Page 192
“Mom said she’d talk to him.” I sigh. “But he was so upset. I feel awful we didn’t tell them, but it really did feel like the right call back then, with the Olympics coming up and your season starting.”
“You think when he understands literally no one knew, it will help?” He drops onto his back, lifting his phone over his face.
“Hope so.” I tilt my head. “How did you even let it slip?”
He groans. “Emily was trying to make me talk to the press, and when I said no, she made a comment insinuating nothing could be more important than that. I snapped and said my wife was about to win in the Olympics, and there was no chance I was going to miss it.”
Warmth spreads through me, the butterflies in my stomach dancing. “Your wife, huh?”
“Yeah. Felt so fucking good to finally say it out loud.”
I smile at him, though the expression is interrupted when a yawn breaks over my lips.
“I love you so much,” I tell him, eyes watering.
“I love you too,” he says. “Miss you, baby.”
“I’ll be home soon,” I promise softly. “I can’t wait to just breathe. To focus on us. On you and me.”
“I love the sound of that.”
We talk a little longer. Shortly after I end the call, it hits me—for the first time in years, I don’t have a plan for what comes next. No schedule. No next goal.
All I want is him. Us.
And honestly, that feels like more than enough.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
an olympic gold medalist, and a stanley cup champion
ISLA
Twenty-three years old
Game Seven of the Stanley Cup is coming close to an end. The Phantoms are leading 2-1, but that doesn’t stop my anxiety from rising. It feels like those minutes before I stepped on the ice at the Olympics. Both teams are exceptionally good, so this could change in a matter of seconds.
Their opponents scored first, during a power-play in the first period, and they outshot the Phantoms 8-5. It put me on the edge of my seat. Even when Bergqvist tied the score in the last two minutes of the first period, I couldn’t relax.
The second period wasn’t any better. My heart raced and my knee bounced the entire time. Dallas called for back-to-back penalties midway through the period because of roughing on Dwayne, and then because of cross checking on Korhonen ten minutes later.
Michael made them pay after the second call, scoring a power-play goal with a shot from the top of the left circle. I jumped and yelled my head off, elated my husband had just put his team ahead.
When the third period started, the air was thick with tension. The athletes were probably feeling the same way I was, filled with careful optimism, because in such a dynamic sport as hockey, anything is possible.
Dad is here, sitting beside me with his arms crossed, his eyes glued to the ice, but the frown he’s wearing would be more appropriate for watching some slaughter.
His mood has dampened mine a bit tonight. I hate feeling like I disappointed him, that I continue to do so again and again…simply because I chose to elope.
I never imagined he would hold a grudge for so long. If he were upset for a week or two, I could understand. Even a month. But it’s been four months, and he’s exceptionally good at keeping us all on our toes.
To my right, Uncle Colton sighs. “You know, for someone whose daughter married the love of her life, you’re incredibly moody.”
Dad doesn’t look at him as he says, “I’m not moody.”
I glance at my mom, who sits with Aunt Ava on my dad’s other side. They’re actually watching the game. Why didn’t I sit with them?
“You’ve been a mood killer since February, and it’s June,” Uncle Colton retorts.
