I suck in a breath. For one last moment, I let myself lean back against the wall and close my eyes, feeling everything.
His hands on my waist. His laugh in my ear. His voice saying,For better or worse, remember?His body wrapped around mine last night, holding me like I was something precious.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, to no one and to him and to the universe. “I’m so I’m about to break your heart, and you’ll never know I did it all for you.”
Footsteps thud near the door, and I know they are his. I open my eyes.
And wait for the man I love to walk toward me, so I can break us both into pieces.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SCOTTIE
Playoff push or not, I’ve never wanted to be in the locker room less.
The air is the usual pregame mix of tape glue, sweat, and cheap motivational spray deodorant Bozeman swears by. Guys are half-dressed, joking too loudly to hide nerves. Coach gave the speech. Wolf’s already in his zone, headphones on, rolling outhis shoulders with that dead-eyed focus he gets before he wrecks people.
Me? I’m staring at my stall like it’s going to give me answers.
Helmet, gloves, jersey. All there. Everything exactly where it’s supposed to be.
Except my head.
There’s a knock on the hallway door, muffled under the noise.
“East,” Luka says. “Kat needs to see you out in the hall. She said it can’t wait.”
Something in my chest loosens and tightens at the same time. I tug my jersey the rest of the way down, grab my gloves, and head for the locker room exit.
The second I see her, I know something’s wrong.
She’s standing against the concrete wall, coat buttoned to her throat, arms folded neatly. Her spine is straight, her shoulders back. Her hair is swept into a perfect ballerina knot. She looks like she’s waiting to negotiate a ceasefire, not say hi to her husband before a home game.
And she’s not wearing the ring.
A cold, sick feeling rises up my throat like stomach bile.
“Hey,” I say, trying to smile, trying to act normal. “Didn’t think you’d be down here before warmups.”
She looks up at me, and it hits me full force—the Popovich mask. The one she had on the first time I saw her step off the jet. Cool. Composed. Eyes like polished steel.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft, but there’s distance in it. “We need to talk.”
Those four words never mean anything good.
I swallow. “Okay. What’s going on? How’d it go with your grandmother?”
There’s the smallest flicker in her gaze, like a crack in glass, then it’s gone.
“She’s… giving us her blessing,” Katerina says. “For the marriage.”
Relief hits me first, sharp and bright. “Wait, really? That’s—Kat, that’s huge. That’s—” I take a setp closer to hug her, wanting to kiss her before I have to get on the ice, but she takes a step back and looks away.
“And she’s agreed to let me stay here,” she cuts in gently. “As long as I honor my career obligations. She spoke with the company in New York.”
Something in my chest twinges. “New York?” I repeat. “What do you mean?”
She takes a breath, eyes flicking back to me. “They want me back, Scottie. The company. They offered me something… big. A principal contract. It’s the kind of spot people wait their whole lives for. It would be stupid to turn it down.”
