Unsteady

I look beautiful.

Rora found the dress, though she refused to tell me where, but it fits like a glove. Black silk down to my ankles with a single slit to mid-thigh. Just enough to be sexy without being indecent.

My best friend slaved over my hair while I did my makeup, slicking it all back into a bun, letting two tendrils hang from the front and frame my face. I still sport my usual dark cherry lips and smoky eyes, but it’s more regal. Less competition Sadie. More like Rhys’ Gray.

Rhys’. His.

I’ve never belonged to anyone, or anywhere.

It’s a warm feeling when I thought it would be suffocating.

We’re at the Hockey House, Rora offering to pick up the boys after they carpool home from practice—something I’m quite sure Rhys’ parents had a hand in creating. So, it feels a bit like Prom when I descend the stairs to a room full of tuxedo-clad boys.

Rhys, Freddy and Bennett—the latter two going solo, look mouthwatering.

Bennett resembles his father even more now, his height and width just as daunting, but now in a crisp black tux, sans tie. His unruly golden brown curls are smoothed only somewhat, but his face is clean shaven—which somehow makes him more intimidating.

Freddy is in a blue suit, his hair combed back, shirt open just enough for a glint of the metal he usually wears.

Maybe I’m biased, but Rhys looks like the cover of a magazine, or some celebrity mid-red carpet. His hair is cut shorter now, not so shaggy as it’s been, and he’s put something in it to keep it tamed. His tux is black, simple with a crisp, perfect bowtie at the center of his collar.

A bowtie I decided to fix anyway, even knowing nothing about it. Just shifting it this way and that, because this moment feels like a dream and I want it to stay that way.

He grasps my wrists either way, stopping me for a gentle kiss, his eyes smoldering as he pulls away and takes me in.

“You’re so goddamn perfect, Gray.” He smiles. “And I’m so fucking lucky.”

I almost say it again, tell him the words on the tip of my tongue, that have been hanging there for five days, ever since Halloween. But we’re surrounded by friends, and if I know Rhys, the moment those words leave my mouth, we won’t be leaving his room for a while.

So instead, I kiss his hand. Softer in my affection, and I see the way it makes his cheeks blush.

He might be a solid ice captain when in a pair of skates, the Waterfell Wolves’ fearless leader. But for me, he’ll always be soft.

His parents planned to meet us at the entrance, but they’re already swarmed in the corner when we get there. It’s a fundraiser for the First Line Foundation—which I recently realized was not just a volunteer opportunity for Max Koteskiy; it’s his charity. He started it, funds it, and everything, so that all kids get a chance to skate.

Anna, Rhys’ mother, looks dazzling in her deep green dress. I’ve heard the boys tease Rhys endlessly about how beautiful his mother is—and they are not wrong. She’s gorgeous, clearly fit and always bright-eyed. But it’s easy to be around her; she makes everyone smile and I think that’s the real reason everyone finds themselves drawn to her.

This is only my fifth or sixth time around them, and without the buffer of the boys occupying their attention, I’m nervous. I’m learning to trust her. Slowly. His father, too.

Eventually, after a few spins on the checked dance floor—which I was pleasantly surprised with Rhys’ waltzing ability, we make our way to them.

The photographers jump at the chance for photos of the great Maximillian Koteskiy with his up-and-coming hockey star son, Rhys Maximillian Koteskiy. They don’t bother with Anna, until his father makes a fuss and starts shouting about her architectural achievements, that he says matter much more than a washed up NHL player.

And I see it then, the reason Rhys loves me the way he does. The reason he cares for the boys and wants to keep us close. Because he’s seen this, his whole life. Has been surrounded by love.

Loving me, loving my brothers—it’s easy for him.

My chest tightens.

And I can’t stop it, it keeps squeezing until I’m almost sure I’ll die.

So, when they finish photos, I drag him into the conference center’s carpeted hallway and down towards the staff entrances, shoving him into an empty conference hall, vast, dark and full of tables and chairs in disarray.

He laughs even as I pin him feebly to the wall. His eyes smoldering down at me, half-lidded and all warm chocolate, heating me in his gaze.

“Can’t even make it through a few hours, huh? Need me that badly, kotyonok?”

He doesn’t use the word often, but it never fails to light me up when he speaks Russian.

“I love you.”

It isn’t exactly how I planned it in my head, no beautiful speech to match the one he gave that I replay in my head almost constantly. So, I keep going.

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t—”

He shuts me up with a kiss, gripping my hips in his hands that nearly span my entire waist, hefting me so I can wrap my legs around him. It causes the silk to slip all the way up my legs and bunch at my waist, which seems to be his goal.

“No apologies, Gray.” He kisses down my neck. “Never apologies, with you. I love you so much. I love you.”

He never stops saying it as he lays me across one of the cloth covered tables, the glow of moonlight illuminating my skin. His bowtie disappears along with his suit jacket, before he latches his mouth to my collarbones and gently slides the thin straps of my dress down my arms, until my breasts are bared to him.

My breath shutters out of me as his hand drifts to my center. He hisses when he finds only bare skin.

“All night?” he asks, pressing firmly against my clit, drifting his fingers lighter down my lips before circling back in a cruel, little pattern.

“No panty lines.” I barely push through my lips, followed by a desperate, loud moan as his fingers enter me.

I try to calm myself down and not come yet, because I know Rhys is about to sink to his knees and lick me until I’m a shaking mess, but nothing I do is working.

I’m already on the precipice, just looking at him in the dark shadows of the room. Golden boy Rhys Koteskiy has disappeared, and in his place is the darkness that I know thrums in his veins. Maybe it scared him before, but this unleashed version of him—I love him just as much as the shining star.

He gives me that dark, teasing look, like he knows exactly how close I am.

“Say it again,” he demands.

“I love you.”

“Good girl,” he says, sinking to his knees and teasing my slit with his tongue, not bothering to remove the two fingers he has stilled inside me. It takes barely two minutes with his lips around my clit, sucking and tonguing in rapid succession that I go off like a bomb.

I clench around his fingers, even as his lips leave me. He appears over me again, kissing me and the taste of myself on his lips, in his mouth, is so erotic I pulse again.

He uses his hands now to undo his belt and pants, pulling himself free while I lay like a boneless mass of muscle.

I think I’d do anything he wanted right now.

“God,” he grounds out, sliding slowly into me, even as my still pulsing pussy clenches up around him. It doesn’t matter that I’ve barely come down from my orgasm, I can feel that my heartbeat has taken up residence in my center, like it’s begging for more.

“The first time I saw you like this, I thought you were too fucking small for me.”

I whine, high and loud as he inches forward, again, still holding back.

“But you fit me like a fucking glove, baby,” he coos, before slamming in to the hilt. My back bows, breasts heaving as he starts to fuck me, hard and insistent.

It always feels like the first time with him, and I wonder if years from now, when we have kids and a yard and a dog, if I’ll still feel this way.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause, continues to thrust and work me through another orgasm, before he’s pinching my nipple with one hand and holding my chin with the other.

“Give me one more, kotyonok.” His voice is hoarse now, his temple shining with a light sheen of sweat.

“Rhys—I-I can’t,” I cry.

“You can. Say it again, and come for me.”

He plays his fingers across my clit again, waiting until the words, “I love you,” pour from my lips, before pressing on me, like striking a match, I lose myself again.

He follows me, telling me loves me, a constant stream of praise as he discards the condom and cleans me up, putting my straps back over my shoulder and helping me up. And he never stops kissing me. I straighten my dress as he tosses the tablecloth we used in the corner trash can.

I can’t stop smiling at him, but do turn to grab for my phone while he gets redressed.

Because it’s lighting up, with five missed calls from an unknown number, but a local area code.

Just as I go to click, the call comes in again.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sadie Brown?”

Rhys’ eyes flicker to me in mild concern and I know in the quiet of the room he can hear every word.

“Yeah, who is this?”

“I’m Samantha, a nurse at Greenwood General.” My stomach drops at the mention of the hospital one town over from Waterfell. “We’ve been trying to reach you. Your father was brought in about an hour ago after a drunk driving accident.”

My eyes burn, but I try to keep it together until she finishes.

“But, um, your brothers, I think? Liam and Oliver? They were in the car with him. And you’re listed after your father as next-of-kin.”

“Oh my god,” I cry, already running barefoot for the door and into the bright, loud hallway. “Are they okay? Are they—”

I can’t breathe, I can barely hear what she says. My vision grays out for a moment, and I stumble into the wall.

Rhys is there, like he always is, his hand wraps around mine and gently pries the phone from my grip, taking over.

And I still can’t breathe.

The room is cold; I know because Rhys’ mom is wrapping her husband’s jacket around her arms as we listen to the doctor speak about my father. But I can’t feel anything, just numbness.

And embarrassment.

Rhys’ mother and father took me straight back, but I didn’t see where Rhys went. He might’ve told me, but I can’t remember. I feel like I’m watching it all from far away.

Finally, they let us in.

My father is in a four-point restraint. I’d heard the nurse try to warn the Koteskiys about that before we went up, but it’s a bit worse to see than I thought. He’s still flailing, yelling at the nurse who ignores everything and finishes her dosages and notes, before leaving with a sympathetic smile.

No, not sympathetic. Pitying.

“Sadie,” he saws out, chest heaving. His gray, reddened eyes a mockery of my own. “God, Sade, please get me out of here. They’re trying to take the boys. C’mon, sweetheart.”

I can’t look at him; I feel a bit like I’m dying.

He switches like a trapdoor. “Don’t be a fucking brat, Sadie. I need you.”

Anna Koteskiy stands in front of me suddenly, arms crossed. She’s a small woman, but still taller than me, and she covers me completely; intentionally.

“Calm yourself down if you want to speak to her,” she demands, keeping her voice semi-quiet but firm. “You need to calm down either way.”

“You’re the people trying to take my kids.”

He’s turning manic, but I don’t say anything. No one is trying to take anyone. Doesn’t he realize he’s already fucked us up enough? That no family like the Koteskiys would want us?

“Stay away from my fucking kids,” he shouts, tearing at the restraints, kicking against the bed. “Sade and I take care of them just fine.”

A fire lights within Anna’s eyes, her slight form seeming to expand in the room as she continues to stand in front of me, her beautiful gown brushing the harsh hospital flooring.

“Your child is taking care of your children. Sadie should not be responsible for those little boys, all while going to school, working and taking care of her alcoholic father.”

I stand in shock, floored by the overwhelming wave of emotions that roll through me. Anger, fear, confusion all muddled under the weight of shame and embarrassment. Even still, I can’t recall a time that someone has stood up for me like this—and not just someone, a mother.

“You fucking bitch,” he shouts, spitting towards her in a move that makes my stomach drop.

“That’s enough.”

Max Koteskiy steps forward abruptly, his face a hard mask of anger. He looks so much like Rhys; apart from the slight lines of age and the gray strands to Max Koteskiy’s darker hair, they could pass for brothers.

He grabs his wife in a gentle grip, pulling her slightly behind him. And even when she begins to protest that she’s fine, he brushes a hand along her cheek and whispers, “I know you are, Trouble. But let me handle this, okay? For my own stupid male pride.”

I can tell it’s some sort of inside joke between them, just from the way it softens her.

“Why don’t you take Sadie to see her brothers?” he suggests, all while his eyes never leave their watch over my father.

She nods, albeit slightly reluctantly, and he grants her a private smile.

“I love you so much it hurts, rybochka.”

His words are soft, but it’s clear his intention. Protection.

Still, the sound of them echoes in my head like gunshots. Affection, open and honesty and deep—it’s what Rhys would be like, as a father or husband. If this were something I could have. It’s something I don’t know; something I’ve never seen before seeing his parents.

I didn’t have time for friends.

The girls I skated with were competitors, and according to Coach Kelley, I wasn’t allowed to skate or play with them. At school, I was too concerned with keeping my secret. So I never saw what real parents and real love really looked like.

“Come on, Sadie girl,” she coos, her tone suddenly gentle, gentler than the harshness of her beautifully round features as she pulls my nearly catatonic body into the hallway. “Rhys and Matt are with your brother’s in the waiting room.”

Matt?

“Freddy’s here?”

Another wave of embarrassment blushes my skin, an itch starting down my spine that I know I won’t scratch away.

They see it, they know now—everyone knows. My father called her a bitch. Spat at her. I know they won’t want their family near mine—especially Rhys.

I try to repeat his words from Halloween again, but all I hear is my father’s shouting. My coach’s honesty. I’ll never be like these people, just like I’ll never skate like any of the girls I looked up to. I’m destined to be just this.

My terror.

I hate how much I have to resist the urge to call Kelley, to ask him for help. Because Rhys loves me, but he thinks I can be better, can heal.

Will he love me when he realizes that this thing I am is all I will ever be?

We turn the corner into another room, almost like a conference room, but I don’t question Anna as she leads me through it.

The view alone is a shot to the gut.

Freddy is holding Liam, perched on his knees as my youngest brother giggles and plays a game on an iPad that definitely isn’t ours. And Rhys…

Rhys is holding my twelve-year-old brother in a tight hug, sitting on the large ledge of the hospital window so that Oliver can stand between his legs and keep his head against Rhys’ chest. Rhys is whispering into his ear at a constant rate, and the nods of my brother’s head without leaving the embrace, fists tugging at his suit jacket, tells me everything.

Oliver hates being touched, and yet he’s wrapped completely in Rhys’ arms.

The door closes softly behind us, but it still pulls their attention, Liam first with a shout of, “Sissy!” and an unceremonious leap from Freddy’s lap that leaves the man holding himself in pain.

I scoop him up quickly, the practiced expression of serenity slipping into place easily as my brothers both look at me. Liam, still bright eyed and somehow okay, but Oliver’s eyes are bright red, cheeks puffy as he looks towards me without leaving the bubble of safety around Rhys.

And I don’t blame him—I’ve been there. I know how warm and safe it is.

“Hey, bug.” I smirk, kissing his cheek hard and wrapping him in my arms. “Did they get you all checked out?”

He smiles and lifts his elbow, where a bright orange Bluey Band-Aid gleams. It makes my chest ache.

“He’s alright, just scratched up his elbow a little—right, little man?” Freddy says, standing and messing with Liam’s mop of hair. The Waterfell playboy is still dressed to the nines, looking more like he should be on the cover of GQ and not in a hospital boardroom. But beneath the smile he keeps offering to my brother, there’s a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Freddy said I’m the same age as him when he started playing hockey,” Liam offers, skipping to a new subject just as quickly as usual. “He says I’m gonna be even bigger than him one day.”

“I did not!”

My brother dissolves into a fit of laughter, but my eyes never leave the window, watching Oliver and Rhys with a desperate ache gnawing at my chest.