Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 25. Chapter 25

Jackson

By the time we finally reached the hotel, it was well after midnight.

Weather somewhere between Montreal and California had turned a five-hour flight into something much longer. We'd circled once outside San Francisco, diverted south to refuel, sat on the tarmac while another line of storms shuffled past, then finally lumbered north again.

Normally a delay like that would have left the cabin full of complaints. Instead, everyone had simply run out of energy.

Ben had fallen asleep with his mouth open somewhere over Nebraska. Eddie had watched three films without remembering any of them. Coach Hayes had spent most of the last two hours reading the same page of a scouting report. Noah and I had talked.

Not continuously.

We talked about favourite cities, the first books we'd loved, and the strange confidence of being twelve years old and absolutely certain adults knew what they were doing, but, of course, they didn't. Neither of our fathers had been able to fold fitted sheets. My mother still insisted every cold could be cured with soup.

Noah admitted he'd once tried to impress a girl by pretending he'd read *War and Peace*.

"Had you?"

"I got through the first thirty pages."

"What happened?"

"I realized there were another twelve hundred."

I laughed loudly enough that the flight attendant looked over.

The conversation had simply kept going.

It occurred to me somewhere over northern California that we'd been talking for nearly six hours.

I wasn't tired of it. If anything, I was disappointed the captain had announced our descent.

---

The hotel lobby was quiet enough that our footsteps echoed across the polished floor. A few players collected room keys. Someone yawned. Ben accepted his key card without attempting a joke, ample proof of how late it was.

The elevator climbed slowly. Nobody spoke, not because anything was wrong, but because we were simply finished.

The doors opened onto our floor. Noah and I stepped out together while the others continued upward.

The corridor was almost silent, with soft carpet and muted lighting, only broken by the distant hum of an ice machine.

Our rooms were beside one another. We stopped outside our doors.

"Night," Noah said.

"Night."

Neither of us reached for our key card. For a second we simply stood there, bags hanging from one shoulder, neither seeming particularly eager to end the evening.

We'd spent the better part of the day together, a long flight, a bus ride, checking into the hotel.

We had practice in less than twelve hours. There was absolutely no reason to feel reluctant about saying goodnight.

And yet, I found myself searching for one more thing to say.

"So..."

He smiled. "So." Another pause. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah."

Another silence.

Eventually Noah shook his head with quiet amusement. "We're getting remarkably bad at ending conversations."

"We really are."

He laughed softly. "Goodnight, Jackson."

"Goodnight."

This time he slid his key card through the reader. The light turned green. He disappeared inside. The door clicked shut.

I stood in the corridor for another moment before letting myself into my own room. As the latch settled behind me, the room felt unexpectedly quiet.

Not lonely, just emptier than it had a minute earlier.

I set my bag on the floor and realized I was already looking forward to breakfast, which seemed a little ridiculous.

We'd only been apart for about fifteen seconds.

I looked around the sterile, generic hotel room, and for a moment I simply stood there. Everything seemed so ordinary: suitcase, bed, desk, the distant hum of the air conditioning.

It was nearly one in the morning. I should have been asleep already. Instead I unpacked on autopilot, toiletries into the bathroom, phone charger beside the bed, tomorrow's clothes draped over the chair.

I brushed my teeth, changed into a Bobcats T-shirt, ran a towel through my hair one last time. When I came back into the room, something on the desk caught my eye. A phone.

I frowned. That wasn't my model. I picked it up. The lock screen lit immediately.

Noah.

"...Oh."

We must have swapped them somewhere between the plane and the hotel shuttle. I looked at the bedside clock. 12:57 a.m. I could leave it until morning. It wasn't exactly an emergency. Then I pictured Noah waking up, patting every pocket he owned, emptying his suitcase onto the floor, convincing himself he'd left his phone somewhere between Montreal and California.

He'd spend twenty frantic minutes looking for it before breakfast.

I sighed. "...Fine."

I slipped into the corridor. The carpet muffled every footstep. His room was directly beside mine. I knocked very gently. Barely more than the sound of my knuckles touching the wood.

Nothing.

I waited.

Still nothing.

Maybe he'd already gone to bed.

I tried one last time. The latch clicked. The door opened.

Every coherent thought I possessed immediately resigned. Noah stood there with damp hair, a towel wrapped around his waist, one hand still resting on the doorknob. He'd obviously come straight from the shower. Tiny droplets of water still clung to his shoulders.

For one completely unreasonable second my brain became incapable of processing anything except the fact that towels were apparently a remarkably distracting article of clothing.

He looked at me expectantly. "...Jackson?"

Right.

Words.

I had come here because of words.

I lifted the phone with all the eloquence available to me. "...Phone."

He blinked. Looked down. Then laughed. A warm, surprised laugh.

"I was wondering where that went."

"I apparently stole it."

"So you did."

He held out his hand.

I passed it over.

Our fingers brushed, just for an instant.

Neither of us moved.

The corridor was utterly silent. The elevator somewhere down the hall gave a soft mechanical hum.

Noah looked down at the phone, then back at me.

"Thanks."

"Didn't want you tearing your room apart in the morning."

"I probably would've."

"I know."

A small smile appeared.

"So..."

"So."

It occurred to me, not for the first time, that we had become astonishingly good at stretching the word *so* into an entire conversation.

Neither of us seemed in any hurry to end this one. The silence wasn't awkward. If anything, it felt strangely full, as though something important was sitting quietly between us, waiting for whichever of us found the courage to acknowledge it first.

I stepped inside. Noah closed the door behind me with a quiet click. The room was identical to mine. Suitcase half-unpacked on the luggage stand, a travel bag open on the desk.

Steam still drifted lazily from the bathroom where he'd only just finished showering.

Nothing remarkable, nothing romantic, just another anonymous hotel room.

Somehow it felt as though the whole world had narrowed to it. Neither of us sat down. He leaned lightly against the desk. I remained near the door, Noah's phone no longer giving either of us an excuse to stay where we were.

For several seconds we simply looked at one another. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because neither of us wanted to begin in the wrong place.

Noah finally broke the silence. "I think we've been pretending not to know what this is."

I let out a quiet breath. "...Yeah."

"I don't think we're fooling ourselves anymore."

"I don't think we ever really were."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "No."

The smile faded into something more thoughtful. "I don't want to make assumptions."

That sounded exactly like Noah. He was the sort of man who checked a route twice before driving somewhere new. The sort who read instructions before assembling furniture. Of course he wasn't going to stumble into whatever this was without talking about it first.

"So..." he said carefully. "Are we actually together?"

I laughed softly. Not because it was funny. Because hearing the question out loud somehow made it real.

"I think I'd like us to be."

His shoulders relaxed just enough for me to notice. "So would I."

The room seemed a little quieter after that.

He looked down for a moment before continuing. "If we're doing this..." He searched for the right words. "I want us to be able to talk about everything."

I nodded. "Me too."

He smiled faintly. "I know this probably sounds ridiculously formal."

"It sounds like you." I studied him for a second. "I don't want hockey making either of us feel we owe the other something."

"If this doesn't work?"

"We're friends."

"I'd rather keep the second than force the first."

"So would I."

Another silence settled between us. This one felt lighter.

I realized I was smiling. "So..."

He laughed. "We really do say that a lot."

"We do."

He looked at me for a long moment. "I've been trying very hard not to rush you."

"I know."

"I wasn't sure what you wanted."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I wasn't sure either."

I met his eyes. "I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

"I've wanted to kiss you again since the rink."

His smile arrived slowly, as though he'd been holding it back for days. "So have I."

This time neither of us hesitated. I crossed the small space between us. He met me halfway.

The kiss was nothing like the startled, impossible one we'd shared beneath the arena.

There was no surprise in it, no confusion.

Only certainty.

It lingered, unhurried. When we finally drew apart, our foreheads rested together for a moment. Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to.

Whatever came next would come because we'd both chosen it.

Together.

The city beyond the hotel window had long since gone quiet. Inside, the conversation gave way to comfortable silence, and the rest of the night belonged to the two of us alone.

The room had grown quiet around us. Somewhere below, a siren passed through the streets and faded into the distance. Beyond the hotel window, San Francisco glittered beneath the low clouds, the wet streets catching the light from the buildings opposite.

Noah's hand rested beside mine on the bedspread. Our fingers had been touching for some time, neither of us quite willing to acknowledge it. I turned my hand over. He looked down as my fingers slipped between his. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his thumb moved gently across my knuckles.

"You're very quiet," he observed.

"I'm thinking."

"That sounds dangerous."

I glanced at him. "You could try not making everything a joke."

His expression softened. "Sorry."

The immediate sincerity of it caught me off guard. I had become so accustomed to his teasing that I sometimes forgot how easily he could set it aside.

"Don't be," I said.

He studied my face. "Are you all right?"

I could have answered in half a dozen ways. Instead, I shifted closer until our knees touched.

"Yes."

"Good."

He didn't move. He left the next decision to me, and I found that I appreciated the consideration almost as much as I resented how much courage it seemed to require.

I lifted our joined hands and pressed a brief kiss to his knuckles.

Noah went very still.

When I looked up, his expression had changed. The familiar amusement was gone, replaced by something quieter and considerably less easy to dismiss.

"Oh," he said softly.

I laughed under my breath. "That's all you've got?"

"I'm revising my position."

"On what?"

"Several things."

I was still smiling when he raised his free hand to my cheek. His fingers rested there, warm against my skin, and his gaze searched mine with a seriousness I had rarely seen directed at me.

"Jackson?"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

The question did something peculiar to my chest. Six years of arguments, competition, and carefully maintained irritation seemed suddenly to have brought us to this one simple moment.

"Please," I said.

His smile arrived slowly, as though he'd been holding it back for days. This time neither of us hesitated. I crossed the small space between us. He met me halfway.

The kiss was nothing like the startled, impossible one we'd shared beneath the arena.

There was no surprise in it, no confusion.

Only certainty.

It lingered, unhurried. His hand settled at the back of my neck, and mine found his shoulder. When we finally drew apart, our foreheads rested together for a moment.

Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to.

Then Noah brushed his lips against mine once more, so gently that I almost thought I'd imagined it.

I caught his hand and drew him closer.

Somewhere between another kiss and the soft laughter that followed it, the last of our conversation dissolved. Jackson reached for the bedside lamp, pausing just long enough to give me one final, questioning look.

I answered by kissing him again.

The room fell into darkness.

Whatever came next would come because we'd both chosen it together.

-------------

The alarm felt unnecessarily loud. For several seconds I couldn't remember where I was.

Then the unfamiliar hotel ceiling came into focus.

San Francisco.

Storm diversion.

Very late arrival.

And everything that had happened afterwards.

My memory was aided by Noah's heavy leg draped across my abdomen.

I lay still for another moment, not because I regretted anything. Quite the opposite.

I simply wasn't sure what the morning was supposed to look like.

---

By the time I'd showered and dressed, I was only running a few minutes behind schedule.

I opened my door.

At exactly the same moment, Noah opened his.

We both stopped.

"...Morning."

"Morning."

A tiny smile appeared on his face.

Mine answered it automatically.

For a second it felt as though one of us ought to say something important.

Neither of us did.

Instead we started walking towards the elevator.

Our shoulders brushed once as we stepped inside.

Neither of us moved away.

The silence wasn't awkward.

Just new.

---

Breakfast was already busy. The smell of coffee drifted across the dining room.

Ben, Eddie and Aleksander were halfway through eating when we walked in.

Ben looked up first.

Then Eddie.

Then Aleksander.

Three pairs of eyes followed us across the room.

I felt Noah hesitate beside me. Only slightly.

Ben opened his mouth. Closed it again. Picked up his coffee instead.

That, more than anything, unsettled me. Ben voluntarily choosing silence suggested he knew something worth preserving.

We collected our breakfasts. I reached for a glass of orange juice. Noah absently touched the corner of his mouth. He frowned. Then very casually lowered his hand again.

I looked at him. His lower lip looked a little swollen. Before I could stop myself, my tongue found the tender spot on my own lip.

Oh. Right.

Noah glanced sideways. Caught me doing exactly the same thing. Color crept gently into his cheeks. He looked away so quickly it almost made me laugh. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop smiling.

Unfortunately that only made Ben look at me. His eyes flicked from me to Noah... and back again. For a long second he simply regarded us over the rim of his coffee mug. Then, without a single word, he lifted the mug very slightly in our direction.

Not a toast. Not a joke. Just... an acknowledgement.

I couldn't help smiling back. Across the table Eddie noticed the exchange. Aleksander followed his gaze.
Neither of them said anything either.

Apparently no one needed an explanation. I'd expected at least one joke. None came. I hadn't expected that.

Neither, judging by the expression on Noah's face, had he.

Conversation drifted toward travel delays and the afternoon's practice schedule.

Nobody mentioned adjoining hotel rooms.

Nobody mentioned late-night conversations.

Nobody mentioned anything at all.