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I had thought the same thing, but as I watched Bradshaw and King execute the play perfectly, I reminded myself that Colton was a pro. “He’s not going to let petty stuff from the past—”
“Ohhhh!” Smitty yelled, interrupting me. I hadn’t been focused on the play and turned to see Bradshaw’s skates in the air, seconds before he crumpled to the ice.
Coach blew his whistle. No one moved to help Bradshaw up off the ice. “What happened? I missed it,” I asked.
“Bradshaw learned that running into Hammer is like running into a freight train.” Smitty’s eyes were glued to the action.
Bradshaw stood and then tapped his stick on the ice, indicating he wanted to run the play again. “He’s a tough bastard,” Smitty muttered under his breath.
As I watched the dynamic between Colton and Liam, I wondered if Everleigh was some kind of sadist. “What was she thinking?” I mused.
“Who?” Smitty asked. His eyes were glued to the action.
“Our GM. She hired her brother’s enemy.”
Smitty leaned back and slung his arm on the bench behind me. “I kind of admire it, actually.”
I glanced to our captain. He stood tall and stoic, and followed Coach’s instructions. But he wasn’t fluid and smooth, like his usual style. He was robotic and stiff.
“The Ice Queen’s got balls.” Smitty laughed. “Snow balls.”
I rolled my eyes at his juvenile joke, but understood what he was saying. And as I was watching my replacement, it didn’t feel like a win – it felt like a cross-check from behind.
“You know what?” I stood.
“What?” Smitty’s eyes were still glued to the on-ice drama.
“I’m going to go.” I squeezed past Smitty’s knees.
“Wait, what?” Smitty looked at me. “Go where?”
“I don’t know.” I threw my gloved hand in the air to wave to Smitty and strode down the hallway to the dressing room. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing. All I knew was that I needed to get the hell out of King Coliseum.
TWENTY-THREE
EVERLEIGH
The horseback ridewith Ali had turned out to be on the last nice day of the season, and I was glad we’d spent the day by the river. Since then, the weather had turned nasty, and I sat in the waiting room of the private women’s clinic with my royal-blue wool coat wrapped tightly around me.
Alison rushed into the waiting room. She spotted me and rushed to my side. “Oh good, I didn’t miss it. Traffic was a nightmare.”
The fluorescent lights buzzed above and I pulled my oversized sunglasses out of my purse. “Don’t tell me I look ridiculous. I don’t care.” I crossed my arms. After six positive pregnancy tests, I still wasn’t convinced that I was pregnant.
“You don’t look ridiculous. You look like Audrey Hepburn. And you missed the family dinner last night,” Ali stated.
“I’m aware of that.” I took a breath, regretting my harsh tone. “I was throwing up all night. Did I miss anything?”
Ali settled into her chair. “Marisa was late.”
“For King Sunday dinner?” I was sure my eyebrows raised high enough to be seen over the top of my glasses. “Why?”
“Something about her tennis game.”
I shrugged. I no longer cared about Marisa or family drama. I had created my own.
Alison shifted in her chair and took a deep breath. “Everleigh, there’s something you should know—”
“Miss Hardwood?” A nurse in pink scrubs called into the waiting room.
