“Come on. Let’s get to the box and order some drinks. I’m going to need at least two.” Isla grabs my hand and drags me behind her. “This is so stressful, and I’m not even the one playing.”
Lexi nods. “Seriously. This is almost as bad as when everything went down with my dad.” Lexi’s dad had been the head coach of the Rogues for years before finding out she was secretly dating the rookie, Ryder Hanson. He almost started a fight with Ryder in the middle of the game, and when Lexi ran through the seats to get to the bench, she heard her dad say some incredibly hurtful things no woman should have to hear from her father. Needless to say, he’s not the coach anymore.
“I just want everyone to stop looking at me,” I mutter. Both women chuckle at that.
“You’ll get used to it.” Isla squeezes my hand. “Sort of.”
I don’t think so. I’m used to being mostly invisible as Maddox’s little sister. This—walking around with Griffin’s last name sparkling like a beacon for all to see on my back in a playoff jacket that makes it very clear I’m with him—is not something I can imagine getting used to. I feel exposed and vulnerable. And the weight of his last name, knowing how much he wants me to take it for my own, is doubly heavy.
At least the box is full of family, so I can relax. We’re still visible up here, but there are walls between us and the rest of the fans. Walls I need right now.
We say our hellos to the other wives and girlfriends, as well as a few cute kids and a handful of parents, order some drinks, and settle into our seats. We arrived early enough that the warm-ups haven’t started yet, and the televisions in the box aretuned into a sports channel where analysts offer commentary, speculation, and banter back and forth.
I can’t stop bouncing my knee.
Griffin and I spent every night during their final away series of the regular season talking and video chatting. We didn’t have any sexy times over the phone, but we did fall asleep together. Every morning, I’d wake up to the sound of his soft breathing or a sleepy hello.
I’m still doing therapy twice a week, and even though I have a long way to go, I do feel like I’m getting a handle on my issues. Talking to someone who can help me analyze why I react to certain things the way I do has already brought me a deeper level of self-understanding. Griffin was so proud of me when I told him I’ve been going.
Staying away from him is getting harder and harder, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to last, even though I’m determined to be in a better place before telling him I’m ready to give this thing between us a real shot. Because the only thing I know with absolute certainty after my time away from Griffin is that I don’t want to be apart from him for much longer.
“Hey.” Lexi bumps her shoulder against mine. “You okay? You seem a little lost in your head.”
“I’m good,” I tell her. “Just a lot on my mind.”
Isla squeezes my hand from my other side. “We know. How have things been between the two of you since they got back from Colorado?”
“Well, it’s not like we’ve had much time together. They spent all week going over film and practicing.” This week leading up to the first quarterfinal game has been busy for the players. “But we went out to dinner together.”
It was the first time we’ve been on a date since everything went south. We went to a quiet little restaurant and sat next to each other. He held my hand or stroked my knee the entire timebefore kissing me gently and taking me home. Part of me—the very lonely, very horny part of me—wanted to yell at him when he didn’t try to take things further. But another part of me knew he was holding back because it’s what I wanted.
He’s still protecting me and putting me first.
“He really loves you,” Isla says softly.
“I know. And I really love him, but I need to make sure I’m in a place where I can love him the way he deserves.” Staring at the ice, I sag into my chair. “I just hope he doesn’t give up on me in the meantime.”
Both women smile and Lexi says, “No chance of that happening. You’ll see.”
Before I can respond with how much I hope that’s true, the voice of the announcer rings out over the music playing in the arena, and my eyes go to the ice.
“Good evening, Rogues fans!” the voice booms through the cavernous space, vibrating through my chest. “Welcome to game one of the Western Conference Quarterfinals. Get ready to make some noise and welcome your Minnesota Rogues as they go up against the St. Louis Steam.”
The crowd boos as the announcer names the head and assistant coaches of the opposing team and their players skate onto the ice for pregame warm-ups in a flurry of red and blue.
“And now, please welcome your Minnesota Rogues!”
If the volume level during thebooswas loud, it has nothing on the cheers of the fans as they welcome the third and second lines, the players in their yellow and gray flying over the ice like conquering heroes. My heart begins to roar as the announcer’s voice grows louder, winding up to introduce the individual names of the starting line.
“From the Rogues, starting on right wing, number twenty-seven, Logan Byrne!” The crowd cheers as Logan steps onto theice, stick raised in his hand. He heads for the Rogues’ goal and the pile of pucks waiting there for them.
I’m leaning forward in my seat, because the announcements always follow the same pattern. The offensive wingers, defense, the center, then the goalie. Which Means Griffin is next.
“Starting on left wing, we have an interesting change tonight.”
I glance at Lexi and Isla, confused. There was a lineup change? Where’s Griffin?
“Just breathe,” Isla says, smiling. She pats my hand like she’s not worried. Like the announcer calling out aninteresting changeduring such a vital game isn’t terrifying. Maddox swore he and Griffin had worked things out. He promised he would put him back on the first line.
