting lower, soft lips trailing over his stomach, tongue teasing his v-line before your mouth dips lower, nuzzling between his thighs.

His stomach tightens instantly, thighs flexing as he lifts his head, getting a better look.

“Fuck,” he breathes when your tongue flicks over his balls, warm and slow. His thighs tighten when you take one into your mouth, then the other, stroking his thick cock with your hand while you suck softly. “Damn, baby,” he moans, head falling back against the pillow. “Gonna make me lose it.”

“How many times?” You ask sweetly, breath fanning over his spit-slick dick, feeling him twitch in your grip. You glance up at him through your lashes, looking way too innocent for your words.

“So what?” He murmurs. “You gonna tie me up and just—use me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum around him, the sound making his abs tighten again. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Garrett swears softly under his breath as you crawl back up his body slowly, your fingertips skimming over the sculpted ridges of his abs, higher over his chest, nails scratching lightly, his gold chain flickering in the low light when he sucks in a breath.

His hands twitch against the lace when your wet pussy settles over his length again, grinding down slow, your breasts pressed against his broad chest.

“You’re so fucking hot, Garrett,” you murmur against his lips, but the smile slips through anyway.

“You have no clue how good you look on top of me,” he mutters, his voice already rough, even though the corner of his mouth still curls smugly. “You gotta stop teasing me.”

Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the bruise blooming dark beneath his cheekbone, the split in his lip still angry red. His dark curls fall onto his forehead, half brushed-back from running his hands through them, wet with sweat again.

“All fucked up and still the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly near the cut. “You’re unbelievable.”

Garrett lets out a low sound at that, somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“Unbelievable, huh?” His voice drops rough around the edges.

“So fucking greedy, Graham.”

His brows pinch immediately. “Graham?” He scoffs, finally lifting his head enough to look at you properly. “Garrett’s for you. The fuck are you callin’ me Graham?”

You just smile wider—a slow little smile. Underneath all the cockiness, Garrett loves this—the way you toy with him when you get bold enough to take control.

Your fingers drift lazily through his hair while you stay settled over his lap, watching him try and fail to keep that smug look on his face.

“Talk to me nice,” he mutters, low and warning, even though his hands are tied above his head and he’s already losing this fight. “Talk to me like you love me.”

You bite back a smile, grinding your hips on top. “Captain’s havin’ a hard night, huh?”

“Holy shit,” Garrett drags out the words like they physically pain him. His head falls back, wrists pulling taut against the lace.

“Just take it,” you breathe, mouth brushing close enough to his that he can feel the smile there. “Unless you want me to stop.”

“Don’t,” he grunts immediately, the word coming out stern and final even while his wrists tug uselessly against the lace above his head.

Garrett tests the restraints again anyway, muscles tightening beneath you, but you shove playfully at his chest before he can get too cocky about it.

“C’mon now,” he mutters, eyes glinting up at you while his tongue drags across the cut in his lip, soothing the sting. “You’re not my coach. You’re not one of the guys.” His gaze lifts to yours again, darker now, quieter. “You’re my girl.”

“I am,” you hum, moving a little closer to his lips.

“And…” he adds lower, lashes dipping for half a second before meeting your eyes again, “Garrett sounds better when you say it.”

“Yeah?” You tease softly, fingers sliding around his neck, through the damp curls at the back.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Love when you say my name—” His words cut off when your hand traces lower, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking slowly. “‘Specially when you're proud of me.”

“I am proud of you, Garrett,” you praise and he takes the compliment like air. He moans when your thumb brushes over his thick tip of his dick, his brows furrowing while his lips part. “Easy, Garrett,” you murmur. “You’re getting a little needy for me.”

“A little?” He laughs softly, breath catching when your thumb brushes the tip again. “You’re pushin’ it—me. All of it.”

“The offer to stop was there—”

“Baby, I’m injured,” he complains softly. “Feels kinda fucked up not to let me cum.”

“I don't think you're ready,” you whisper as you reach down, thumb brushing along his chin where a little blood smudged. He parts his lips, eyes locked on yours as he sucks it clean. “I could get outta here if I wanted, you know. Lucky I’m playin’ nice.”

“So am I. You’re enjoying this, baby. Stop trying to play tough with pink panties around your wrists. I know you love it.”

He laughs softly under his breath at that, teeth catching briefly on the split in his lip. He watches you for a second like he can’t decide whether he wants to argue with you or watch.

“You done talkin’,” he asks hoarsely, voice rough and low, “or are you gonna keep torturing me for fun?”

You giggle against his skin. “So my panties around your wrists and my hand around your dick is—”

“One of my favorite things you’ve done, yes.”

“It was torture a second ago,” you counter with faux concern.

The tip of his cock drips precum, sliding in a lazy tear over your knuckles. “Fuck you.” He chuckles.

“You’d like that,” you grin as you lift your hand, licking his mess off the back. “Look at how relaxed you are.”

“You’re actually gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he laughs under his breath.

You move between his legs, smirk dying on your lips as your mouth parts, that dangerous look still burning in your eyes as you lick a slow line up the underside of his cock, following a vein, watching his biceps flex as he tests the panties holding him in place.

“Standing down by the glass,” he says, breath hitching as you swirl your tongue over the tip. “Playing against your ex.”

“Mhmm,” you whisper.

“You know how much shit I took. Three periods of reminding me all about his favorite things about my girl. And, I couldn't say shit. Couldn't even tell Coach why I went in the box in the first place.”

You run a line of spit down to his throbbing head as you stroke and he shivers, feeling it roll down the slit, gliding down the side.

“Been keeping this a secret for six months. Think I deserve something—Fuuuck.” His head slams back into the pillow when he finally gets it. “Yeah… that’s it, baby.”

Your lips stretch around his cock, eyes flicking up to watch his reaction. Garrett’s lashes flutter shut, mouth falling open, chest lifting as you sink down again. You moan around him, the sound making him shudder.

“So fuckin’ good,” he pants.

You wrap one hand around the base, slick with spit, and stroke as your mouth works the head, dragging your tongue along the ridge. He groans again—deep and filthy—his fists clenching above his head.

“Shit. Shit—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he grits through his teeth, muscles locking under you. “Gonna cum in that pretty mouth—”

His whole body coils tight as you suck, slurping, gagging, throating his length as he fights back his pleasure.

A loud moan breaks past his lips, filling the room. He hisses out a breath as he feels the sharp sting, bottom lip trembling. “God, damn—just… You’re…” His voice cuts off, too far gone to finish, filthy-wet between your lips and the thick length of him—too much for you to take, but you’re trying anyway.

Garrett pitches his hips, meeting you stroke for stroke, eyes squeezed shut as his thigh muscles tremble.

“Fuck me,” he whines, your name whispering past his lips as he empties into your throat, cock throbbing while his voice breaks into a sobbing, pathetic laugh. “Shittt—oh my god—fuck—” He chokes on his words, hands twisting into fists above him.

You pull off him slow, kissing his swollen, pulsing tip. He throws his head to the side, pressing his mouth to his bicep, shuttering out a pathetic breath when you kitten-lick his cock; body jumping with each cruel flick.

“Pussy,” his voice comes out slurred. “Give it to me—fuckin’ need it, alright?”

You bite your lip, holding back a smile as you crawl up over him—tits brushing his chest, his face flushed, eyes glassy, chest heaving—you wrap your hand around him again, pumping slow as you guide him toward you.

He’s still recovering when you line him up, circling your hips just enough to tease the head against your slick folds.

“So good,” he groans, eyes rolling back. “Oh my fucking god, baby—” You slide down on him, hands pressing against his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath until you're fully sat.

“Fuck, Garrett,” you breathe as you drag your hips. His eyes lock on the wet place where you connect, lips parted like he's trying to think of something to say, but the thought dies there instead.

He tugs at the panties roughly, brows furrowing, lips snarling as he forgot for a second he was tied up. You lean forward over him slowly, chest brushing his as you lower yourself toward his mouth, smiling when his breath catches.

“Can’t even slap your fuckin’ ass—” CRACK! Your hand smacks against your own skin, cutting off his complaint, and he groans beneath you like he's getting some sick secondhand pleasure from it.

“Bounce for me,” he rasps, lips vibrating against yours. You push yourself upright again, hands slapping against the metal rail above his head, and his eyes snap back.

Your pussy swallows up the length of him, hands braced on the bed frame between his—like you own the room. Like you own him. “So fucking perfect for me—”

He curses loudly as he throws his hips up to meet you, making the whole damn bed creak.

Heat coils low in your stomach, your thighs starting to shake around him. “Yes, baby—cum like this. Use me, c’mon,” he pants. Your pussy pulses with your heartbeat, wild and quick, fluttering around him as you cum; Garrett thrusting up into you so deep your vision blurs.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop,” he grits out, the tone of his voice proud like he knows you won't. His mouth falls open, his eyes rolling back, the muscles in his chest tight as his fists lock. “I’m cumming, shit.” The look on his face and the deep, fucked-out sound of his voice make you shatter above him.

Your head’s pounding so loud, ears ringing so high you can't hear the praise leaving his lips, but you know it's there.

He fights the restraints—the lace tearing slightly.

You smile as you start to grind again, nice and slow, swirling your hips, slick dripping down his big cock, making him suck his teeth.

Garrett’s still twitching underneath you when you finally slow down enough to breathe, his lungs still working hard beneath yours. The lace strains again when he flexes his wrists, biceps swelling, his whole body slick with sweat.

“That was perfect, baby,” he says, still breathless. You laugh softly, brushing damp curls off his forehead. You lean down, kissing his cheek over the bruise, soft and careful.

“You okay?” You ask, assessing the damage.

“M’fine, baby,” Garrett answers immediately, eyes half-lidded as he looks up at you. “And honestly? Worth it.”

“Garrett.”

“What?” A lazy grin tugs at his mouth before he winces at the split lip.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“Guy spent three periods talking about you like he was gonna be the one here after all this.”

“He’s an idiot,” you whisper.

His eyes flick away for a second before landing back on yours. “Kept acting like he knew you better than me.”

“Baby—”

“I know,” he says quickly. “Just pissed me off.”

“He doesn’t know me better than you.”

Garrett stares up at you for a second. “Finish junior year. One more season,” he murmurs, “and it will be you and me.”

“You’ve really thought this through, huh?” You ask, cheeks burning with your smile, finger tracing absentmindedly on his bare chest.

“Been in love with you for months, baby. Had time,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss, pulling back just out of reach from where he's still bound, chasing it before he lets out a little growl of a breath.

“I love you too,” you coo, and he huffs, rolling his eyes away. Your hand comes up, grabbing his cheeks between them, squeezing just enough to pout his lips. “If I untie you,” you tease softly, “are you gonna behave?”

He takes a moment to think it over. “Probably not.”

“Garrett.”

“What?” He says, a chuckle catching in his throat, eyes warm now. You glance up toward the headboard, finally noticing the pink lace stretched tight between his wrists, strained enough now that you realize that Garrett Graham is only still there because he’s letting himself be. “Kinda getting used to it—”

“You know what?” You murmur, brushing your hands over his chest, fingers straightening his chain on his throat. “You’re right.” Garrett lifts an eyebrow as you speak. “This is exactly where you should be.”

Garrett’s eyes flick toward the stretched lace for half a second before landing back on yours. That cocky, hockey-boy smile spreads on his lips. “Why are you like this, huh?” He asks quietly.

“You’ve been behaving so well for me.”

“You done playin’ coach now?” He asks.

You open your mouth to answer him, but Garrett suddenly plants his feet into the mattress beneath you, muscles tightening hard underneath your hands— SNAP.

She feels Garrett go still behind her. Then his hand tightens at her stomach, protective before conscious, which would be cuter if her skull didn’t feel stuffed with wool. “Why?”

“Tuck burnt his hand.”

There’s a pause. Then Tucker, sounding deeply wounded and also very awake, adds, “It’s not that bad.”

Logan says, “It looks like a fucked-up marshmallow.”

“It does not.”

“It kind of does, dude.”

Garrett exhales so hard it moves the hair near her cheek. “Jesus Christ.” He lifts his head from the pillow, voice wrecked with sleep. “Go to the bathroom and run it under cool water.”

“We did,” Logan says.

“For how long?”

Another pause. A bad one. She opens one eye. 

Garrett says, flatly, “You ran it under water for twelve seconds, didn’t you?”

Tucker mutters, “It was cold.”

She sighs into the pillow, then pushes herself upright with the grim determination of a woman who’s been summoned by poor first aid. The room tilts gently around her. Garrett’s hoodie hangs off one shoulder, huge and soft and smelling like him, and her hair is probably doing something upsetting. 

She blinks at the door. “Come in.”

Garrett turns his head to look at her, curls smashed on one side, face soft and grumpy and faintly amazed. “Baby, you don’t have to–”

“They’re going to put butter on it if we leave them alone.”

The door opens before Garrett can argue, and Logan appears first, wide-eyed and apologetic in sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s inside out. Tucker stands behind him, cradling one hand to his chest, looking both embarrassed and betrayed by the universe.

She pats the edge of the bed. “Sit.”

Tucker sits immediately.

Garrett pushes himself up against the headboard beside her, still half under the sheets, watching as she reaches for Tucker’s wrist.

Her fingers are warm and sleepy, but her voice changes, smoothing out around the edges. “What did you burn it on?”

“Pan handle,” Tucker says. “Dean made grilled cheese.”

She gives him a look. “At two in the morning?”

Logan nods gravely. “Morale was low.”

“Dean’s not allowed to operate heat sources unsupervised.” She turns Tucker’s palm toward the lamp Garrett’s clicked on, squinting through the yellow light. The burn’s red across the base of his fingers, angry but not blistered in the way that makes her stomach drop. “Okay. Not horrific. Painful, though.”

“Thank you,” Tucker says, with feeling. “I said that.”

“You said you were dying,” Logan says.

“I said I could die.”

“Logan,” she says, without looking up, “bathroom. Gauze, if there is any. Non-stick dressing please, I know you have some. No cotton balls. No mystery ointments. No hydrogen peroxide.”

Logan salutes, then immediately points at her. “See, this is why you’re the best.”

“I’m half-asleep and underqualified.”

“Still top three medical professionals I know.”

“You know one.”

He disappears, and she huffs a small laugh, pressing lightly around the burn while Tucker winces. Garrett watches the whole thing from beside her, quiet now. 

He watches the way Tucker relaxes because she tells him what she’s doing before she does it. Watches her pull the sleeve of his hoodie down over her own hand when she gets cold and still keep Tucker’s wrist balanced carefully in her palm. Watches her yawn halfway through explaining swelling and still somehow sound like someone worth listening to.

It does something awful to him. Softens him right through the ribs.

Logan returns with gauze, medical tape, and a packet of condoms. She stares at the pile in his hands. Logan looks down. “I panicked.”

Garrett drops his head back against the headboard and laughs once, low and helpless. Tucker, even injured, manages to say, “For my burn, man?”

“I grabbed everything white and rectangular!”

She presses her lips together, fighting a smile badly enough that Garrett sees the exact second she loses. “Okay. Thank you for your broad-spectrum approach.” She takes the gauze and tape, wraps Tucker’s hand loosely, then taps his wrist. “Keep it clean. Cool compress if it hurts. Don’t pop anything if it blisters. If it gets worse, red streaks, swelling, pus, fever, actual badness, you get it checked. Properly. Not by me in Garrett’s bed while I’m wearing one sock.”

Tucker looks at her like she’s hung the moon. “You’re incredible.”

“She is,” Logan says, immediately.

Garrett says nothing, because the words sit too big in his mouth.

She just waves them off, already sinking back against the pillows. “Go away before I start charging.”

Tucker stands, holding his wrapped hand with reverence. “Thanks, seriously.”

“Stop touching hot things.”

“No promises.”

Logan backs toward the door. “Night, Mom.”

Garrett lifts his head. “Do not call her that.”

She snorts, half under the blankets again. “Goodnight, children.”

The door shuts behind them, finally, and the room folds quiet again. Garrett turns the lamp off, but he doesn’t lie down straight away. He just looks at her in the dark, at the messy shape of her in his hoodie, already burrowing back into his pillow like she didn’t just sit up half-dead and make his entire chest feel too small.

“What?” she mumbles.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a bad nothing.”

He slides down beside her and pulls her back into him, careful and warm, mouth pressing into the back of her shoulder through his hoodie. “Good nothing.”

She hums, too tired to fight him. “Your friends are idiots.”

“Yeah,” Garrett murmurs, smiling against her skin. His hand settles over her stomach again, thumb moving once, slow and stupidly fond. “They love you.”

She’s quiet long enough that he thinks she’s fallen asleep. Then, barely there, “Mm. I’m very loveable.”

His chest aches.

“Yeah,” he says softly, into the dark. “You are.”

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The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you. 

He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter. 

Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice. 

Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight. 

They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.

They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself. 

Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it. 

You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents. 

It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.  

A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.

“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”

“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.

Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life. 

“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.  

“I hate him.” 

“I know you do.”

“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”

His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.

Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment. 

“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.

Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted. 

“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.

Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.

“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”

Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?” 

“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs. 

“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.

His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!” 

Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”

“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”

“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you. 

“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.

“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”

“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”

“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it. 

“I miss you, Petal.”

“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”

The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”

“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”

“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you. 

“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.

“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.

“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.

“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”

“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”

The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”

“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”

“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.

“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.

“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs. 

Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?” 

Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.

The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet. 

Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway. 

“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it. 

“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment. 

“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.

“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious. 

Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”

Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly. 

“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”

“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization. 

“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey. 

“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.

“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow. 

“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly. 

“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her. 

“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him. 

“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”

“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.

“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”

“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”

“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone. 

Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave. 

“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored. 

“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea. 

“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three. 

Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.

Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”

“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice. 

“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.

“Besides the point,” you brushed off.

“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.

“Come in,” you told him.

 “You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door. 

“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room. 

“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink. 

The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice. 

“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”

“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.

“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted. 

Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad. 

They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion. 

“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”

“It was good talking to you, Pop.”

“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!” 

“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?” 

And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.

“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.

“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation. 

It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”

“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”

“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested. 

“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.

“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned. 

“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.

“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.

“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”

“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.

“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”

“Thanks, Tuck.”

After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon. 

While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were. 

It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like. 

Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already. 

Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.

“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.

Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him. 

You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.

Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”

“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.

“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar. 

He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands. 

The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them. 

The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go. 

“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.

Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world. 

“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.

Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you. 

Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”

“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.

“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him. 

“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head. 

“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”

“Neither have I, Dean.”

“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.

“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”

You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”

Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.

You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”

“Worse.”

“Perfect.”

You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.

“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him. 

“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over. 

“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.

“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted, joking. 

Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”

“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake. 

Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?” 

“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off. 

“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.

Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”

“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.

“I hate you,” Garrett told him.

“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.

“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted. 

“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him. 

Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”

“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.

“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?” 

“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”

“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed. 

“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”

Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”

“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.

“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.

When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players. 

Well.

Four college hockey players, and apparently you know. 

Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.

With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”

“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem, Angel.”

Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him. 

Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed. 

“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”

You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”

Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”

“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged. 

Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”

“Just books.”

“All of them?”

You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”

“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.

You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”

Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest. 

“Hey!” 

“No, Petal.”

“I can carry it,” you defended. 

“I know.” He said, heading into the house.

Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”  

“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in. 

The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean. 

“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room. 

Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.

Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it. 

By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry. 

By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it. 

Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”

“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags. 

“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.

“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”

“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said. 

“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.

“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled. 

By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table. 

Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.

“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.

Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”

“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.

You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed. 

Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”

You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”

No response. 

“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”

“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”

“How?” Dean gaped. 

“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him. 

“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.

“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”

“Who’s older?” Dean went.

You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming. 

“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.

“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”

“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.

“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned. 

“Still older.”

“You brought it up constantly.”

“Because it’s true.”

Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”

“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.

“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves. 

After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”

The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”

No one pushed. They all knew that much.

The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all. 

You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little. 

“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”

“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite. 

“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.

“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed. 

Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”

“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.

His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side. 

“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something. 

“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted. 

“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.

“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.

“There was a first time!” Dean gasped. 

“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.

“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.

Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” you asked.

“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”

Garrett groaned. 

Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”

“I have not.”

You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder. 

Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.

Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see. 

The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck. 

The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you. 

“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.

“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.

“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door. 

“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him. 

The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”

“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room. 

“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”

“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him. 

“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away. 

“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”

“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.

“You’re a strong woman.”

“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door. 

“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.

“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips. 

“You are being dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you. 

You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him. 

You found him already staring at you. 

The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines. 

When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster. 

Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door. 

“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”

“Petal.”

You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?” 

Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in. 

“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder. 

“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan. 

Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”

Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”

Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”

“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”

Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point. 

A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”

“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw. 

“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.

“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion. 

“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”

“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”

Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”

“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.

Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit. 

Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.

Whispers bounced between tables. 

“Who is she?”

“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”

“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”

“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”

“Maybe she’s his sister.”

You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all. 

One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”

Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted. 

Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”

There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation. 

Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”

“Always,” Logan added.

“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.

“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head. 

“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face. 

“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.

Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you. 

You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles. 

“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett. 

You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”

“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else. 

“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded. 

Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”

Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown.  His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.” 

Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly. 

Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out. 

Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”

The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth. 

Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.

Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all. 

Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were. 

Across the table, Logan stared. 

Then at Tucker.

Then at Dean.

“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.

“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another. 

Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”

You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.

The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.

Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table. 

Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared. 

The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted. 

“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied. 

“That’s a design flaw.”

“More like user error.”

You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.

“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table. 

You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week. 

The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”

She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”

“Yeah.” You smiled.

“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”

“I figured.” 

“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”

You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning. 

It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”

The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered. 

“Just the one I was sitting next to.”

She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetie.”

When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”

“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said. 

“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach. 

“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him. 

“I regret nothing.”

Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it. 

“What?” Logan asked. 

“It’s empty.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”

“The bill.” 

“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned. 

Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”

“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett. 

“So was I,” Tucker admitted. 

The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”

Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?” 

Logan shook his head. 

“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent. 

Four pairs of eyes turned toward you. 

“Petal,” Garrett said. 

“No.” You stopped. 

“You paid?” He scoffed. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged. 

“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered. 

“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”

The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”

“Too late,” Logan mumbled.

“Petal, we don’t need that.”

You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement. 

“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”

“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off. 

“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.

You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.

A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle. 

“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart. 

Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”

You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured. 

You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.” 

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

“Who said you had to?” 

His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours. 

The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes. 

You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.” 

“Against what?”

“Us.”

“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”

The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything. 

Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.

Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.

As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties. 

Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.

You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored. 

You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk. 

“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off. 

You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others. 

Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.

Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch. 

You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.

His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag. 

“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.

He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.

“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet. 

“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice. 

“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett. 

Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”

“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.

“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular. 

“Is that the transfer from New York?”

“I want lunch, too.”

“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”

“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”

That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players. 

Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”

“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day. 

“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”

“Approved?” you said hopefully. 

“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room. 

“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.

The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it. 

Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one. 

Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.

“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”

“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”

“No. This is god sent.” 

“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.” 

Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”

Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”

Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”

“We heard that,” Dean called out. 

“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation. 

“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.

“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew. 

“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him

“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically. 

“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained. 

“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.

“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”

“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.

“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”

“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.

“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”

“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory. 

“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully. 

“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.

“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked. 

“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”

“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”

“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered. 

You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”

“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.

“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.

“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.

“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.

Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”

“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”

“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”

“That was what? When we were ten?”

“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”

“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.

“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.

You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. 

“Since when?” Tucker questioned.

“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”

“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted. 

“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together. 

“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added. 

“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.

Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”

“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile. 

By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.

Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find. 

But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head. 

Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit. 

You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands. 

“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.

Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.

Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons. 

Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”

Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared. 

You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.

The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.

The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one. 

Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.

To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.

Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”

Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck. 

Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.

Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes. 

Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”

The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.

When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.

The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”

He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”

You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly. 

“Good game, Pop.”

“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest. 

“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”

Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.

“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.

“Ma.”

“I asked a question.” She persisted.

“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”

The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.” 

Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”

“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”

Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”

Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”

“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter. 

Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”

Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”

“I’m trying,” Dean told him.

Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.

You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again. 

Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”

Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.” 

Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”

“You are old,” Your grandfather commented. 

“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted. 

The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked. 

“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed. 

“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.

Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”

Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”

Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”

Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”

The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”

As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”

“What?” Garrett glanced over at him. 

“They really are your family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.