Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

38. Finley

38

Finley

Four months later

“You ready for this?” Kennedy asks, as if I’m the one taking the ice for game seven in the second round of the playoffs instead of a doting girlfriend in the crowd.

My heart doesn’t get the message I’m not the one about to compete and pounds with an intensity that should alarm me. Since I met Zach Briggs, my heart’s gone haywire, acting in unexplainable ways.

It’s not only my heart. I’m dressed in a Palmer City Wolves hockey jersey emblazoned with brIGGS across the back. I let Kennedy, temporarily, color forest green streaks in my blond hair and draw black stripes of warpaint across my cheeks.

I traveled between Palmer City and New York during round one, then to Florida and back for round two, to watch every Wolves game as they charge toward the Cup. It’s given Kennedy and me time to focus on our finals, spending hours in a quiet train car for multiple trips. It’s also an unprecedented move for me. I’ve never placed anyone above my own needs before.

“I don’t know how you do this,” I say.

“What?” Kennedy asks.

“Deal with this… anxiety.” I gesture toward the ice, where the Wolves warm up—stretching, slapping the puck into an empty net, playing catch with each other.

I worry for Zach every time someone checks him into the boards or jockeys with him for position in front of the net, something he says I’ll get used to. I won’t though. Falling in love with him has come with this unexpected protectiveness . I want to fight his battles, do whatever’s needed to bring out that playful smile of his, make him happy.

Kennedy throws her head back and laughs. “Says the woman who performs acrobatics that could actually kill her.”

“At least I control the outcome,” I grumble. I also train relentlessly with safeguards in place to protect me. And when I step into the UPC gym next season, it’ll be me against each apparatus without someone trying to take me down midair.

Her hand lands on mine, squeezing once. “They’ll be all right, Fi. Florida knows not to mess with us or Alexei will beat their heads into the ice.”

Kennedy says this so casually, like she’s commenting on the weather, I almost laugh. Instead, I thank my lucky stars Alexei Volkov has Zach’s back out there.

My brother, Charlie, leans forward and rests his arm on top of our seats. He refuses to don Wolves gear out of loyalty to his team, but I’d bet money underneath his sweatshirt, he’s wearing Matt’s jersey. “You know we can afford a box, ladies.”

“With all the food and booze we want,” my other brother, Ryan, chimes in. He’s got a Palmer City Wolves hat over his buzzed hair, which he claims he only wears to keep his head warm.

I didn’t get my stoicism from nowhere, people.

Kennedy smirks. “Well, when your teams make the playoffs, we will consider your opinions.”

I stifle a snort. People often label strong opinionated women as bitches, but Kennedy doesn’t let it stop her from speaking her mind. I’m so glad to have someone like her in our corner.

Ryan opens his mouth, but Charlie raises an arm, halting him. His two hands remain in the air like two white flags before he slides back into his seat. It’s better for him; Alexei Volkov takes offense when anyone hits on or insults his fiancée, and these two face him on the ice multiple times a season.

“About time you put those two jabronis in their place.” Bertram—the ring leader of the geriatric gambling group at the Courtside Café—leans forward to speak but does nothing to hide his words from my brothers beside him. Bertram’s friends and fellow gamblers, Lenny and Oscar, sit on the other side, hooting at the joke their friend made.

“All right, you,” Kennedy says. “We’re going to be gracious hosts, all right? We’re all rooting for the Wolves tonight.”

Bertram leans back in his seat, then turns to my brothers. “I grant you a temporary pass. Next season, I’m back to hating you.”

Charlie gives a salute while Ryan diverts his attention to the ice.

“These are the seats I shared with my mom,” Kennedy whispers to me. I barely hear her over the noise echoing around the arena as the sizzle reel that they play before each game starts on the screen at center ice.

She nudges me forward to reveal a sign I missed on my seat earlier. In honor of Elizabeth Cole, loving wife, perfect mom, Wolves fanatic . Kennedy’s fingers trace the words as a shadow of a smile sketches over her lips. “She’d like you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she’d be obsessed with Briggsy.”

“What else is new?” I quip without a millimeter of bitterness. I like being the girlfriend of Zach Briggs, star winger of the Palmer City Wolves, the guy most liked by opposing fans. He chooses me, this solid, kindhearted, funny, fantastic guy. For a while, I woke up each day waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize I’m more trouble than I’m worth.

Now I know the guy grinning at me as he lines up on the ice has no plans to go anywhere. Neither do I.

“Finley?” A voice calls a moment before the announcer asks fans to stand if they’re able for the singing of the national anthem.

I raise my hand. “That’s me,” I say, turning toward the source.

And there in the aisle stands Zach’s family, who I’d recognize even if Zach hadn’t shown me pictures. His mom, Rosie, grins the same way he does, with equal parts joy and gratitude. His dad, Bill, stands behind her, hands on her shoulders to keep her steady. Zach’s protective like that too. His brother, Jeff, is Zach’s carbon copy, except he has his mom’s green eyes. Melanie, his sister, appraises me, her eyebrows knitting together like Zach’s when he concentrates. I love them instantly, for every bit of Zach I see in them.

All of us face the flag as the national anthem plays. As soon as it ends, Rosie shouts over the cheering crowd, “Come here, sweetheart!”

I hesitate, not wanting to leave Kennedy alone with her mother’s vacant seat.

“I’ll take your seat.” Deandra appears behind Zach’s family, decked out in Wolves gear, the most casual attire I’ve seen her wear. The fierce winged eyeliner and blunt-cut hair still make her look formidable, but I think she’d give off that vibe regardless of her clothes and makeup. I suppose fighting for a spot in a male-dominated industry will do that to a person.

“Go meet your in-laws,” Kennedy whispers, flashing them a smile. “And hurry before you block puck drop. This crowd will yell at you. We’ll catch up later, all right?”

“Thanks, Kens.”

I move toward Zach’s family, sliding past Deandra as she heads toward Kennedy. She whispers, “Good luck,” and lightly squeezes my forearm.

“It’s so great to meet all of you,” I say, raising my voice as the crowd cheers louder. “Here let’s—”

Rosie pulls me into a crushing hug, silencing my attempt at suggesting we settle into our seats. “Oh, honey, I’ve been dying to meet the girl my son won’t stop talking about.” She pulls back but takes hold of my hands. “I’ve never seen my boy this happy.”

Her words tug the center of my chest, and I swallow hard, determined not to cry in front of Zach’s family. I still surprise myself when emotion so easily pushes to the surface. I shoved every feeling down for so long, refusing to let it affect me.

To no one’s surprise, dating Zach Briggs has changed that for me. I’ll never reach his level of vulnerability, wearing every emotion on my sleeve, but I’m a far cry from the stilted, serious girl who brought him to her gym the first time.

“I’ve never been this happy,” I say through the clot of emotion lodged in my throat.

Bill and Jeff offer me handshakes before exiting the aisle to sit beside Kennedy and Deandra. Melanie makes no move to hug me or offer a handshake, but as we enter the row, she instructs me to sit between her and Rosie. Easier to grill me that way, I suppose. Zach warned me about his overprotective sister and said I shouldn’t take her standoffish attitude as judgment against me.

“It's so kind of your brother to pay for our travel,” Rosie gushes while we settle into our seats as the puck drops at center ice. “Your parents are here, yes? I want to meet the people who raised such terrific kids.”

“That’s them,” I tell her, pointing over my shoulder toward my parents, who sit on the other side of my brothers.

My parents turn as though they feel my gaze, and I offer a smile and wave. We’re still meeting each week with Dr. Warren, slowly building a relationship based on honesty and trust. As long as I’m forthright about my moods and activities, they respect my decisions, even if it makes them nervous. My mom waves back enthusiastically while my dad offers a quick nod before turning his attention back to the ice. He’s making an effort despite his hesitance to relinquish control of my safety. I appreciate he’s working on it and that our relationship is inching toward a better place as a result.

“I’m Zach’s mom,” Rosie calls, answering my mom’s wave with one of her own. “I love your daughter!”

“But you don’t know me,” I say before I can filter the internal thought.

Rosie spins back around. “Not as well as I’d like… but, Finley, my son has told me all about you, about how you treat him. The way you put his needs above your own.” One hand lands flat over her heart. “Gosh, the way you asked him to think about whether a relationship was what he wanted... it takes a strong person to do that.”

Zach knows how much I struggle with telling people I have bipolar disorder. I prefer to do it after I trust them, but I wanted to handle telling his family differently. I wanted them to know me fully, and they couldn’t without revealing the condition that affects every day of my life. So Zach told his family for me before this trip, and according to him, they were supportive. I didn’t fully believe it until now.

“He told me how you support him,” Rosie goes on, “by going to every out-of-state playoff game. Making his favorite foods when he gets home from a road trip, even if you can’t wait up because of your schedule.” She flings an arm toward the rink. “You love him because of him , not for what he can do on that ice. I already see how much Zach’s grown since he met you.”

I let out a laugh. “He knows how to load a dishwasher now.”

Rosie chuckles. “Yes, well. I tried , but it took a real incentive for it to stick.”

That’s what everything in my life feels like now, like it’s sprinkled with an extra incentive. Since meeting Zach, my drive toward my goals hasn’t changed, but I also want to make him proud. I’m working the same grueling schedule, but something’s different within me. There’s an extra flicker of awareness that he’s beside me, that my wins are his and that his are mine.

“Oh my God!” Rosie shouts suddenly as number ten sprints down the ice on a breakaway. “Go, Zach!”

The crowd hops to their feet as he approaches the net with only the goalie standing between him and a goal. Zach heads toward the goalie’s left, but at the last split second, he glides the puck in the opposite direction, giving it a flick into the air. It hits the net, and the siren sounds, followed by the team’s goal-scoring anthem and an eruption of cheers through the arena. The camera finds us, bringing our flushed and smiling faces to the screen at center ice as we hop up and down in excitement. Zach and his teammates do their celebratory hugs, driving him against the glass with their momentum. The camera swings to him next, showing his mouth open in a scream, eyes lit, one arm punching the air.

We eventually settle back in our seats, but there’s electricity in the air now. The crowd’s alive, engaged, and ready for more.

“Well, now that we’re all in a good mood.” Melanie folds her hands over her lap. “Are you ready for the real test?”

“Mel,” Rosie hisses in a mom-scold, but Melanie remains undeterred, her gaze on me.

I motion to myself and give her a teasing grin. “Bring your worst.”

Several hours later, Gemma and Matt invite everyone—the Briggs and Harris tribes, Alexei and Kennedy, and Deandra—to their home. As usual, Gemma’s armed with enough food to feed an army, including my absolute favorite dessert of hers—double chocolate brownies. With hockey players here and the out-of-this-world taste of Gemma’s baking, the food doesn’t last long.

Gemma lights the fireplace for purely aesthetic reasons—May is air-conditioning season in North Carolina. She queues up a playlist full of soft- and pop-rock songs from when I was a kid. We scatter throughout the first floor in ever-changing groups.

Jennings, Alexei, and I play a round of Wii Golf. Zach’s parents show me photos of him as a kid. In my favorite photo, Zach’s covered in cake and icing because he fell into the cake after he and Jeff argued about who’d have the first piece.

When the Harrises all end up in one room, we unsurprisingly break out a deck of cards, ready for any opportunity to compete with each other. Zach’s family wanders in halfway through the game, and Jeff gets sucked into it. I watch from the wall as our families blend, competing and laughing and talking, and my chest inflates with so much love, it hurts.

A cool hand slides into mine, but I school myself not to react. Knowing that hand and desperately wanting a moment alone with him. I slide to the doorway, then tiptoe backward until I’m out of the room. Zach tugs me toward him, straight into his arms, securing me against his body. His lips snag mine, kissing me with an intensity that makes me wish we could head back to his place for time alone.

“I missed you,” Zach murmurs against my lips between kisses. I can’t get enough of his mint taste, his hands gripping my ass, the satisfied moan when my tongue teases his.

“Yeah,” I whisper back. “I got the better end of the deal getting to watch you for the last couple of hours. Great game, Calder.”

“You’re impressed.” He’s no longer surprised when I express my admiration; instead, there’s a quiet satisfaction, an awe.

“Of course.” My hand threads through his, always confirming my affection for him, because I want him to believe it without a single doubt. “You’re fucking impressive. That goal was smooth . Just like that little move”—I gesture around us, referencing the way he deftly pulled me to him—“you did to me.”

Zach’s face breaks into a shy grin. “You liked that, huh?”

I bite my bottom lip, dipping my head in a slow nod.

“Wanna get out of here?” His head jerks toward the stairs beside us.

My stomach flips over as I think about having him beneath me, my nerves churning like the folding of cream in a dessert. It’s the same anticipation that floods my nervous system every time he puts his hands on me or says something sweet, or when I open my eyes in the morning to see him peacefully snoozing beside me with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Each time, it gives way to an inferno that consumes me, lust an accelerant to my deep love for this man. The one person who made me comfortable enough to let my guard down, to relinquish the tight control over my emotions. I don’t regret it, and regardless of what happens between us, I never will. Our love is worth the risk of heartbreak.

Zach and I pause on the steps at the sound of an amused voice ten feet below us.

“Where are you two off to?”

Kennedy stands beside Alexei in the foyer, arching an eyebrow. He smirks, knowing exactl y where we’re headed… and why. He’s probably wishing he could do the same with his fiancée.

I pull in a deep breath, trying to regulate my body. “I need to show Zach something in my room.”

Alexei snorts. The sound covers the muffled laugh from Zach behind me.

“It’s very important,” I add, forcing my expression into neutrality. “Can you cover for us? Please?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Kennedy says. “Otherwise, I can guarantee you’ll have a bunch of guests in your bedroom.”

Alexei runs a finger down the length of Kennedy’s arm, and she visibly shivers. “Look who’s a softie.”

“Me?” she jokes, breathless. “I’m not the one—”

Her words devolve into a giggle that echoes around the foyer as Zach and I resume our climb, moving quickly and quietly up the steps, like our feet might catch fire if we linger too long. We’re on my bed in thirty seconds, on our sides, legs tangled, lips fused, hands exploring. I remember the first time I invited Zach into this bed, the tentative way he touched me, as if I might evaporate into a figment of his fantasies. It’s the opposite of how he’s touching me now, his hands moving hungrily down my body, dipping into my leggings.

“ High-flyer ,” Zach groans when his fingers push inside me. “You’re already ready for me.”

“I’ve had three hours of foreplay, watching you play hockey.”

He laughs, more agony than amusement. “I fucking love you.”

I push him flat onto his back then swing a leg over him, planting myself over his hard-on. “Show me.”

“Our families will hear the bed. Your brother catching us once is more than enough for a lifetime.”

“Chair,” I say, desperate to have him inside me. “I’ll go slow. It’ll be torture, but I’ll make it worth it. Unless you want to celebrate another way…”

I swivel my hips, drawing a groan from deep in Zach’s throat. His hands land beneath my ass, hoisting me into the air with him. I undo his pants as he walks us to my wooden desk chair, taking a seat after his pants drop to his ankles. He shoves my panties aside then lowers me onto his cock, both of us groaning at this euphoric connection. My hips propel forward, then shift back, a tantalizing rhythm grinding my clit against him. It feels so, so good, I can’t help but pick up the pace, needing more friction.

His hand covers my mouth, smothering my moan. “Quiet, Finley, or we’ll need to stop.”

I nod my agreement, and he removes his hand.

“I need more.”

Zach tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. “How about I talk you through it?”

“Words won’t—” My voice cuts out when Zach takes my earlobe into his mouth, scraping his teeth lightly across my skin. His other hand migrates up my shirt to tease my hardened nipples, sending a bolt of longing to my core.

“No?” he whispers into the shell of my ear.

My hips buck against him, messy movements until I’ve found a spot that’ll make me explode.

“You’re fluttering against my dick. You’re close, Finley. God , you’re close, and—” He mashes his lips into mine but otherwise stays still as I work myself back and forth against him, chasing the breaking point out of my reach. “ Fuck, I can’t hold on much longer. I need you to come with me, babe.”

It’s the sound of agony in his voice that sends me over the edge, a wave of pleasure cresting at its painful apex before crashing. The tension in my body breaks, spreading a delicious heat through every nerve. I slump into Zach, spent and blissed beyond belief. His hands secure me to him, the pound of his rapid heartbeat reverberating against me. My arms snake around him beneath his shirt, my fingertips running lightly over his skin.

“You good, High-flyer?”

“I could stay here all day,” I mutter.

“If we stay in this position, I’m going to get hard again—”

“I know.” My head pops off his chest, and I look at him. “Not seeing a problem with it.”

“You’re tired,” he says, halfheartedly.

“You can do all the work next time.” I push a kiss into the crook of his neck. “Problem solved.”

“I’ll need more than the remainder of our fifteen minutes for what I want to do to you.”

Slowly, he lifts me off him, but we still manage to make a mess of each other. He grabs tissues from my desk and cleans us up with the carefulness I’ve come to expect from him. Always so mindful of how he affects me. I don’t know how I got this lucky, to find someone who loves me so intensely, as much as I love him.

I handle our relationship with the same carefulness, treating it as if it’s breakable, never taking for granted that he’s mine.