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There are only a few minutes left on the clock when he takes a pass from Ahlstrom and Erik whistles low under his breath. The puck seemed to find Vic’s stick by magnets or magic or some greater force. Hockey gods maybe.
“He’s going to do it,” Erik says. If this was a closer game, the whole arena would be standing, watching Vic break for the wide-open net.
“Do what?” Quinn asks and Erik doesn’t answer. I don’t blame him because I see it too. “Seriously,” the redhead asks as Vic’s eyes dart right to left. He’s alone. Just him and the puck and the second-string goalie Toronto put out for the start of the third period. “What’s he—”
Erik shushes her. “Sorry baby,” he says, eyes glued to the ice and his twin. “Take the damn shot, Vic. He’s weak on his left side and we all know it’s your best—”
Vic’s stick pulls back, his hips square up, and the puck sails right past the wide-open glove and into the back of the net. Goal.
A hat trick.
His first of the season.
I’m on my feet along with half the arena, hats pouring down onto to ice to celebrate. The game is almost over, but there’s no way the fans would miss this chance. He points in my direction as Erik, Quinn, and I bang our fists on the glass. The arena is so loud I can’t hear myself screaming, but my lips form the words, anyway.
I love you.
Vic points at me, blowing a kiss in my direction, and the volume around me increases. He scoops a hat off the ice and tosses it to the bench as both teams regroup while a group of teenagers flit across the ice with shovels and large trash barrels.
“Do you know how to get to the bench?” Erik asks as the noise settles. Most of the fans file out of their seats. The game’s conclusion is obvious, and they’d rather beat the traffic.
I nod. “Yes, but I don’t have my badge.”
“I don’t think you need it,” Quinn smiles at me. “Your husband’s the captain of the team and the guy who just scored beaucoup goals.”
I scramble out of my seat and up the concrete steps, grateful for my size and sneakers as I dodge around other fans. Quinn is right and they let me down the back stairs with no problem, just a wink and a smile. For a moment, I wonder if we need to tighten up security and if I should let Chris or someone know, then I’m sprinting down the steps and bolting for the tunnel like my life depends on it.
I reach the end as the announcer calls the final score and I know the teams are headed onto the ice to shake hands. I stop, torn. Do I go out there and make a spectacle of us? Throw my arms around his neck and kiss him? Do I wait here?
I stay where I am. I want there to be no doubt about my actions, my choice. I’m here because I want him back. I am his and he is mine, not to put on a show for anyone else.
The guys file past me. They’re buzzing with energy, dripping sweat. There’s a testosterone funk that comes with them, muted by the frigid scent of the ice. I smile at Oakes, Spaeglin, and Ólaffson as they pass. Offer congratulations on a well-deserved win. I take the good-natured ribbing and the lucky charm nickname as I crane my neck, looking for one tall, blonde-haired, hazel-eyed captain.
He’s the last one off the ice—of course he is—and my heart races as I catch sight of his broad shoulders and helmet. His hair is dark with sweat and he has a cut above his right eye from a high stick during the second period. He stops when he sees me. The last couple of guys between us exchange grins and hurry the rest of the way down the tunnel until it’s just me and Vic staring each other down.
“I thought you left,” he says, and my heart aches.
“I’m sorry I was late. Max didn’t tell me about the ticket until I was in the middle of a clay mask.”
“No. I’m sorry,” he says, and I shake my head.
“I’m sorry about the penalty.”
“I don’t care about the penalty.” He drops his stick to the rubber flooring and peels his gloves off. “I don’t care that you were late. I’m sorry that I lied to you.”
He steps into my body.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t marry you that night because god knows I wanted to, but I’m also not sorry because my aim was to protect you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner. I meant to, but I thought I had more time. And then I didn’t, and I was terrified of losing you. I made some bad decisions. I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I regret, but none of them comes close to how sorry I am for letting you doubt me. Doubt us. I love you, Tristan. I will spend the rest of my life showing you that you can trust me. That I’m all in. You can have all the time you need to see I’m not going anywhere. That you are my number one priority. Always.”
His big body trembles. I can see the movement even under the bulk of his pads and uniform.
“I love you,” I say, pressing my hand to his sticky cheeks. Tears and sweat making them wet against my palms. “Did I get a chance to say that before?”
His eyes close as he leans into my touch.
“I love you, Victor Varg. I’m not happy you kept something like our marital status from me, especially when you knew how much it was going to upend our lives, but I still love you. I don’t have to like what you did to recognize the part I played in our fight.”
“You what?” His voice is hoarse, like he was the one screaming into the mass of people.
