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She narrowed her eyes, but between the exhaustion of the eternal day and the wine, her filter was gone. “I spent most of that season watching Victor’s games in the dorm with a bunch of my friends, pretending I was only interested because of my brother. In truth, I was watching you play most of the time.”

Dean’s eyes brightened briefly before dimming. She knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. “I didn’t make it to the end of that season.”

He hadn’t. He’d taken one hell of a hit around the end of March, and she’d known the second she saw it that Dean had played his last game that season. What she hadn’t known was that it would be his last game ever.

“It was a dirty hit,” she said.

“It was the third ACL tear in as many years. My knee was beyond bouncing back after that.”

She’d grown up with a professional hockey player, so she was well-versed when it came to the injuries related to that sport. “I guess I should admit that I recall that night at Pat’s Pub differently,” she said, willing to turn the conversation back to her embarrassing confession if it put a smile back on his face.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, the shadows in his eyes lifting.

“I knew Victor usually celebrated wins with the team when I was away at school, but he skipped those celebrations when I was home. I’d begged him for days to let me go to the pub with him if you all won the next home game. I was shocked when he finally agreed, and then—” Heat suffused her cheeks. “Then I was actually thrilled when he said I could only go if I stayed close to him and you the entire night.”

Dean was clearly surprised by that. “Really? Me?”

“Victor has always looked up to you, trusted you. He claims you helped mold him into the player he is today. You were a mentor to him during those early years of his career, and I know the two of you stayed in close touch even after you moved to Vancouver to serve as an assistant coach there.”

Dean nodded. “We did. Though I’m not sure I can take much credit for his success. That guy has more hockey talent in his little finger than I do in my entire body.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re forgetting, I was the girl with a crush, watching you nonstop on that ice. You were incredible.”

He was visibly touched by her words. “Thanks, Viv. Though now I feel bad for basically ignoring you that whole night, Victor’s evil eye be damned.”

“He was shooting you looks?” she asked, aghast. Not that she believed anything would have ever happened between her and Dean. God, she’d been practically jailbait when they’d met.

And while she didn’t know the man sitting across from her as well as she wished, Victor had talked about Dean enough that she knew he’d never put the moves on one of his friend’s little sisters—even now.

Dean chuckled. “It’s Vic. Of course, he was.”

“What an ass,” she breathed, though there was no heat behind her words.

“Since you made a confession, I feel like I owe you one, as well. I was very impressed by you that night.”

Vivian’s brows furrowed. That couldn’t be right. She felt as if she’d nervously talked his ear off, certain she’d come across as exactly what she had been—a starstruck teenaged girl. “Impressed about what?”

“You were a young woman who’d just suffered a terrible loss, yet you seemed…” He paused. “You seemed like someone who had her shit together. After all, you were starting college as a junior at eighteen, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life. You had your career and future all planned out. I remember thinking you had more confidence than half the rookies on the team, and believe me when I say, arrogance is in abundance in hockey locker rooms.”

She laughed.

Dean continued. “I found everything you said impressive because I was coming off my second injury, aware that my own career was dangling by a thread, and I didn’t have a fucking clue what came after hockey.”

“And yet you found your niche.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Coaching wasn’t a blip on my radar. In truth, I’d sort of hoped maybe I could land a commentating gig. My ego liked the idea of sharing my hockey expertise with the world.” He shook his head self-deprecatingly. “Obviously, I spent way too many years of my life buying my own press. In hindsight, I can see I was a run-of-the-mill player who played decently enough to stay on the starting lineup.”

“Wow. I think I preferred it when you talked like a hockey god, because you just minimalized the hell out of what was one heck of an incredible career. You were way better than run-of-the-mill, Dean.”

“Thanks again,” he said softly, their smiles lingering. It felt strangely nice, learning they remembered that same night so differently.

“And since we’re sharing all our secrets,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “I should tell you that I was in a constant free fall that entire summer. Me, talking like I knew what I was doing, was less about confidence and more about trying to convince myself I had a plan that would work.”

“Losing your parents when you were so young couldn’t have been easy,” he said compassionately.

“Losing someone you love at any age is hard.” Vivian didn’t intend to lead them down such a dark path, but it had been a long time since she’d had such an open, honest conversation. Sure, she confided in Belle and Victor about a lot of things, but there were some subjects she tended to keep to herself.

Dean studied her before his expression grew gentler. “You’ve suffered more than your fair share,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry about your husband.”