All Chapters of Owned on the Ice M/M Romance: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Milo woke slowly, the smell and warmth around him unfamiliar at first, then everything clicked. His eyes flew open, taking in the broad expanse of sheets that smelled like Ethan. His heart jolted. He was in Ethan’s bed. Again.Sitting up too quickly, he realized he was drowning in fabric. He looked down and froze. Ethan’s t-shirt. His face went hot, a blush creeping down his neck. He wanted to bury himself under the covers and hide. Or maybe run laps around the block screaming with excitement. He was in Ethan’s bed, in Ethan’s shirt. It felt like a real relationship, like something solid. This rival enforcer who had seemed so terrifying only a few weeks ago actually liked him.His stomach flipped, equal parts panic and giddiness.Ethan was sprawled on his stomach beside him, the sheets twisted low on his hips, the muscles of his back shifting subtly with each slow breath. Milo’s gaze dragged lower, catching on the sharp line of his hip against the mattress, and he felt heat surge thro

The voice hit him like a slap.“Milo?”He hadn’t heard that voice in more than a decade. Flat, clipped, with no warmth to soften it.The man standing by the rink boards was tall and broad through the shoulders, his hair going silver at the temples. But there was no mistaking the former Vultures goaltender. Gareth Laskey, Milo’s father.Only he didn’t look like a father. Not his, anyway. His eyes were cold and unfamiliar. His jaw hard, set in permanent disapproval. Milo had spent years studying his own reflection, searching for some trace of the man who’d walked away. There was nothing. He looked like his mother. Every inch.And now that face was right in front of him, in Crestwick.The faint scrape of blades echoed across the empty rink, laughter long gone, leaving only the sting of cold air seeping through Milo’s jacket. His throat felt tight, the smell of ice sharp in his lungs.The man's mouth twitched in something that might’ve been a smile, though it landed more like a wince.Mil

The next morning, Ethan drove Milo across Crestwick, fussing over him the entire way.He’d spent hours reminding him not to wander off, warning him about unfamiliar streets, and pointing out landmarks like Milo was ten years old. Milo had finally snapped and shouted that he wasn’t a child, only to be kissed until he was left dizzy.Ethan pulled into the lot of a low-roof diner tucked between a laundromat and a gas station. The sign buzzed faintly in the late-morning sun, the glass door plastered with flyers for local bands and beer specials. It was the kind of place that smelled like coffee, grease, and maple syrup before you even stepped inside.“This is it,” Ethan said, pulling into a spot near the door. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”Caleb needed him today. Packing up, making sure Vanessa didn’t suddenly whisk their son away to California. It was serious enough that Ethan couldn’t join them, and Milo felt a pang of warmth at how much it mattered to

Milo’s pulse thundered in his ears, loud enough that he could barely hear the rasp of his own breathing. He swayed a little where he sat straddling Ethan, his thighs trembling, his face hot with drink and nerves. He’d never even thought about doing this, but Ethan was looking at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.“I… I can’t,” Milo stammered, his voice cracking with nerves. “I’ve never—touched anyone like that before.” His hands hovered uncertainly at Ethan’s hips, like he was afraid of even making contact.Ethan’s voice was steady, calm, the same tone he used when he wanted Milo to trust him on the ice. “You can. I want you to. Start small. Just touch me.”Milo hesitated, the alcohol making him bold but clumsy. He pressed his palms against Ethan’s sides, sliding down slowly, almost experimentally, until his fingers brushed lower. His breath caught like he’d touched fire.Ethan didn’t flinch. He just tipped his head back against the pillow, watching Milo through half

Milo woke to the thin wash of morning light cutting across the room. His mouth was dry, his tongue thick, and a dull ache pulsed at the base of his skull. A hangover. Mild, but enough to remind him of the pitchers and shots that had seemed like such a good idea last night.He groaned and rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. For a moment he thought maybe it had all been a dream. The fog of sleep clung to him, softening the edges of memory.Then it hit.His eyes flew open, heart thudding as fragments of the night slammed back into place. His clumsy hands, Ethan’s voice urging him on, the unbearable heat, the way Ethan had looked at him like he’d trusted him with everything. The whisper he’d let slip at the very end.I think I… love… you.Milo groaned again, louder this time, dragging both hands over his face.“Fuck.” His cheeks burned even alone in the empty room.Empty.He sat up, blinking against the light. The bed beside him was bare, sheets rumpled but cool. No Ethan