SO sorry for the delay. And I'm so far behind on review replies. I had a work trip, and my dog spent five days in the ICU where I drove an hour and a half each way every day to visit with her for a couple hours. Even when I had free time my mind wasn't in a good place to write. But I finally got the chapter done!

Thanks to lisamichelle17 who leaves me pretty pictures and words in GDocs, and dadirtybird who squeezed this chapter in while juggling two kindergartners going through graduation.

I'm hoping to catch up on review replies, but I have another work trip starting bright and early tomorrow morning so I know I'm just going to fall even further behind. Sorry in advance! On the bright side, I'm already halfway through the next chapter so there shouldn't be much of a wait this time.

Chapter 4

Sleep was elusive after Edward's admission in the wee hours of the morning. In my retelling I'd make sure to glamorize my response, but in reality I had been a weepy mess who couldn't form a coherent thought. I'd been stunned silent at first, unsure that I'd heard him correctly. I had been barely awake, after all. After a few moments of awkward silence I started crying. And smiling. Then crying some more as I sobbed an unintelligible "I love you" in return.

It really wasn't pretty, but he didn't seem to mind.

He fell back asleep after celebrating our confessions with slow, intense lovemaking. The best I could do was doze for a few minutes. It seemed as though every time unconsciousness started to take over, my brain would decide to replay his confession and wake me up all over again.

All in all, if I was going to lose sleep, this wasn't a bad reason for it to happen. Even if I was struggling to get out of bed this morning.

In the bathroom, I heard the water shut off and the scrape of the shower curtain being pulled back. I let my imagination fill in the blanks before rolling out of bed and sneaking in. My exhaustion made me a little more heavy footed than expected so I didn't so much sneak as thunder. Edward was watching me through the mirror as I slid in next to him to brush my teeth as he started to shave.

"Morning," he said, kissing my cheek while simultaneously shaking the can of shaving cream.

With my mouth full of foam, all I could do was nod and lean into him. He smelled so good—clean and fresh—still damp from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. When I finished brushing, I moved out of his way to give him full access to the sink area. Slipping around behind him, I let my nails scrape lightly across his back and took pride in the shiver it elicited.

"What time do you have to leave?" I asked as I hoisted myself up onto the counter to watch him. Being a Sunday, they had an afternoon game he needed to get ready for.

"About an hour," he said, his razor clearing a path down one side of his face. I'd miss the scruff. He glanced over at me, smirking. "Why? You having ideas?"

"You wish," I teased.

He shook the water and shaving cream off the razor, setting it down so that he could put hands on the sides of my face to pull me in for a kiss. "Yes I do."

A muffled squeal was my response as I felt the shaving cream smear across my mouth. He was laughing, lips pressed firmly against mine, until I started to laugh too. Not caring anymore, I lifted my hands to his neck to hold him in place, deepening the kiss but careful not to let the foam get into my mouth. Just as we broke apart he quickly rubbed his face against mine to make sure I was covered, his laugh echoing off the tiles.

"You!" I yelled, a little indignant though mostly for show.

I reached for a hand towel, never breaking my playful glare as I swiped at the mess.

His smile didn't waver as he reapplied shaving cream.

"Better watch," I said, picking up his razor and pointing with it.

He smirked and moved to stand between my knees. "Do your worst," he said, lifting his chin.

It took a moment to realize what he wanted, and I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Go for it. I trust you." Bracing his arms on either side of me, he leaned in.

I took a deep breath and let it out, trying to will my hand to stop shaking. As soon as I touched the razor to his skin, I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but absolute trust. The first stroke down was easy, doing wonders for my confidence.

I could feel his eyes on me as I worked. "Don't look at me," I mumbled, deep in concentration and a little self-conscious as I neared his chin on a down stroke.

He chuckled. "Where am I supposed to look?"

Glancing up, his laugh lines were prominent as he grinned, and I bit my lip to stop the stupid smile I could feel coming on.

"Did I miss any?" I asked as I finished up.

He turned his head from side to side in the mirror, running his hand across his cheeks and throat. "Nope. Perfect."

I wiped my hands off with a towel and started to shift on the counter to hop down, but he blocked my path. With his arms around me, he pulled my hips to the edge and leaned in for a searing kiss.

The arena was packed that afternoon for the game. The atmosphere inside was frenzied; we were winning, but only by one goal, but it was the hard-hitting action that drew people to their feet.

It started halfway through the first period when one of our guys landed a solid, brutal—but legal—check on one of theirs. From there, the gloves came off and the game turned dirty. Penalty after penalty was called, but nothing slowed down the fighting and under-handedness. The penalty boxes were often full to bursting, and as we neared the end of the game it was only getting worse. With less than ten minutes on the clock and only one goal separating the teams, it was getting desperate.

There was a small scuffle just across the ice that ended just as the puck worked its way free and was passed up ice. I quickly lost sight of it; with the location of our seats, the far end of the ice on our side was a blind spot. Stretching and standing on my tiptoes, I searched for a sign of something, anything, when the crowd began roaring—the distinctive sound of thousands of men, women, and children cheering for a good fight.

The seconds stretched as those of us on our end were left in the dark until it seemed the action was finally moving away from the corner and out toward the goal. At first it was the men on the periphery, all prepared to step in when the perfect moment arrived, nudging and pushing their opponents trying to instigate. Then it was the black and white stripes of the linesmen, shuffling about, trying to find an opening to step in and break things up.

Finally, I could see the mass of two bodies in an iron grip, fists flying. They were locked together in a pummeling huddle, and it wasn't until they spun in a half-circle that I realized Edward was one of them. My heart immediately dropped to my stomach with worry. I could hear someone—Alice, I think—saying something to me, but I'd already tuned everything out.

The fight continued with each man taking and landing hits, but from my angle I couldn't see much more than that. My concentration broke with a shake of my shoulder, and when I looked back to see who was trying to get my attention, Alice was pointing at the screens above where the fight was being displayed for all.

My hands flew to my mouth in a vain effort to hold in a gasp at the sight of blood. A crimson stream was working its way down Edward's face from somewhere around his eye. They were moving too much for me to see the source.

All of a sudden, everything shifted. The other guy lost his footing. The only thing keeping him from falling to the ice was the grip Edward had on his jersey. The change in position gave Edward an open shot as he landed hit after hit until the referee finally found the opening he needed to jump between the two men.

With his opponent splayed on the ice underneath the ref, Edward skated a few feet backward, breathing heavily and his face still full of rage. The crowd went nuts, cheering for him, as the two linesmen each took a side to urge him further back, guiding him toward the penalty box. Smaller melees began to break out amongst the other players now that the officials were otherwise occupied.

The chaos of the next few minutes left the whole crowd reeling. Every time a fight would be stopped, a new one would break out. Edward was in the box screaming obscenities, as was the other guy. More guys were added to each of the boxes, then Edward was sent off ice, but not without even more colorful language. Two more men skated off ice. Another five minutes was spent waiting while the officials sorted out penalties.

As soon as the announcement was made that Edward was one of three players given a game misconduct, and therefore he wouldn't be returning, I shot off a text.

Are you okay?

I kept my phone in my hand, waiting for it to vibrate. I didn't expect a quick response, figuring that checking his phone was the least of his worries at the moment, so I was surprised when less than thirty seconds later I had a message back.

I'm fine. Just a small cut over my eyebrow. Getting ready to stitch now. Mostly just pissed.

I breathed a sigh of relief, sent another message warning him not to scare me like that again, and settled in to watch the final few minutes of the game.

An hour later I was fidgeting at the table at an upscale steakhouse with my friends as we waited for Edward to arrive. They were all talking about the game as I listened, not participating. I had so much to get used to. My relationship with Edward changed how I looked at things. It didn't ruin my enjoyment; it simply shifted my priorities. What happened on the ice was much more personal than it had been a year ago. I was no longer unaffected. I couldn't enjoy a good fight like I used to.

Finally, Edward entered the dining room and worked his way through the tables until he reached ours. I swallowed against the lump in my throat as the stitches came into view and I saw the bruising that was starting to appear around his eye. He must've seen something in my reaction because he reached out to pull me into a hug, whispering in my ear, "It looks worse than it is."

I held on longer than was probably considered polite or appropriate in public, but he'd scared me. I hadn't realized just how badly until he was finally in front of me and I could see for myself. I could feel tears starting to build and took deep breaths to will them away.

"Hey, I'm okay," he said, pulling back enough to look me in the eye. "I promise."

I nodded and brought my hands to his face, as though to reassure myself. I lightly traced the bruise and the wound on his eyebrow.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I am now."

"Good, now let's eat. I'm starving."

He kissed me once and then held my chair out for me before taking his own. Our waiter was hovering nearby and immediately took Edward's drink order.

"So what the hell happened out there?" Emmett asked.

"Yeah, we couldn't see how it all went down," Jasper added.

They both looked a little impressed, but Alice and Rosalie were more like me. They were scrutinizing Edward's face, examining the damage, looking a little shell-shocked. Rosalie, who was sitting next to me, reached over to squeeze my hand in a show of support.

"It had been building up all day," Edward said. "Not just him, but that whole team. So many little things just adding up. Trips, checks, nudges. They were trying so hard to throw us off our game. When I got to the puck in the corner, he slammed me into the boards. Annoying, yeah, but that's the game. But then he started trying to pull my feet out from under me with his stick and when I started to lose my balance he pushed my head into the boards with his forearm and held me there. I managed to knock him off of me and as soon as I did, I didn't think. I just turned around and started swinging. I'd finally had enough."

He shrugged, ending the story, and took a drink of the beer the waiter placed before him.

"You're not going to be suspended or anything, are you?" I asked. I didn't think he'd done anything worthy of a suspension, but then again I hadn't seen the entire fight.

He wrapped his hand around mine and tangled our fingers together. "Nah, I doubt it. The league will look at it, but we're all pretty sure the game misconduct will be it."

Conversation shifted to lighter topics and food was devoured. Seeing that he really was okay was what I needed to relax. We talked and laughed and snuck kisses in where we could. After such an emotional afternoon is was good to get back to the carefree tenderness of last night and this morning when we allowed ourselves to be led by our declarations of love. And as much as I adored spending time with my friends, I couldn't wait to pick up where we'd left off before he'd had to leave the house to make it to the arena. My emotions had been pulled from one extreme to the other, and I really needed time alone with him to center them.

If the looks he gave me were any indication, he felt exactly the same way.