Stefan
She still moves like lightning, sliding across the crease in a flash of movement, stopping pucks she shouldn’t be able to stop, especially considering how old she is, how hurt she’d been a year ago, how—
For all intents and purposes, her career should be over.
For another player, it likely would be.
And yet, she persists.
Not being dragged along behind the team either.
Strong, carrying them through games at times, and though she’s not the clear starter any longer—the team allowing her to share the role and give their former backup plenty of game time to gain experience—she’s still that solid presence the Gold needs.
Just like she was my solid presence.
Until she wasn’t.
I sigh, push off the wall, start to turn for the exit.
I’ve gotten the call, know that my parents and Rox are heading to Molly’s.
It’s time for hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and pastries that are flakey and yummy and delicious, and—
“What are you doing to our girl?”
I stop in the face of two women with stern expressions and crossed arms. Though it was the little one who had spoken, I know they are both dangerous and deadly, especially in protection of one they love.
I raise my hands, palms out. “I don’t interfere in your guys’ relationships—”
This sends Mandy—the taller of the duo and head trainer for the Gold—snorting, her brows lifting. “You mean you didn’t interfere when Blane tried to tell me that insider VIP passes to a certain boy wizard’s theme park experience were too expensive?”
I shake my head. “That’s different. You love the little scarred bastard and it was only available for a limited time.”
Her brows flick higher. “And it wasn’t interference when I was ready to take up arms when he wanted to take my little Maddy in the ocean”—a beat—“with sharks and you talked me down from the edge?”
I shrug. “The chances of a shark attack are—”
She shudders and waves a hand. “Don’t.” A breath, expression clearing, hardening. “My point is that we are who we are, and that means we interfere in each other’s lives because we love each other, and it means”—she juts out her chin in irritation—“that when someone is being dumb, we call them on their bullshit.”
I clench my back teeth together, exhale, then turn toward Sara. “You going to let her do the talking?”
One slender shoulder lifts and falls. “Mandy’s doing great all on her own.”
Great at making that guilt—ever-present inside me—grow and swell until it feels like I can barely draw in air.
“It’s all over the news,” Mandy says and I return my focus to her, heart sinking.
“What’s all over the news?” I ask, even though my heart is sinking.
“That you’ve officially filed for divorce.”
My eyes slide closed.
Fuck.
Silence for a beat before Sara takes over. “Now that the season’s underway, the story’s been picked up nationally.” She shakes her head. “The headline in the Times this morning is: Hockey’s Power Couple is Splitsville. Female Goalie Can’t Stop This. Plantain is Barie No More.”
I shudder.
God, the media are just a bunch of assholes.
And not even fucking creative.
Dumbasses.
I sigh, shove down the surge of protectiveness that wants to send me back toward Brit, that wants to shelter her from this shit. I want to track down every newspaper and throw them into a bonfire. I want to crash every website carrying the story, torpedo their apps.
But…
I don’t.
Because I can’t go back.
Because I had to do it.
Because it was for her own good. The news will blow over and—
“Do you really not care?” Mandy snaps. “That you’ve shredded her through and through?”
My throat goes tight. “I—”
“Mom!”
We all turn, see that Mandy’s oldest, Maddy, is running toward us.
Freeing me from the hot seat.
Putting this fucking conversation to rest.
But not making the guilt go away.
I inhale, exhale, hold myself still through the battering ram of that remorse, pull it together enough to say a proper hello to Maddy, to exchange a terse goodbye with Mandy. But Sara hangs back as the pair goes to get ready for the skating lesson Sara is giving Maddy that morning, and I know that all of the bracing I’m doing isn’t going to be enough for the blow that’s about to fly my way.
“She thinks that she wasn’t woman enough for you.”
I freeze, having to clench every muscle in my body to stop myself from crumpling over.
Because Brit thinks—
And last night—
And this morning—
And—
Fucking hell.
“Yeah,” Sara mutters. “I figured that might finally get through your big, dumb brain.”
“I—”
She lifts a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, haven’t been in your bedroom other than to help my girl pick out an outfit so someone might think she’s attractive and sexy and wanted.”
One blow after another.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
“So, no, I understand that I don’t get every nuance of your guys’ lives,” she murmurs. “But I’ve been around enough to know when someone I love is fucking up royally.”
She turns away.
Turns back.
“And, just to clarify, the person who’s fucking up is you,” she says. Half of her mouth curves. “In case there’s any doubt of that.”
There’s not any doubt.
None whatsoever.
But I still suck in a breath, try to formulate a response that can justify why I’ve done what I’ve done without revealing why the fuck I’ve done what I’ve done.
Turns out that I don’t need to come up with an excuse.
Because Sara is turning away again, only this time she doesn’t rotate back to mentally jab at me. She walks away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
Or an asshole who’s likely made the biggest mistake of his life…
An asshole who can’t do shit about it, even if I want to.
A puck cracks against the glass, and my gaze is drawn over my shoulder, drawn toward the rink and the players on it. Drawn toward the woman who’s manning the net like she’s been born to it.
Probably because she was born to it.
Playing this sport like it’s in her blood, her heart, her soul.
Because it is.
Our eyes connect, chocolate brown with my own blue, and I feel my pulse pick up, rattling through my veins.
Holding.
Staring.
Wishing things could be different.
But knowing they can’t be.
“This is how it has to be,” I whisper.
But as I stand there, staring into milk chocolate eyes I know better than my own, I wonder…
Is it truly the way it has to be?