My thumb runs along the length of my wedding band.
What the hell was I thinking?
After a flight to sunny Florida, a skate to help clear my head, and some good-natured ribbing by my teammates, I should be over it.
Rielle and I made a deal. We signed a contract.
It shouldn’t bother me that I stroked and coaxed her body into the sweetest submission one night and fucked her hard and dirty the next. I should be happy that our sexual connection, our chemistry, is off the goddamn charts.
Instead, I’m pissed off; that one night she looked at me like a man she trusts, like a man she could give her heart to, and the next, like a stranger who can get her off quickly.
What the hell changed in the time between kissing her rosebud mouth at the altar and being on the receiving end of her glare on our wedding night? Does she regret getting married? Did she finally wake up and realize all that she’s sacrificing by making this commitment? The years in her twenties that she could be out, dating, settling down with a man who truly owns her soul, making babies?
Fuck. I spring from the desk chair in my hotel room, restless energy coursing through my body like electricity. There’s nowhere for it to go so it keeps building, layer upon layer, until I feel ready to combust. My hands clench into fists and I check the time again.
I have another hour to kill before I can head to the arena. I’m desperate to get on the ice and play tonight. The game, the mental focus it requires, the physical release it encourages, I’m ready to lose myself in it completely.
A knock at the door has me striding toward it and pulling it wide open.
I grin when I see it’s James Ryan, the other Hawks defenseman. More than anything, I wish I had confided in him about my sham of a marriage. I know Rielle and I desperately needed to limit the number of people who knew the truth but James would have been a solid guy to reach out to for advice.
“Hey,” I say, holding the door open wider. “What’s going on?”
James squints at me, his expression grave, his eyes searching. “You tell me. You in some type of trouble?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Why would you think that?”
James gives me a look and pushes past me into my hotel room. “You got married out of the blue to a girl no one knew you were even dating. You’re broody—”
I blanch. I don’t brood. Glower, maybe. But broody?
“You’re quieter than normal too.” James points at me accusingly.
I shrug. “Just got a lot going on right now.”
“Torst, my life is a mess. It’s been one big fucking disaster for the past year. For me to even notice that you’re checked out means you’re more than checked out. So, what’s going on?”
I wince at the bluntness with which he says the words. A little over a year ago, James’s wife passed from cancer, leaving him and their young twins behind. He’s been grappling with her loss ever since, existing on autopilot. He shows up when and where he’s supposed to. He volunteers for field trips and waits in school pickup lines. He signs autographs when someone asks him to. But I haven’t seen him really smile since Layla died. I’m not sure if he knows how to anymore.
“I know you’re hurting, man. And I’m sorry.”
James runs a hand over three-day-old stubble. His gray eyes flash, angry and anguished. “I’m not hurting, Torsten. I’m not anything except numb.”
I don’t believe him for a second but empathy rocks through me at his tortured expression. James and I came up through the ranks together. We’ve been the starting defensive line for years and a cornerstone of the Hawks team. He’s only a few years younger than me and yet, he’s lived what seems like a hundred years more.
“I have no idea what you’re going through, Ryan, but if there’s anything I can do to help…”
He shakes his head. “Appreciate it, man. But I’m not so easily distracted by deflection anymore. Tell me what’s going on with you.”
I grapple with how much truth to share with James. For years, I was the guy with his heart on his sleeve, an open book, a call-it-like-I-see-it kind of man. Now, it’s as if everyone gets varying degrees of the truth, just shades of my honesty. It leaves me feeling rotten, like less of the principled guy I held myself up to be for years. I guess marrying not for love is a gateway for other, less desirable traits. I blow out a breath. “Man, I can’t tell you everything.”
He frowns. “You in trouble?”
I shake my head. “You’re a steel vault, right?” I meet his eye and after a second, he nods. I trust all the guys on my team, some more than others. But James is up there. “My knee never fully recovered from my last surgery. My shoulder is fucked up.”
James frowns at me, sitting down in the desk chair. He leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees. “What are you talking about?”
I grab two bottles of water from the mini-fridge and toss one to him. I place mine down so I can rest my left hand over the right side of my chest. Slowly, I rotate my shoulder. The loud popping and clicking sounds ring out in the quiet space and James winces.
“Physio? Treatments?”
“I’ve pretty much run the gamut. Look, I’m going to be thirty-eight. I’m getting too old for this and I know it. I’m not re-signing.”
James sits straight up in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his expression grim. After a moment, he scrapes his hand over his face. “Fuck.”
“I need to be realistic.”
“You had an incredible career.”
“It wasn’t awful,” I agree.
He gives me a lopsided smile, understanding and compassion in his eyes. No one wants to see a player go. When you do, it makes you start counting down how much time you have left. But for a guy like James, whose been through hell this year, playing hockey doesn’t hold the same weight it once did. “What does this have to do with marriage?”
I shrug. “It’s time, James. I need to start thinking about the next chapter of my life.”
“Okay. But this girl, Rielle—”
“She’s a good woman.”
“How well do you really know her?”
“Enough to know I could spend the rest of my life by her side and be happy.” Once the words are out, I realize the truth behind them. Rielle could make me happy forever; it’s me who can never make her light up like the sun.
James gives me a long, searching look. After a moment, he sighs, and I know that he knows there’s more to this than I’m willing to discuss. “Then why the long face?”
“It’s complicated.”
He chuckles and it’s the first time I’ve heard him almost-laugh in months that I look up, surprised. He shakes his head at me. “What do you need, Torst?”
“Well, now that you’re here, I’m not opposed to a little advice. You’re right, things with Ri happened fast. We don’t really know each other the way most couples do when they marry. But I know the parts that matter to me the most. I know the kind of woman she is.”
“And that’s great, man. But Torsten, marriage isn’t just some agreement you make for a few years. It’s a lifelong commitment. It’s sacred and special. You say vows.”
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. Heat spreads across the back of my neck. James would feel sorry for me if he knew that I said vows knowing I was going to break them. But God, I don’t want to. I’m desperate for even a shred of what James shared with Layla. I just have no clue how the hell to create that with a woman who has her whole life ahead of her, one who married me for all the wrong reasons.
Do Ri and I even stand a chance? Getting married for a green card and a loan buyout is clearly starting off on the wrong foot.
I uncap my water bottle and take a long swig. When I slam it back down on the dresser, James swears.
I look up and freeze. Because James, my old friend, is looking at me in pure disbelief.
“What?” I ask.
“Jesus, Torsten. You want this for real, don’t you? I thought it was some kind of midlife crisis. Some desperate attempt to fill some void, to deal with the weight of almost turning forty. But you want the whole thing, the vows and the marriage and the wife.”
Pins and needles travel up and down my limbs at the truth, the accusation, in James’s tone. I feel exposed in a way I never have before but after years of being on my own, with no one to count on or trust save for Farmor nearly 3,500 miles away, yeah, I fucking want it.
James leans back in his chair and rolls the water bottle between his hands. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“What day?”
“The day that Torsten Hansen truly wanted something more than one night only. Or, in this case, one month only.”
“Rielle is my wife, James.”
He nods, considering my words. “Do you trust her?”
“Yes.”
“Does she care about your best interests?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it all about the money or social status?”
I chuckle, remembering how Rielle wanted to pay half my rent. I never bothered to tell her I own the penthouse outright. There’s not even a mortgage. “Not at all.”
“Do you guys laugh when nothing’s funny? Do you enjoy her company?” He lifts an eyebrow at me.
Slowly, I nod.
He smiles back. “Then there’s hope for you yet. You don’t have to be madly, passionately in love, although that helps.” He tilts his head toward mine, his eyes serious. “You need to have the foundation of a friendship, the ability to communicate, and the desire to care. If you’re starting off with that, you may be able to grow a relationship that blossoms into the kind of love you’re searching for.”
I stare at him for a long moment, suddenly realizing just how much he, Milly, and Mason truly lost when Layla passed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have even half of what you did with Layla. But fuck, James, I’m so sorry you lost her.”
He dips his head and a long beat passes. When he meets my eyes again, his are ringed in a sadness so acute, I feel it in my chest. “I hope you do, Torsten. As for me, I’m just grateful as fuck I got to have Layla for as long as I did.”
I nod, a lump of emotion swelling in my chest.
James stands from his chair. “Come on.” He clasps my shoulder. “We’ve got a game to win. Everything you’re twisted up over, and trust me, you’re going to have more days feeling like this, put it into your play. Turn off the thoughts eating at you, and channel everything you’re messed up over into your performance tonight. At least then, you’ll go to bed feeling better about something.”
I snicker, seeing the merit in his advice. I shoulder my bag and follow James out of the hotel room. As I wait for him to grab his stuff before we head to the lobby to meet the team, it strikes me that this is one of the last times I’ll be doing this.
Hanging with all the guys, gearing up for a game, trying to mentally all get in the same headspace. For years, my team has been my family. Now, I’m desperate to create one with Rielle. And it fucking hurts to know that on top of losing hockey, I’ll never have with her what I truly want most. Even if James believes otherwise.
I glide down the ice, the cold air rushing by. With a stick in hand, ice beneath my skates, and a packed arena, I feel settled for the first time since I married Rielle.
Some of the anxiety I’ve been holding in my chest recedes as I lock into the game, my body tensing for the second period face-off. Tampa gains possession of the puck and I angle my body in between the puck carrier and the net, skating backwards until we’re battling it out in the corner.
“Come on, old man,” number seventy-two mutters, his shoulder slamming into mine. Kid’s been trash talking all night, trying to get me off my game. A few seasons ago, it might have worked. But right now, I keep my focus on the puck.
The hit vibrates down my arm, like pins and needles. I hear his loud breathing and his obnoxious chuckle but I don’t pay him any mind. We keep at it in the corner until I gain control of the puck and initiate a clean breakout, skating furiously until I can flip the puck to Easton.
Seventy-two flies by me and I shake my head.
The rest of the period passes in a blur. I give everything I have to the game, leave everything on the ice. Knowing this is my last season, my last time in the playoffs, maybe even my last game fuels my determination to make every play one of my best.
We win 5–3 and the team breathes a collective sigh of relief. We’re up two to one and need best of seven to advance to the second round. “Good game.” Austin grasps my shoulder and squeezes.
My shoulder screams in protest after taking two hard hits in the third period. I wince, Austin frowns, but I laugh it off. This is my last season and I’m going to see it through.
After a quick team meeting, we all go our separate ways with plans to meet up later for a drink at the hotel bar. Back in my hotel room, I debate whether or not to call Rielle.
Does she want to hear from me? Did she watch the game? Will she even pick up?
My stomach twists and I feel more freaking nervous about calling my wife than I did playing tonight. I snort at myself. Man up, Hansen. You married this woman; you want a future with her. The least you can do is call her, check in, make sure she’s okay after you took off with the morning light and no goodbye.
Working a swallow, I pick up my phone, pleased to see that she texted me.
Rielle: Great game! Congrats on the win!
I can’t stop the goofy grin that splits my face. I tap Rielle’s name.
It rings twice and then, “Torsten.”
I smile. “Hey, Ri.”