I laugh, taking a sip. "How long did it take you to stop feeling like it was all going to vanish?"
Cat considers the question, her eyes drifting to Aaron across the box. He's standing with Nick and Marco, arguing about something with hand gestures that suggest someone's about to get punched.
"Honestly?" She looks back at me. "Sometimes I still feel that way. But then I remember that I didn't survive everything I went through just to spend the good parts waiting for them to end."
I let that sink in.
"When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise." Cat smirks over the rim of her glass. "You're just finally paying attention."
I laugh. "I don't think so."
Her mouth pops open in mock offense. "Excuse me?"
"You were a fucking nightmare when we were in ops. Because of you, I spent months working nonstop for the Irish, trying to track you down before I even knew who you were."
Cat's grin turns wicked. "I know. I was kind of a badass."
"You're still a badass."
She raises her glass in acknowledgment.
I've known Cat since long before either of us ended up here. Back when the Irish had a file on her thick enough to choke on, filled with things she'd done that would make most men weep with envy.
I was assigned to hunt her.
Instead, I spent those months secretly wanting to be her.
Funny how the universe works.
I spent years chasing her shadow, and now we're sitting here together at a hockey game.
Her with Aaron.
Me with Tristan.
Two women who were never supposed to make it out, and yet here we are.
It's a beautiful, fucked-up, miraculous world we live in.
The crowd starts to get louder, and I realize Dom has the puck, weaving through defenders with a speed that seems impossible for someone his size. He fakes left, goes right, and sends a shot rocketing toward the net.
The buzzer sounds. Lights flash. Music blares.
Goal.
We all scream alongside the rest of the crowd.
A few rows to our left, a group of women are absolutely losing their minds.
One of them is holding a giant poster board that readsDADDY DOMin glittery block letters, complete with hearts and what appears to be a very detailed drawing of his face. Another has a hockey mask pushed up on her forehead, clutching her friend's arm.
And the girl in the middle with dark red hair is jumping so hard I'm concerned she's going to launch herself over the railing.
"I want to be that puck so badly! Body-check me into the boards, you beautiful man. Respectfully," she screams at the ice.
"Yes, literally yes."
