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I’d see whether her hair was still more strawberry than blonde beneath natural light. I’d hear the voice no interview, video, or memory had reproduced correctly. I’d find out whether she still pushed her hair behind her ear before saying something that mattered. If she played with her necklace or organized anything in front of her because anxiety was unbearable.

I’d stand close enough to know whether she wore the same perfume. The thought hit with enough force to make me close my eyes.

I missed her.

Fifteen months, a thousand miles, forty-one regular-season goals, several meaningless women, and more therapy than I would ever admit to my teammates hadn’t changed that simple, humiliating truth.

I missed Charm so fucking much that sometimes success felt like another thing I had survived without her.

Cade parked beside the elevator and shut off the engine. For several seconds, neither of us moved.

“You ready?” he asked.

“For the fitting?”

“For all of it.”

I opened my eyes and reached for the door. “No,” I said. “But I’ll be lying if I said I wasn’t happy for you.”

2

Charm

The stylist spun my chair toward the mirror, and for the first time in my adult life, I didn’t immediately search my reflection for something to hate.

Bright blonde hair fell over my shoulders in smooth, loose curls, lighter around my face and threaded with enough strawberry gold to catch beneath the salon lights whenever I moved my head. My roots were gone. The blowout gave the ends expensive-looking bounce without making me resemble a Southern pageant contestant whose mother carried emergency hairspray in her purse.

My face looked softer beneath the color. My cheeks were fuller than they had been the last time my hair reached this length, and the healthy warmth in my skin made the blonde look intentional instead of like another attempt to become someone else.

I smiled, and the woman in the mirror smiled back without asking what right she had to feel beautiful.

“Oh, she knows,” Aura announced from the chair beside mine.

I glanced toward her reflection. “Knows what?”

“That she looks fire.”

“I do look fire.”

The stylist behind me laughed while separating the last section of hair with her fingers. “You really do.”

“I know. I’ve already agreed with both of you.”

Aura turned her head as far as the stylist working on her hair allowed. “Who are you, and what have you done with our emotionally repressed heiress?”

“I retired her.”

“Did she receive a pension?”

“She received a lifetime of therapy and a personality.”

Bliss snorted from beneath a collection of foils two chairs away. “She’s been unbearable since she went blonde.”

“That sounds like jealousy from someone currently trying to become more blonde.”

“I’m enhancing.”

“You’re wrapped in enough foil to intercept government signals.”