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I snicker quietly. “You’d have to talk to Ryder about that. The man has a problem sharing what he had for dinner—you think he’s going to stand in front of hundreds of people and recite his vows? Because we both know you’re not keeping that wedding guest list below five hundred.”
“I can’t help that I have friends. Jeez.” His humorous expression quickly sobers. “And you’re wrong about him. I think you’d be surprised what that man would be willing to do for you.”
We go silent.
Then I turn toward him and lean my head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” I say.
“You didn’t. I disappointed myself.” He pauses. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” I pause. “I love you too.”
Another silence ripples between us.
“I was inducted into the Hall of Fame.”
“I know.” I didn’t send him a congratulations myself, but I did tell Mom to pass it along because I’m not a heartless jerk.
“There’s a ceremony and party next weekend. I’d love it if you and your husband would attend.”
After a beat, I nod and squeeze his hand. “We’d be honored.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
GIGI
Just a moment in time
RYDER LOOKS LIKE SEX IN A SUIT, AND IT TAKES ALL MY WILLPOWER not to bang him in the bathroom at the Hall of Fame ceremony. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be, having a hot, six-foot-five hockey player husband. I want to bang him all the time, and that’s a real problem.
But tonight is about my father, so I keep my brain out of the gutter, chastely hold my husband’s hand, and count the hours until we’re in a bed.
The ceremony was more emotional than I expected. I cried during it, pride filling my chest when the former Boston head coach honored my father with a beautiful speech. Now it’s the party portion of the night, and we’re unfortunately stuck doing the part I hate the most: mingling. Luckily, I have Ryder and Wyatt to share in the torture with. Mom doesn’t seem to mind the mingling. Or maybe she just had to do so much of it over the years, for both her career and his, that she’s good at pretending.
“Greg, I’d like you to meet my kids, Gigi and Wyatt.” Dad appears with an older gray-haired man in town.
The man looks vaguely familiar, and then Dad introduces him, and it turns out they played together for one season twenty years ago, when Dad was a rookie and Greg was the wily veteran.
“And this is my son-in-law, Luke.”
It amazes me how in less than a month, Dad can now say the word son-in-law with such ease, as if Ryder’s been part of the family for years.
“Oh, this guy needs no introduction,” Greg says with a grin, reaching out to shake Ryder’s hand. “Luke Ryder! Ah, man, I’ve been following your career since the World Juniors. Can’t wait for you to head to Dallas and see what you do down there.”
“Me too,” Ryder says.
They chat for a few minutes, and then our group moves along to mingle anew.
This time it’s a coach from Detroit. One of the other inductees this year is a former Red Wings player.
Dad once again introduces Ryder, although this time he adds a throwaway line that makes me raise an eyebrow.
“Luke is going to coach at the Hockey Kings camp in August,” he tells the guy. He glances at Ryder. “Coach Belov will be assisting us one of the days on a shooting workshop. So you two will get to work together, get to know each other better.”
“Looking forward to it,” Ryder says, and I can see him doing his level best to maintain a neutral expression.
Once Belov wanders away, Ryder stares at my dad, who says, “What?”
“Was that your way of giving me the coaching slot at Hockey Kings?”
“Oh, do I need to do an official ask? I just assumed you’d say yes.”
Wyatt snorts.
I sip my champagne. For once in my life, I might actually be enjoying myself at one of these events. So, of course, the universe decides to ruin it.
Brad Fairlee is making his way toward us.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Ryder follows my gaze and instantly reaches for my hand.
Dad notices the new arrival and gives me a look of assurance. “It’ll be okay.”
And it is. At first. Fairlee just shakes Dad’s hand, congratulates him on the honor. Then he congratulates both me and Ryder on our respective championships. I manage to stifle my resentment when he and Dad discuss the upcoming women’s Worlds. It’s in two weeks, and it utterly grates that I could have been playing in it. Still feels like a failure on my part, but I keep forcing myself to remember Ryder’s words. It’s just a moment in time. There will be other moments.
Everything’s friendly and polite—until Fairlee brings up his daughter. It starts off innocuous, him telling Mom about how Emma is auditioning for roles on the West Coast. Then it turns into him glancing at me, his features tightening.
