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“Is she trying to drag you away to rekindle old times?” Draven asks, his arm resting around my shoulders. “Did you tell her the bad news?”

“He doesn’t swing your way any more,” Ci adds, crossing his arms over his chest as he joins us. “Used, tired cunt isn’t something he enjoys anymore, Kels.”

“Go back to your husband,” I say, winking. “And I’ll go with mine. Have a good night.”

As one, we turn and walk away. One day, I’ll find a way to make those words true. Draven, Ci, and I have been through more than most married people ever will.

The Kelsie I grew up with would have thrown herself at us, but my Dad isn’t able to protect her with his current legal troubles. I also doubt that her husband would allow her to behave like that.

Still, the three of us barely take a full breath as we say goodbye to our Coach and leave for the night.

“Fuck,” Draven breathes as we settle in the rental car.

“I don’t know why she insisted on tracking me down,” I murmur, backing the car out of our parking spot. “She had to have seen one or all of us at one point during the party. Did she really think I was going to fuck her?”

“Yep. She propositioned me and everything,” I grumble, my eyes on the road as I drive. “There’s no fucking way I’d ever go there with her.”

“I know,” Ci groans, trying to get comfortable. “It’s over now. We can unplug and enjoy time with Noor and Zayn. We still need to get up at the crack of dawn to get our run in.”

“Then the weight room in between skating with Zayn and our date,” Draven adds.

“Totally worth it,” I chuckle. Being in the same city as Noor, breathing the same air as her, is something I won’t ever take for granted.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

DRAVEN

I’m deep in discussion with Zayn about a drill I want him to do when his head snaps up. I wouldn’t be surprised if this kid’s soul was directly attached to his mother’s. His eyes follow Noor as she leaves the hockey rink, his brows drawing down.

She never leaves, and I have a feeling she won’t even get up to pee because he worries. Alastair suggested she give us a few minutes with Zayn alone.

“She probably has to pee,” Alastair says, turning to see what he’s looking at.

“She’s allowed,” Zayn mutters. “She just doesn’t do it when I have practice.”

“Well, let’s distract you until she gets back with drills,” I tease him.

“Ah. What if for every shot I make, I get to ask a question?” he shoots back.

Gotcha. Alastair, Ci, and I talked at length about how to get him to drive this conversation. He’s surrounded by some of the most manipulative people I’ve ever met in terms of his family members. He knows how to negotiate. I asked about it on one of my dates with Noor over the past few weeks, and she said that while he asks her a lot of questions, and he’s demanding, he isn’t manipulative about it.

Even as early as six years old, he’s learning the limits of what’s appropriate as he moves through the world. Noor is a damn good mother, and I think she needs to be told this more.

“Done,” Alastair grunts. “One question per shot. If you don’t phrase your question properly, you can’t be angry if you don’t get the response you want.”

“I know how this works,” Zayn grumbles. “This isn’t my first day on earth.”

I snort, trying to cover it up by coughing, though Alastair’s lips are also twitching.

“Let’s see it!” I bark out, proud when he doesn’t flinch. Alastair, Ci, and I are loud. We can’t help it. It’s hard to make ourselves smaller than we are. We’ve done our best to desensitize him during our time on the ice. Big voices are necessary here.

Zayn shows off a little as he knocks the puck back and forth across the blade before he shoots it between the goal posts and into the net. His smile is wide as he skates in a half circle to face us.

“Okay. Let’s see. Who is dating my mom?”

Jesus Christ. This kid doesn’t ease in.