Thankfully it’s a home game, so my dad, keeping to his promise, stays close. Ford and Brielle are sitting up in a private room with Declan to watch the game.
“Number 19, two minutes,” the ref calls out Connor’s trip to the penalty box.
I bite my tongue, as I can tell Connor is now more pissed, and he will be sulking in the penalty box in the minutes to come.
“It’s fine. He already scored twice, and we still have a period to go,” my father leans in to assure me.
I huff. “He’ll be grumbly later.” Never with me, though. Connor may be an aggressive cocky ass on the ice, but he is the polar opposite when at home.
Grabbing my purse that I had set on the floor, I search for my lip balm, only to smile softly to myself when Connor’s wedding ring hanging around my neck swings in the air. He’s not allowed to wear rings during games. He brings it with him on the road, but when it’s a home game, it’s safe around my neck until after the game when I’m waiting by the locker room.
My dad rubs my shoulders as the next two minutes fly by, and then Connor is whizzing across the ice, outskating the other team that is eager to block him.
“What did I miss? I heard booing,” Isla asks as she slides back onto the seat next to me.
“You picked the worst moment to go to the bathroom, which by the way, are you okay? You do that a lot,” I’m a little curt, but the ref’s earlier call has me livid.
“Feisty. Sorry if nature calls,” she defends.
“I’ll give you two a minute, and I’ll go grab some snacks.” My dad seemed to have a hint that Isla and I need a little space.
My eyes travel from the ice to Isla who looks a little pale. “What’s up with you?” I wonder.
“Nothing.” She’s lying.
Drawing a line from her to the ice then back, it registers to me that we’re playing Tampa tonight.
“Nothing to do with who’s on the ice?” My brows raise.
She shakes her head, but it feels as though it’s a struggle.
I touch her arm. “Spill it.”
It feels as though the floodgates are opening and her face relaxes. “You know how I had that conference in Tampa a while ago?”
“Yeah, the one where you got stuck there because of a hurricane.”
She nods. “I wasn’t exactly alone when I safely rode out the storm in a hotel.”
Excitement spreads through me. “You were riding someone else during the storm, weren’t you?”
Isla bites her bottom lip. “It’s not ideal.”
“Why not? It’s great. You are allowed to have fun. Who was it?” I inquire with deep curiosity.
She laughs nervously. “The guy who just put your husband in the penalty box.”
My jaw goes slack. “Vaughn Madden?”
Guilt floods her face, and she brings her hand to her forehead. “Nobody can know. Especially since my brother isn’t a fan. It was a one-time thing.”
“Really? I mean, he’s not hard on the eyes. Long-distance isn’t ideal, but it’s no different than if he played here in Lake Spark and had to travel for the season.” I feel like I’m getting carried away.
Proven by the fact that Isla places her hand over mine on her arm. “Take a chill pill. It really was a one-time spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. He wasn’t even there when I woke up.”
“What an ass.” Now my sour mood has returned.
“Can we forget about it?” she pleads.
