Ida Jane waved her hand.“Everyone makes mistakes every day.”
“And you see the kids who result from those mistakes,” I replied.
“No.I see the kids impacted by neglect, abuse, fear, and trauma.But a mistake?Rarely, if ever, have I met with a child who knew they were loved yet wanted to come into my office.”
“Y-you’re sure?I can’t mess up that badly?”I shivered.My toes were chilled, and goose bumps exploded over my arms and legs.
“I suppose it’s possible, but so unlikely,” Ida Jane said.
That would have to do.“Okay.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, Idge.”
Her expression morphed back into sternness.“Tell him, Millie.The longer you wait, the harder it is to spit out the truth.”
I closed my laptop and stared out at the skyline.
In the days that followed, I ignored her advice—even as I continued to think about, even dream about, Luka Stol.
And like Ida Jane said, with each passing day, I found contacting Luka harder to think about.
Luka
Maxim stared at meagain.His icy blue eyes tracked my every movement, much like a leopard just before it pounced.
We had one game left of the three in our away series.I’d implemented Coach’s strategy to a T throughout the trip.No way I was getting bounced from Houston.This was my best chance for title contention.
But Maxim’s continued observation was getting on my nerves.Big time.I refused to admit thateverythinggot on my nerves right now.So instead, I focused on the game.
In the second period, I had a great skate down the ice with control of the puck, flipping it back to Naese, who passed it back to me.I slapped the shot over the goalie, where it hit the top of the post…and slid in.
I raised my hands in triumph.“Hell, yeah!”
That goal tied the game, and I was pumped.The next time my line was called, midway through the third period, I hustled down the ice, beating my opponent to the puck and passing to Naese just before the D-man slammed me into the boards.My helmet absorbed most of the blow, but as I shoved him off with some well-placed elbows, I felt a little woozy.
No time to worry about that, though, because Naese was coming back around the net.I tied up the defense with my back, skating the guy into the boards.
Naese zipped around and flicked his wrist, causing the puck to wobble over the ice and clink off the goalie’s foot into the net.
I skated over to hug Naese, slapping him on the back.“Good goal!”
I side-eyed Coach, who was watching the two of us, a slight frown marring his forehead.What was that about?We’d played well.Coach had to realize Naese and I had won him the game.
After the final horn sounded, I skated toward the other team to shake hands.Maxim loomed over me, his gaze steady.When I glanced up at him, his expression was tight, almost as if he expected me to explode.
“What is wrong with you?”I snapped, shoving my shoulder into his side—the dude was agiant.The only one bigger was Cruz, and that fellowhadto have been fed steroids as a baby.No person should be as tall and wide as a door.It was unnatural.
“Don’t be a dick,” Maxim said.His English was pretty much flawless, but dude still gave off harsh Russian vibes when he wanted to, which was pretty much always.
I bit back my response, because I didn’t feel like fighting with him.I was tired, stiff, sore, and wanted to ask if his wife had talked to my woman.
Shit.I had to stop thinking of Millie asmine.She wasn’t becauseshe didn’t want to be.
“You talked to Millie?”Maxim asked once we’d finished the obligatory end-of-game salutations.
My head whipped up.“No.Why?What’s wrong?”
