I watch Kai practice his stops and starts, and part of me swells with pride while another part twists with anxiety. He’s got the Sheridan gift for hockey—there’s no denying it. But I remember what that gift cost me. The pressure, the expectations, the constant weight of living up to a name that was famous before I could even spell it.
“He’s incredible,” Nina says, appearing beside me at the boards with two cups of hot chocolate. “Look at that edge work. You’ve hardly had to teach him. It’s like he knows what to do.”
“He’s a natural,” I admit, accepting the cocoa gratefully. “That’s what worries me.”
“Worries you? Lane, this is amazing. He loves it.”
“For now. But what happens when people start expecting him to be the next Sheridan?” I take a sip of the hot chocolate and grimace.
She wrinkles her nose after taking a sip. “Your hot chocolate is so much better than this.”
“Are you saying you’d like me to make some when we get home?”
“I wouldn’t object. What they make here is an embarrassment to cocoa everywhere.”
“Your marshmallows are what make my hot chocolate perfect.”
“You’re such a secret sweetie.”
“Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”
I nuzzle her and kiss her temple, something else that feels so natural it terrifies me—on some days. On others, it’s why I get out of bed. To hear her laugh, see her smile, and feel that rise in my chest when she enters a room or cheers me on during a game. Talk about natural. It’s like we were meant to be together.
I called off my attorney’s drafting of divorce paperwork and owe Lucian Little an apology—and a thank you.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Dad’s name on the screen makes my stomach tighten, slowing my roll.
“I should take this,” I tell Nina, stepping away from the rink noise.
“Lane!” Dad’s voice booms through the speaker with his usual command, like he’s going to tell me to do ten more laps and speed drills.
I will myself not to flinch. Old habit.
“How’s married life treating you, son? And—Kai? Heard he’s showing some promise on the ice.”
The guy has eyes everywhere, at least when it comes to hockey potential. No doubt, he’ll call dibs and recruit the kid before he exits high school.
“He’s doing well. We all are,” I say when really, I want to exclaim that I’ve never been happier in my life, but these aren’t things I share with my father. They’ll be met with him reminding me to keep my practice and training sharp rather than enjoying the gifts I’ve been given.
“Good. Listen, son, I wanted to talk to you about Nina Bruun. Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
The question should hit me like a blindside check. But it doesn’t. “What do you mean?”
“It all happened pretty fast, didn’t it? Vegas wedding, instant family ... reminds me of your situation with Xoe. These women see a hockey player and dollar signs start dancing in their eyes.”
My jaw clenches. “Nina isn’t like that.”
“That’s what you said about Xoe, too. And look how that ended. The minute your career hit a rough patch, she was gone.” His voice softens with what he probably thinks is wisdom. “I’m just saying that you’re better off being careful. This girl’s got you playing house with a kid that isn’t even yours. What happens when things get hard? When the media catches wind? When your shoulder starts acting up again?”
The twist in my stomach turns into a tick in my jaw. His thinly veiled attempt to look after me is really just his pride, not wanting to see any negative association between our names. He doesn’t actually care. He’s proven that over and over.
I shoot back, “Harder than being publicly married on a variety show? Finding out that my sister signed her kid over to me?”
“That’s different. That’s a family obligation. Nina could become a problem.”
“Nina is my wife,” I interrupt.
“But her father was Viggo Bruun and her mother?—”
