Tyler felt it when she said it—I love you—like a familiar chord, only deeper now, fuller. Not a surprise, not a first. Just the kind of truth that kept finding new weight every time it was spoken in a room this quiet, in a moment this chosen.

Her fingers stayed in his hair, sure and steady, and the way she held him—like there wasn’t an exit plan anywhere in her body anymore—hit him harder than any rough shift on the ice ever could.

He kissed her back like he’d been waiting for permission for years.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Warm and slow and certain. Like he was finally done trying to prove he could handle it. Like he didn’t need to be anything but here.

When she pulled away just enough to breathe, he didn’t let the space grow. He stayed close, forehead near hers, his hand still on her thigh under the blanket, thumb moving in an absent, grounding line like he was telling her without words: I’m here. I’m staying. I mean it.

His eyes searched her face—candlelight catching on her lashes, the soft gloss on her lips, the way her expression was open in that rare, unguarded way that used to scare him because it meant he could actually lose something.

He could actually lose her.

He swallowed once, throat tight, and a tired, crooked smile tried to show up—half flirt, half awe.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and husky, “you’re making it really hard to pretend I’m tough right now.”

He brushed his nose against hers, a playful little nudge, but his gaze stayed serious.

The truth sat right under his ribs—sharp and clear. Back then, he’d taken her softness like it was something endless. Like it would just be there no matter what he did. Like he could fall short and still be caught.

And he hadn’t deserved that kind of love.

Not then.

Not the way he’d treated it.

His smile faded into something quieter. He reached up and cupped her jaw, thumb sliding once along her cheekbone like he needed to touch something real to say what he was about to say.

“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted softly, eyes locked on hers. “How patient you were with me. How you kept seeing the parts of me I wasn’t showing you yet.”

His breath left him slow.

“And I don’t know how you did that,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “But I’m… grateful. Every day.”

The words weren’t a confession meant to make her feel sorry for him. They were just a truth he carried now, plain and steady. Like the way you carried a bruise you earned. Like the way you carried something precious.

He leaned in and kissed her again—gentler this time, almost reverent. Then he rested his forehead to hers, eyes half-lidded, his voice dropping to that quiet register meant only for her.

“I love you,” he said, the way he always did now—unafraid of it, not trying to outrun it. “And I’m not leaving any part of myself outside the door anymore.”

His thumb traced a slow circle on her cheek, then his hand slid back into her hair, fingers threading through the soft damp waves like he belonged there. Like he’d learned how to hold without gripping, how to stay without trying to control.

“And you,” he added, a faint smile returning—flirty, boyish, wrecked in the best way—“you’re not allowed to look at me like that and then act surprised when I lose my mind.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then back to her lips—slow, playful, loving. His hand tightened just a little on her thigh under the blanket, pulling her closer until there was no space left to doubt.

He exhaled against her, a quiet laugh escaping.

“I’m done fighting it,” he murmured. “Done pretending I’m not the luckiest guy in this town.”

And then he kissed her again—deeper now, warmer, like the promise wasn’t in the words anymore.

It was in the way he stayed.