Chapter 65 Worth It
The room smelled like sex, sweat, and her. Ava was sprawled on the bed beside me, her body still trembling from the wreckage I’d left behind. My wreckage. Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, and I knew if I touched her again, she’d be soaked all over.
But for now, she was spent, ruined in the best way possible. And fuck, the sight of her like this, bare and blissed out in my bed, was enough to make me go again.
I turned onto my side, brushing my fingers over the mark I’d left at the base of her throat. She shivered but didn’t pull away.
"You okay?" I murmured, voice rough from everything we’d just done.
She let out a weak laugh, tilting her head toward me, her eyes glazed and warm.
"You’re asking me that after what you just did to me?"
I smirked, sliding my hand down her thigh, feeling the heat still lingering between her legs.
"Just making sure I didn’t completely ruin you."
"I’ll survive." She rolled her eyes but leaned into my touch.
I let the silence stretch, slow and heavy, my fingers tracing idle patterns over her stomach. The fire had burned down to embers, the room dim and warm around us, but I could feel it shifting. The night had been loud with heat and distraction, with hands and breath and escape.
Now reality was slipping back in through the cracks.
It settled between us like a quiet third presence.
“You heard everything, didn’t you?” I asked finally.
My voice was softer than I expected.
She didn’t answer right away. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like the wooden beams up there held the answers. I watched her throat move as she swallowed.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
The word barely reached me, but it landed hard.
I pushed up onto my elbow so I could look down at her properly. Not at her body. At her.
“Snowflakes…”
“I just…” She cut herself off, lips pressing tight together. I saw the shine in her eyes before she blinked it back.
My chest tightened.
I could handle her anger. Her sarcasm. Her stubborn streak. I could spar with that all day.
But this? The hurt?
That was different.
“I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t pull something like that,” she said quietly. “I guess I just… I didn’t think he’d go behind my back. Or try to convince you to break up with me. Like I’m some liability.”
Her voice cracked on that last word.
“I never thought he’d think I was that much of a distraction to you.”
Distraction.
I hated that word. Hated how small it sounded. How disposable.
“He thinks he’s protecting you,” I said carefully. “And he thinks he’s protecting my career. He’s just stuck in this mindset where everything is either a threat or an advantage. He doesn’t know how to see anything in between.”
She sniffed, swiping at her cheek, but I caught her wrist gently and lowered her hand.
“Let me see you.”
She hesitated, then turned her face toward me.
Her eyes were glossy, yes. But they weren’t fragile.
They were fierce.
Always fierce.
“I love you, Snowflakes,” I said, steady. No smirk. No edge. Just truth. “I’m not giving you up. Not for him. Not for hockey. Not for anything.”
I needed her to understand that.
This wasn’t rebellion.
It wasn’t impulse.
It was choice.
Something in her gave way at that. A small, broken sound slipped from her throat, and she rolled into me, pressing her face against my chest like she needed something solid to lean on.
I wrapped my arms around her instantly, pulling her close. Holding her like I could keep the world from getting to her.
“You’re not a distraction,” I murmured into her hair. “You’re the reason I don’t lose my head. You make me better. You think I didn’t notice how locked in I’ve been lately? That’s not despite you. It’s because of you.”
She let out a shaky breath against my skin.
“You’re gonna prove him wrong,” I continued, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Not by fighting him. Not by yelling. By being exactly who you are. Smart. Focused. Good at what you do. He won’t be able to ignore that forever.”
She tilted her head slightly, looking up at me. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
I’d seen her at work. Seen the way players trusted her hands. The way she studied injuries like puzzles that refused to beat her.
Her father might be blind right now.
But he wasn’t stupid.
Eventually, he’d see it.
She exhaled slowly, tension easing out of her piece by piece. For a long moment we just lay there, tangled together, skin warm, the earlier heat replaced by something steadier.
Content.
Safe.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then shifted upright and slid an arm beneath her back and another under her knees.
Before she could protest, I lifted her.
“Liam!” she yelped, arms immediately locking around my neck.
“What?” I grinned, standing easily.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you to the shower.”
“I can walk,” she muttered into my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I said, adjusting my grip as I carried her toward the bathroom, “but do you actually want to?”
She groaned dramatically and buried her face against my neck. “You’re so annoying.”
“And yet,” I replied lightly, nudging the bathroom door open with my foot, “you’re still here.”
She didn’t answer that.
But the way her arms tightened around me?
That was answer enough.
The bathroom light flicked on, soft and gold against the tile. I set her down carefully on the counter instead of the floor, earning a look from her.
“What?” I said, reaching past her to turn the shower on. “You deserve elevated seating.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her mouth now. It was faint, but it was there. Less weight in her shoulders. Less storm behind her eyes.
Steam began to curl into the air, slow and ghostlike, fogging the mirror inch by inch. I stepped between her knees, resting my hands on her hips, thumbs brushing absentminded circles there.
“You good?” I asked again, quieter this time.
She studied me for a second like she was deciding how honest to be.
“I hate that he thinks I’m weak,” she admitted.
My jaw tightened. “He doesn’t think you’re weak.”
“He thinks I need protecting from my own choices.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She huffed softly. “Feels like it.”
I leaned in just enough so our foreheads brushed. Not urgent. Not heated. Just close.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” I said. “You walked into a locker room full of guys who don’t trust easily and made them trust you. You stand up to me. Which, by the way, is bold.”
A tiny laugh escaped her despite herself.
“I’m serious,” I continued. “You don’t shrink for anyone. Not even him. That’s not weakness.”
Her hands slid from around my neck to rest against my chest, fingers curling slightly into my skin like she needed to feel something solid.
“I just don’t want this to mess things up for you,” she said. “Your season. Your focus.”
I snorted quietly. “You think I’m that fragile?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You are dramatic.”
“True,” I conceded. “But I’m not distracted. If anything, I’m more locked in. I’ve got something to fight for now.”
Her expression shifted at that. Softer. Warmer.
“You’re not something that pulls me off course,” I added. “You’re part of the reason I know where I’m going.”
The shower was running steady now, steam thick in the air. I brushed a strand of hair back from her face.
“Come on,” I murmured.
This time when I lifted her, she didn’t protest. She let me carry her the two steps into the shower, letting out a quiet hiss as the warm water hit her skin.
She clung to me for balance at first, then for no reason at all.
Water traced down her shoulders, over my arms. The world outside that glass blurred into nothing but muted light and white noise.
For a moment, we just stood there.
No tension. No arguments waiting. No fathers. No expectations.
Just the steady rhythm of water and breath.
She tipped her head back slightly, eyes closing as I brushed my knuckles down her arm.
“Still annoying?” I asked.
She cracked one eye open.
“Extremely.”
I smiled, leaning in to press a slow kiss to her temple.
“Good,” I said softly. “I’d hate to lose my charm.”
Her laugh this time wasn’t wet with tears. It was real.
And that sound?
That was worth carrying the weight of everything else.