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She’s out of the car before it’s in park and the door to the apartment almost closes before I get my foot over the threshold. She’s speeding away from me, as fast as she can, and I almost plow into her body as she whirls in her living room, squaring up against me like we’re meeting in the face-off circle. Jokes on her. My win percentage is just over sixty percent. I intend to win this one too.
“Just spit it out,” she says, eyes on the center of my chest. “Say what you want to say. I know I basically forced you into this, but if you want out, then I’ll give you an out. It would be worse staying married when I—”
She’s gnawing on her bottom lip, and twisting her hands around and around, and something inside me snaps. The kind of break I’m not sure I can fix.
“There isn’t going to be a divorce,” I say, and dammit, that isnotwhat I was supposed to lead with, and definitely not with that tone of voice, but I’m all instinct now. I’m barely cogent around this woman on a good day, let alone when tears well up in the corners of her eyes.
“You asshole.” Her hands are on my chest and she’s pushing me back. One step, two. I let her propel me until I bump up against the door.Still on this side, kitty cat. Good luck getting rid of me that easily.“You let me think…” she hiccups as a tear breaks free. “I thought… I thought you were breaking up with me. Or something. That you wanted out. You jerk.”
And dammit, dammit, dammit, I need a time machine right now. I need to dial back the last twenty minutes and say something,dosomething,anything, because she has the wrong idea. Tristan thought I had one foot out the door. She’s doubting me, and I’ve never felt pain like this before. Not when I fractured bones, or dislocated my shoulder, or got nasty concussions, or Erik, or anything. Ever.
“I thought you were done with me.” The words stick in her throat. “I wasn’t serious about getting divorced. It was a joke. A one-off. I thought you’d hold me tighter and tell me it wasn’t happening. I-I haven’t even thought about it since Vegas. Not really. But then you said nothing. You pushed me away and—oh god—”
I don’t know which one of us moves, but her hands fist in my shirt and mine cup her cheeks. Tears slip over my fingers. I might be crying too.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say the words like a promise. An oath. I will die before I break this one. Slit my throat with my skate blade. Let the ice grow sticky with the red of my blood.
“I’m sorry.” She sobs. “I shouldn’t be crying. This is stupid. It’s—”
She thinks I’m going to leave like her dad. She thought Iwasleaving.
“I’m crazy about you Tristan.” It’s not enough. She needs more and I can give it. I want to. “I love you.”
She’s frozen in front of me and my heart is trying to slam its way out of my body and into the living room with us. Hela is twining around my feet, mewling for attention, and I have none to give. Every fiber of my being is focused on the woman I love. The woman who thinks I could ever consider walking away from her. I can’t.
“I love you Tristan Grant.” I give her the words again. “I love your work ethic and your drive to succeed. I love your patience and your care for your siblings and the team. I love your willingness to do things that scare you, to better yourself day after day after day. I love that you let everyone think you’re ice cold, but your heart burns brighter than anyone I’ve ever met. You love more deeply. Care more.
“You’ve spent your whole life feeling like you have to take care of everyone around you, but no one ever returns the favor. I’m just an average guy who plays above average hockey, and I’m begging you to let me be the one who takes care of you because I love every tiny piece of you. You aren’t getting rid of me. Not today. Not after the season. Not next year. Not when our first kid is twelve. Never.”
She’s shaking, or maybe I am.
“Marry me.” I beg. “Please, kitty cat.”
I feel her smile under my palms before it splits her lips. She laughs, eyes still watery as they dart away from my face.
“What, like again?” Her eyes touch mine and dart away again. Like she’s afraid of my answer. “Like renew our vows? Have a fancy party and a cake?”
“No,” I shake my head, “Like for real this time. Marry me for real.”
I see the moment the words sink in and I let my hands drop from her face as she shifts back. It’s not even a full step, but she feels miles away.
“What?”
This is it. The moment I knew would come. The one I’ve been avoiding since that morning in Vegas.
“We aren’t married,” I tell her, and it takes an effort to keep my voice even. “We never were.”
It’s like the oxygen leaves the room. Sucked out so fast, we both lurch in response. Now’s the time to explain. To tell her she was so excited to see a real Vegas wedding chapel, to watch couples profess their love for eternity in front of a man dressed up in gold and white leather. A man with sideburns covering half his jaw.
I could tell her that her feet hurt, so I boosted her up on my back. That I thought dirty, inappropriate thoughts as her thighs closed around my torso. That she weighed almost nothing as I carried her the twenty minutes to the little white chapel, her skinny heels looped in my fist so they wouldn’t smack into my chest. I’ve carried hockey bags heavier than her.
I could tell her how bright the little space was, with a small selection of jewelry in a big glass case. How she wiggled her way down my back and skipped toward the case, her smile rivaling the fluorescents overhead. How her hair fell in a silk curtain around her shoulders. How between her white dress and my slacks we looked like we fit right in. I could tell her anything about that night, but I don’t.
“We aren’t married.” The words aren’t a question, she’s repeating, letting the meaning sink into her bones. “Not legally.”
I shake my head as a flush climbs up her neck.
“But I told—You didn’t—” She blows out a breath, hair fluttering around her face. “You didn’t think this was information I deserved to know? I almost torpedoed my career. You’re… stuck… here with me. All because of a lie?”
