Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

“You in love with her?” Axel asked, passing me another plate.

I wiped it down and did a little self-assessment, just like I did every time I’d taken a hard hit on the ice. My brain told me it was too soon to fall in love with anyone. My heart countered that I’d fallen in love with Skye in a matter of hours.

That’s not the same.

Of course it wasn’t. Fiona…she made my days brighter, made my house a home I wanted to come back to. She was my first smile in the morning and my last kiss at night. Hearing her voice settled me in a way I’d never experienced, and her touch set me on fucking fire. I thought about her every waking minute when I was gone at away games, and that pressure in my chest only eased when I was holding her.

Shit. That pressure. That sweet, burning, longing that had taken up residence in my ribcage and only seemed to grow. That was it, wasn’t it? That was the shit poets wrote about.

“Brogan?” Maxim nudged me, concern lining his face.

Fuck me.

“Yeah. I love her.”

“Do you have everything you need?” Fiona asked as I finished packing up my carry-on.

“Yep. The equipment managers already have the gear at the airport, and I just found my lucky socks.” We were on a winning streak, and there were some superstitions you just didn’t fuck with.

As my little oddities went, a pair of lucky socks was nothing. Maxim had forsaken sex two months ago when our winning streak took off, and even when the streak ended once about six weeks ago, he hadn’t partaken. The guy seriously thought our ability to win was tied to the lack of activity with his cock and I wasn’t even going there with that guy. If he wanted to starve himself sexually all season, that was between him and his right hand.

I swept Fiona against me and savored the little gasp she let out as her body melted in my hold. “Now if only I could pack you in this little bag.”

She smiled up at me and twined her arms around my neck. “If Skye was a little older, I’d be on the next plane, but—”

“There’s zero chance we’re putting her on a plane in RSV season.” I shook my head. “I don’t care if it’s private. At Reaper arena, we can limit the contact you guys have with other people and what she’s exposed to, but we don’t have any of those guarantees in LA.” And until I knew her family history, I wasn’t taking any risks with my daughter.

Was I paranoid? Sure, maybe a little.

Did I give a fuck? Absolutely not.

“I know,” Fiona whispered, pressing a kiss to my throat. “It’s only three days.”

“And two games,” I muttered. Damn, I just hated being separated from either of them. It was our second away series since Thanksgiving, and the conclusion I’d come to that day only seemed to grow in my chest, until I knew I was going to have to tell her.

Did it matter if she loved me back? No. She still deserved to know exactly where I was in this relationship, and it was all the fuck in. She was it. The one.

She was the only woman I could ever imagine myself being with. The only person besides Skye that I needed. I couldn’t see a future for myself, or my daughter, without Fiona’s smile, her warmth, her dedication to her family. Hell, she was still ticked at her mom for getting engaged…again…and she still managed to show up and support her when she needed her. I didn’t just love her, I admired her, I trusted her. She shook me to the core with her unwavering loyalty and steadfast heart. And the way she loved Skye?

I went all mushy every time I saw them together. Fiona loved Skye just as much as I did, and I couldn’t even fathom a better mother for her.

“What are you thinking?” Fiona whispered, leaning up on her toes and kissing up my jawline to my earlobe.

Shivers of pleasure ran down my spine. Hell, I’d had her under me just this morning, her back arching as she let out a muffled cry against my shoulder, and yet I wanted her again. I always fucking wanted her.

Hard. Fast. Soft. Slow. She took me in every possible way, ready with her own demands and needs that I was always ready to fulfill.

“That I can’t imagine my world without you in it.” I grabbed her ass and lifted. She wrapped her legs around my waist in a move so familiar it was like we’d been together for years, not months.

“I can’t either,” she admitted softly, resting her forehead against mine.

Labels or no labels, we were on the same page and it felt fucking great. This was angels-singing, miracles-happening, rom-com level madness amazing, and I was all about it.