Bound
Shane
If a heart was tied to a person, mine was inextricably bound to her — and it stopped beating the day I left her behind.
Ariana Ridley had tried desperately not to be noticed when we were in college, but one look at her and it was clear how impossible that mission was. She was like a diamond buried deep, and her beauty was the volcano that unearthed her. It wasn’t only her piercing blue eyes or snow-white complexion. It wasn’t just her heart-shaped lips or her goddess-like curves.
It was the untold stories in her gaze, the way she wore her trauma like a cloak.
She called to me in a way I couldn’t fight, because I saw what everyone else overlooked.
Ariana was a survivor.
She was just like me.
We fell in love too easily, too quickly, at a rate that should have foretold how bad it would be once we finally hit the ground.
I was young and stupid when I let her go, when I chose my dream of hockey over her because I thought I was doing the right thing, and because hockey was the only thing I’d ever been able to depend on. I hated myself for the choice I made, and I regretted it every day.
I saw her once after that, years later, when I got injured and watched my dream go up in smoke. I begged for her forgiveness. She rightfully denied it.
I never thought I’d see her again.
Which was why I was grinding my teeth together to keep my jaw from dropping now, my heart kicking back to life in my chest with a force strong enough to take me to my knees.
Because here she was, in front of me again.
My Ari.
Standing next to my new General Manager.
As his wife.
Resilience
Shane
2006
Her hand shot into the air, and with it, she knocked my whole world off balance.
It was January 2006. I was a junior at Boston College, playing hockey for the university’s team and counting down to when I’d have my psychology degree in hand on my way into the NHL. I’d already been drafted by the Jacksonville Barracudas, my rights held by them while I attended college.
Four years to hone my skills on the ice with the Eagles, earn my degree, and enjoy a little bit of a normal life.
And then, it was off to the races.
I’d had a plan ever since I was ten years old. That was the year I realized hockey was everything to me. That was also the year I stopped treating it like a game and started manifesting a career.
I’d play my ass off through high school. I’d get drafted. I’d make sure the team that drafted me understood I wanted to go to college, and they’d hold my rights until I graduated. I’d go the full four years, get better and stronger on the ice, and make sure I had a backup plan in the form of a degree that could be used for a future career.
So far, I’d checked the boxes.
I’d played like a beast through high school, securing a spot in the USHL when I turned sixteen. I garnered scout attention early and was drafted the summer after I graduated high school, with the understanding that I would attend college, but the team would retain my rights. And here I was, the top-scoring winger for the Eagles and just three semesters away from graduation.
I had a plan.
And I was following that plan perfectly.
