I went to the parking area, only to find my car blocked in by the happy couple’s limo, so I found a corner near the catering tent, braced my hands on the table, and bowed my head. My chest ached like I’d taken a puck straight to the ribs.
I did this. I’d broken the best thing to ever happen to me because…what? My feelings were hurt when she said she wanted to keep things professional when we returned from Sweden? I hadn’t been forthcoming, hadn’t admitted that her uncertainty fed mine, so I’d hesitated to send out that press release about our relationship.
“There you are, Gunnar,” Ida Jane said as she marched across the tent like she owned the place, flanked by Keelie, Paloma, Vivian, and Millie. The squadron of hockey wives carried...holy crap. Were those cucumbers and face masks? Where did they get those? This was Lennon’s wedding.
Naomi and even tiny Hana narrowed their eyes at me, giving off a serious and terrifying we’re-not-asking energy.
“What?” I asked, raising my hands, palms out. “I can’t take another round with you right now. I’m strategizing how to get Zaila to forgive me.”
“Good.” Hana nodded.
“That’s an excellent first step in any intervention,” Naomi said.
Keelie placed her hands on her hips. “And he finally traded the slimy little suck up.”
“That’s nicer than what I would have called him,” Ida Jane said, her eyes flashing.
“Really?” Millie shoved her glasses up her nose. “What would you have called him?”
“A shit bag,” Ida Jane noted.
“Well, he was a snot-nosed whiner when security escorted him out,” Paloma said. “I cheered when he left the building.”
“Me, too,” Hana said. “He called Paxton old and slow.”
“Jerk,” Keelie snapped.
All the eyes returned to rest on me.
“What?” I scrubbed my hands down my face as the women continued to eye me with pity. “Who died?”
“Your common sense.” Paloma sighed. “And hopefully you’re willing to relinquish your dignity.”
Keelie dumped a spa kit on the smooth, formerly clean surface of the table. “You need soothing, and then you need to listen to everything we tell you so you can get your woman back before she does something exceedingly stupid.”
I glared, but Ida Jane sat me down and slapped a cucumber slice over each of my eyes. “Hold still. You have bags for days. You don’t want to go to Zaila looking every one of your twenty years age difference.”
“Of course I’m going to Zaila. Has Lennon’s limo moved? I’ll go right now.” I tried to sit up, but multiple sets of hands held me to the chair while the pressure on my cucumber slices increased.
“Look, Gunnar, I know you’re the team owner, so don’t let this blow back on Luka, but I need to tell you that you’re acting like a damn fool.” That was Millie.
“Zaila’s terrified, Gunnar,” Ida Jane said. I could tell because of her thick, sweet accent. “Not of you—of being left. Again. Just like always.”
“And you’ve reinforced that she isn’t a priority by not keeping your word about going public,” Naomi said.
“Yesterday you did the presser, but didn’t mention your relationship to Zaila at all,” Hana said.
At least I thought it was Hana because her voice tended to be the softest.
“Not cool, my dude,” Naomi added.
“Definitely not helping your cause with a woman who was adopted,” Paloma said. “I talked to her, you know. Her parents tried therapy, in case Zaila had abandonment issues, but she was fine as long as she felt secure in her relationship with them.”
“Dying parents really screw things up,” Hana said on a sigh.
That smacked me like a cheap shot. I yanked off a cucumber. “She’s my top priority.”
Millie shook her head. “No. If she were your top priority, you would have insisted that security return her work badge and told the press corps that she’s your partner.”
