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“Isn’t that what you want? To provoke his emotion?” she inquires.
Yeah… that’s exactly what I want. If I can at least have proximity to him, I can work my magic. I feel exhilarated all of a sudden, a well of hope surging within me. I’m back in the game and with Brienne at my back, Van’s not going to be able to hide away from me completely.
A genuine smile splits my face. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“Invite me to the renewal of your vows or something,” Brienne says with a laugh, pushing up out of her chair. “Now… go get a shower. Eat some food. Maybe take a nap. But tomorrow night, be ready. I’m putting together a girls’ dinner to introduce you to some new friends that I think you desperately need. I’ll have my driver come by and pick you up at seven p.m.”
“But—”
“Nobuts, Simone.” She walks to the door and opens it. Turning back to look at me, she repeats, “Be ready tomorrow night at seven. And the night after, I’ll also have my driver pick you up for the game. That way you can drink and have fun.”
“Um… I don’t drink,” I say.Not with a baby on board.
“No matter. You won’t have to worry about driving, then.”
“I don’t know about dinner tomorrow night,” I say fretfully. “I mean… Van will be coming back and I might get a chance to talk to him.”
Brienne’s mouth curves into a crafty smirk. “Or… he could wonder where in the hell you are and it would eat him up.”
Oh my God… she may be as devious as I am when it comes to wearing Van down. I grin at her. “Okay… I’m in for dinner and the game.”
Then she’s gone and I have to wonder if I imagined it all. But no, that was indeed Brienne Norcross breathing new life into my campaign to reclaim my husband.
And I’m here for it.
CHAPTER 7
Van
Skating off theice for a line change, I drop onto the bench and accept a bottle of water from one of the trainers. I squirt it in my mouth and absently hand it back over my shoulder.
I follow the action with Coen leading the first line. He executes a crisp pass to Stone on the far side. Stone cradles the puck on his stick, his eyes scanning the ice for a perfect opportunity. He spies Boone darting toward the net, creating a distraction for the Dragon defense.
Stone whips the puck toward the net and I hear the Los Angeles crowd gasp at the speed with which it careens toward their goalie. Fate has a different plan for us as the Dragon goalie scoops it out of the air in an impressive display of athleticism that has the fans roaring with approval.
“Fuck,” I growl. That was a good fucking play, executed flawlessly, only to be denied by a remarkable save.
Such is the nature of the game.
And admittedly, something I’m enjoying. The intensity of competition has been a bit of a balm to my soul. It lets me evade the horrors of my reality. When I feel the chill of the arena, the sound of blades cutting through ice, it transports me to an almost fantasy dimension where I can escape completely.
Coming back to pro hockey was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.
A minute and a half later, I’m back on the ice with my third-line mates. This is only our fourth game together and we’ve had only two practices, but we’re meshing well. Our center, Anders Blom, is a young kid at only twenty-three, drafted from the Swedish Hockey League. He’d been down in the minors when the plane crash happened and was pulled up to join the new squad. He needs some seasoning and according to our GM it’s one of the reasons they wanted me on the team.
Many came up from the minors and are young—at least by my standards at thirty-one.
Our left-winger, Evgeny Denisenko, is twenty-five but sometimes acts thirteen. I’ve quickly figured out he’s the prankster on the team and the one always cutting up at practice. I don’t say anything, though, because when he’s on the ice with me in the heat of battle, he’s fucking solid.
Dillon Martelle is the third-line right-winger and he’s closer to my age than the others. At twenty-eight, he’s married and has two kids. He spent most of his career in the minors but is playing super competitively this year.
Lastly, Mason Lavoie is my defense partner. A hulking kid of nearly six foot seven, he’s only nineteen and one of the youngest on the team. He’s whip-smart and fairly agile, despite his size. His biggest weakness I can see so far is his uncertainty about when to act the enforcer. His blood doesn’t run hot the way mine does and I tend to push boundaries when out on the ice. Callum specifically wants him to learn from me, so we’ve had a few talks.
With every stride, every check, every calculated move, I immerse myself in the rhythm of the game. The familiar sounds of skates carving the ice, sticks clashing, and the thud of the puck hitting the boards are a symphony that guides me forward.
Yes, coming back to the league was the best thing for me. It’s what I needed… to replace Simone. I immerse myself in the battle, letting my emotions ebb and flow as the momentum shifts back and forth between us and the Dragons. We trade goals, both sides refusing to back down. The tension in the arena is palpable as the clock winds down to the final minutes. Every shift counts—every play could be the difference.
In these crucial moments as the final seconds tick, I find solace in the camaraderie of my teammates. I’m the newest member of the Titans, but in the last six days, I’ve had nothing but their unwavering support. They’ve accepted me into the brotherhood with open arms and I’ve done my best to give it back. When I was with the Cold Fury, always hiding in fear that my true identity would be revealed, I kept myself closed off from everyone.
