I scrubbed a hand over my face and exhaled. “Great.”
The word came out flat. I wasn’t ready for this, not after the morning I’d had. But ready or not, I had to meet the man who’d be running this circus with me.
“You good?” Kozak asked.
“Yeah.” I stood, tugged on my jacket, and squared my shoulders — game face in place, the same one I’d worn since my first day behind a bench as the youngest coach in the NHL.
We left my office and headed down the hall toward the media room — a space off the main corridor, just beyond the players’ lounge. I could already hear the hum of reporters setting up, the clatter of camera equipment, the low buzz of conversation bleeding through the walls.
I’d done a hundred of these, but something about this one felt heavier. New leadership meant change. And change rarely came without casualties.
I pushed open the door, ready to shake hands and smile for the cameras even as my stomach rioted.
My gaze found him immediately — Nathan Black, the new general manager. I hadn’t taken the time to research him past the photo and short bio our PR team had supplied me. I liked to get to know people for who they were, not the laundry list of accomplishments they boasted — though, this man did boast quite a bit. He was the kind of executive the league loved: a golden boy with a finance degree, a Harvard certificate in sports management, and a knack for turning struggling franchises into profit machines.
Physically, I noted immediately that he was tall, polished, and in his early fifties, if I had to guess. His hair was dark, threaded neatly through with silver and cut like a Hollywood actor’s — short on the sides, a perfect swoop at the top. His navy suit was tailored, cuff links shining at his wrists. It was jarring, compared to Dick, who often showed up to press conferences with the buttons of his dress shirt straining against his belly, and rosy cheeks glistening under the harsh light.
Even from across the room, I could tell this was the kind of man who never raised his voice because he didn’t need to. Power followed him in a quiet way— in the calm confidence of his stance, the precise movements of his hands as he spoke with PR, the faint smirk that seemed permanently etched into the corners of his mouth.
His grin, when it landed on me, looked practiced. It was polite and professional, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
I assessed all of this in just a few seconds, because immediately, my attention was drawn away from my new general manager to the woman standing beside him.
My heart stuttered at the first sight of her blonde hair, swept into a neat twist. My breath faltered next when I took in her dazzling blue eyes, the very ones that used to undo me with asingle look. It didn’t matter that decades had passed, I’d know her anywhere — how could I ever forget those lips, the graceful shape of her, the haunted gaze that had been a wraith in every nightmare I’d had since the day I walked away from her.
Ariana Ridley.
The only woman I’d ever loved.
Like she felt me before she saw me, her smile that was aimed at Kozak wavered, her brows pinching together just slightly.
Then, her eyes snapped to mine.
After All This Time
Ariana
Present
I realized with acute agony that it didn’t matter how long I’d had to prepare for this exact moment, no amount of time or composition could properly brace me for Shane McCabe slamming back into my life.
It was like being struck by a steel beam picked up in the winds of an F5 tornado, the way his eyes latched onto mine, the rest of the world fading to black around us. I blinked and saw him as a twenty-one-year-old kid sitting two rows behind me in a lecture hall. I blinked again and saw his eyes squeezed shut, his brows pinched together as he kissed me reverently with shaking hands. Another blink and I was drenched in rain, screaming at him not to leave me, heart breaking when I realized he’d already made up his mind.
A final, rapid set of blinks had me back in the present, where I did my best to school my features and bury every memory right where they belonged — in the past.
But my eyes betrayed me, dragging slowly over the man he’d become. Shane stood tall and solid in his tailored suit, broader through the shoulders than I remembered, his frame carrying the unmistakable marks of discipline and care. The years had filled him out, hardened him in places, honed him in others.
His dark hair was trimmed shorter now, brushed back neatly, though a few rebellious strands still fell forward, softening the severity of the look. Faint lines bracketed his eyes when he focused, proof of laughter and strain and everything life had carved into him since we were young. And when his gaze met mine again — steady, piercing, achingly familiar — I felt it in my chest, the same way I always had.
He looked like a man who knew exactly who he was.
And worse — like a man who still knew exactly how to undo me.
“There he is!” my husband said, opening his arms like he and Shane were long-lost brothers as opposed to complete strangers who would now be forced to work together. Fortunately, he had the good sense to drop that wide embrace and extend a hand for Shane’s in the last moment, when Shane finally unglued his shoes from the ground and made his way over to us. “Coach McCabe, your reputation precedes you. Nathan Black.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir. Excited to work together.” Shane’s voice sounded odd when he said the words, though no one in the room would notice but me. I hoped they also wouldn’t notice how his eyes flicked to me, his jaw flexing before his strained smile was back on my husband.
“We’re going to make magic, you and me,” Nathan promised, still grasping Shane’s hand in his as he clapped him on the back with his free hand. “Just you wait and see. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”
