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Leesa fist-punched the air. “Yesss! Our fan club road trip! Montréal, here we come!”

“I don’t want to keep you out late when we can do this another time,” he offered.

“Ah, don’t worry about me.” Georgie leaned in. “Kait’s got everything organized. All I have to do is show up at nine to manage the second bus. With all the school trips I’ve done, I can do this one in my sleep.”

Great. His breaths quickened. No delaying the inevitable then.

“I’m glad you want to come with me again, though.” Her smile widened as they passed a stinky dumpster outside the back of the restaurant. “That means you’re having fun!”

Well, he was…until now. Unfortunately, Oliver’s definition of fun didn’t include blowing the lid off his true identity in front of Georgie and a booth packed with her closest friends.

Randall yanked open the dented metal door. “First round’s on Leesa!” he exclaimed, ducking his head.

“Hey!” Leesa thumped her brother’s arm as the clatter of dishes and the muffled guitar riff of Run-DMC’s “It’s Tricky” spilled into the night.

Chewing his bottom lip, Oliver met Georgie’s gaze as the siblings stormed inside. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said, rubbing his shoulder. “Will told us to use this entrance.” She kissed his cheek, and they joined a newly arrived (and bickering) Davis and Stefanie, and entered the building.

Glancing beyond the kitchen doorjamb, Oliver spied apron-wearing staff prepping chicken wings and burgers sizzling on the grill, the usually tempting aroma of barbecue rousing an uncomfortable queasiness in his stomach. He stayed close to Georgie as they slipped through another door and emerged into a narrow hallway leading to the bar’s large screens, thumping music, and standing-room-only crowd.

“You excited about tomorrow?” he asked, desperate for a distraction.

“I am! I’ve never been to the Montréal Forum before, Canada’s other church of hockey.” They squeezed past a man yelling into the wall-mounted pay phone.

“How far is Montréal?”

“Five, six hours. Game’s at eight, so we’re staying over, too.” Gaze searching, Georgie locked onto her target. A grin lit up her face. “Will!”

Oliver’s blood ran cold. He turned apprehensively, meeting the affable nod of the older gentleman he’d spotted during his first visit. His brown eyes, tortoise shell glasses, crooked nose, and thick salt and pepper hair didn’t offer any discernible visual clues of an immediate familial connection, thank god.

“Was that a win or what?!” he replied, holding a heaping bowl of sliced limes. “Two goals for Borschevsky, two for Anderson. Exactly what the doctor ordered.”

Georgie wrapped herself around Oliver. “This guy’s our new good luck charm!”

The warmth of her hug and appreciative gaze did little to thaw the chill encroaching on his heart. If Georgie mentions my last name…

“Will, this is my boyfriend⁠—”

“Oliver.” Pulse thrashing in his chest, he thrust his hand forward, controlling the introduction. “Nice to meet you.”

Will greeted Oliver with a firm shake. “So you’re Georgie’s new fella! I heard there was a special someone.”

Beaming, Georgie gave Oliver a squeeze.

“I can’t place your accent,” said Will. “Where you from, son?”

A sour taste rose in Oliver’s throat. “London.”

“But he was born in Sweden!” added Georgie a little too enthusiastically.

Will’s brows rose. “Ahh, okay! I spent some time there in my early twenties.”

Georgie gasped. “Really?”

Unease sliced through Oliver as his stare skated across a deep, faded scar on Will’s chin.

“Oh, it was ages ago, during a contract dispute,” said Will. “A buddy was over there playing and suggested I join him. Made sense. I could stay fit, see a bit of the world till things settled down.” He shrugged. “It was only a few months. Blink and it’s like it never happened.”

But it DID. I did. His blood boiling, accusatory questions hovered on Oliver’s tongue, but he couldn’t let them escape. Not yet. Instead, he mustered a polite grin, mindful of the woman by his side and all he had to lose if he allowed his emotions to run riot.