“Oh, you’re in for a treat. The Rogues are an amazing team, and the games are so much fun,” Adrienne says. “This is the second year Bryse has brought me to the home-opener event,and they really go all out. They have food and snack vouchers if you want to munch something during the game. They give out beanies to everyone and have games and prizes, and the seats they reserve for us aren’t bad, either.”
“Do they really get into fights on the ice?” I ask.
Bryson grins, nodding. “You can usually count on there being at least one fight every game. Especially when other teams will be gunning for a chance to knock us down a peg after how far we got in the postseason last year.”
“And the coaches allow that?” I ran track in high school, and my coach would have kicked my ass if I started a fight with another girl.
“Yep. It’s all part of the game,” Bryse assures me.
“Wow, okay. I’ll take your word for it, I guess.”
Adrienne chuckles. “We’ll explain everything. You’ll be a pro by the end of the night.”
I doubt that very much but appreciate that she wants to hang out with me and help me understand what we’ll be seeing. Some of the persistent tightness in my chest eases, and I allow myself to relax and laugh at Bryson’s antics as I fill a plate with food, am introduced to other employees I haven’t met before, and mingle. Reed’s laughter floats through the air, and mine joins with it.
This is nothing like our life in LA, but I’m starting to believe that Minneapolis may one day feel like home. Maybe we needed a dramatic fresh start. To go from palm trees to northern winds and ice rinks. Everything is so strange and different that it’s hard to compare it to the life we led before, and that seems to take some of the sting away.
If only I could get a fresh start with Logan. Because if he doesn’t let this grudge of his go, he has the power to destroy what I’m working so hard to build here.
I refuse to let him.
twelve
LOGAN
The locker roomis loud as the team gears up. The first home game of the year is always a good time. We’re also coming off the high of sweeping our away games, so the vibe is electric.
“You ready, Byrne?” Ryder Hanson flashes me an excited, boyish grin. He’s grown from being the rookie to an important part of our group. The guy is solid, both on and off the ice, and even though he’s a Boy Scout, I enjoy hanging out with him.
“Hell yeah,” I agree. “Ready to wipe the ice with Denver.” There’s nothing better than the energy and excitement of a home win. “We hitting Chasers after the game?”
Ryder shakes his head. “I think the ladies want to go to that employee and family event after, since none of them went last year. No bar tonight.”
There’s no stopping the groan that claws up my throat. “Seriously? I don’t know if I have it in me to play nice with fans tonight.” Not to mention the fact that I’m not sure I can be nice to a certain curly-haired liar after the rush of a game.
“Come on, dude. I guess we can do something after.”
“You’re such a Boy Scout,” I grumble at Ryder. But I nod as my phone buzzes on the bench beside me while I lace up my skates. “But fine. I’m in.”
“Sweet.” Ryder glances at my vibrating phone at the same time I do, and I’m groaning for the second time in a minute. “Who’s that?”
“My dad.” Grimacing, I accept the call and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Dad.”
“Son.”
I brace myself for whatever he has to say. Owen Byrne has never been soft and fuzzy, and he only calls to tell me he’s getting married, divorced, or to remind me he’s a legend in this league, and I’d better live up to his expectations or suffer one of his long-winded lectures I’m so intimately familiar with.
“First home game. How you play tonight will set the tone for the rest of the season, and you’re not getting any younger. If you want to win a Cup, you need to make this the year.”
Right.No “How are you feeling, son?” or “This is going to be your year, I can feel it,” justmake it happen, Logan.
“I’m at a sports bar, watching with some of my old teammates. Don’t embarrass me.”
What a dick.
“Tiffany wanted to spend the night with your old teammates?” Stepmommy number who-the-hell-knows didn’t strike me as a sports bar kind of woman the one time I met her.
“Tiffany?” My dad scoffs. “I told you we’re getting divorced.”
