Page 31 of Slapshot Bride

He points toward the magazine cover. “That’s work.”

Then he points at himself. “This is me.”

I snort.

“The point is,” he says, “hockey is a job.”

“A very famous job.”

“A job nonetheless.”

I study him.

The sincerity in his expression. The complete lack of ego. If anything, he looks mildly embarrassed we're even having this conversation.

Still, I think I’ve managed to land in an even bigger mistake than escaping Preston Sinclair. Because a famous hockey player? In a renowned club? LA Ice?

“So…” I lift my head. “Let me get this straight. I've spent six years engaged to a man the media loves. He cheated on me. I ran. I jumped into the first car I saw at a red light.” I gesture at the magazine above his head. “And the car turned out to belong to another man the media loves.”

“Riley.”

I don’t respond because there’s nothing to say.

“Maybe this is a mistake. Coming here… Being… being seen with you. It’s a lot. It’s…”

I look at him on the floor across from me, with damp hair and the most patient face I've ever seen on a man.

But I’m not convinced. I should leave. Walk out the door this minute and never return or even think about him again.

“It’s not a mistake. You’re safe here. I promise.”

The words are soothing, and they carry his promise. I know he means it.

I still remember how he was with me at the parking lot of the boutique. Shielding me from the cameras.

He pushes himself to his feet and stretches out a hand.

“Come on.”

I eye it suspiciously.

“Why?”

“I want to show you something.”

I take his palm, and he pulls me up.

“Is it another magazine cover?”

His laugh echoes in the hallway. “No.”

He walks me to the back of the house. Through a set of glass doors, into a long bright room I did not know existed.

It's a pool.

An indoor pool, lit from above by skylights, the water a clear blue that instantly calls to me.

“What else am I yet to see?” I ask.