“Lane Sheridan.” My voice is rougher than I intend.
From the crowd, someone shouts, “LSJ.” Then people take up the chant like at hockey games.
A bunch of people clap and cheer. But it’s nothing to the sound of fans, a sound I didn’t realize I’d miss until I didn’t hear it for several months straight. I was so close to the Stanley I could practically feel its weight in my arms.
A rough penalty brought me to the new team doctor and she noticed how jacked up I was—joints, muscles, ligaments. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I could’ve ignored it until after the finals were over and the Cup was in my hands. Truth is, it was something I’d been coping with for years.
Not on her watch.
In addition to having to get surgery followed by a lengthy recovery, my fiancée dumped me. Looking back, dating Xoe was like being a human social media filter. I made everything look better until I was deemed no longer relevant.
It never fails, every time I hear her name in my head, hervoice is also there, reminding everyone that it’s pronouncedZoey. Then why not spell it like that?
She wanted a man who was part trophy and all perfect. Oh, and let’s not forget a mind reader. Wouldn’t doubt it if one of those stepped on stage next.
If Lucian recognizes my name, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he positions Nina and me facing each other, and I get my first good look at her up close in the disco ball strobes of the dance floor.
She’s even more stunning than I realized. Her gray eyes are the color of the northern sky in the summer. Tiny laugh lines at the corners suggest she smiles more often than she doesn’t. Her skin has a glow that speaks of time enjoyed outdoors. I notice her hands are slightly callused.
Working hands. Real hands. A real woman.
She looks at me without wavering. For a moment, I think I see a crack in the veneer. Like, she comes out of whatever spell she’s under or can’t remain in character. Her cheeks turn pink.
From where I watched from the sidelines, happily alone, until the guys forced me to the seating area, her friends also volunteered for her to come up here.
Some friends.
She made it clear she doubted this whole charade, so maybe she’s just being a good sport.
Lucian makes introductions between us and then asks, “Nina, have you ever met this man before?”
Her smile is like a sunrise after a long winter. “Formally? No, I have not.”
This is technically true.
He repeats the question for me, fully conscious and not about to pretend to be hypnotized. “Nope.”
“Perfect,” Lucian says, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. “Now, both of you, I want you to look into each other’s eyes and focus on your breathing.”
I let out an annoyed huff, but knowing everyone who will impact the tatters of my career are watching, I opt not to be difficult … for now.
Lucian follows with the same line of questioning from earlier. “Lane, would you be willing to help me demonstrate the power of belief?”
I sense the crowd holding its breath, waiting to see if I blow this like I did my shoulder in the finals or play along.
With a shrug and a wave of my hand, I say, “I don’t really believe in this kind of thing.”
Lucian smiles kindly as if he’s heard these very words hundreds of times. “All the better. How about this? Do you believe in the power of suggestion? In the way our minds can surprise us when we let our guard down?”
“I’m not a fan of surprises.”
“I can see that,” Lucian replies.
The crowd laughs.
“Tell me something you believe in.”
I lightly clap my hands together. “The power of hard work, dedication, focus, and not giving up when things get hard.”
