Chapter 10

Dominik hadn’t planned to intrude on Oriana’s homecoming, but a text from Sloan had him ditching his plans for the day and swinging by a local bakery for her favorite treats. He’d gotten here about half an hour ago, ready to herd the team out, concerned that a crowd might overwhelm her, but people were calm and Oriana was soaking in recaps of the game from the players.

Becky had stopped by for a short time with Bower and Dean and the little ones, staying just long enough for Oriana to cuddle the little girls. The players stuck around longer because Oriana was asking so many questions, yet they filed out as soon as she started looking tired. She had food enough for a week or so with all the casseroles the players’ wives brought. Everyone wanted to show their appreciation and support.

And he wasn’t surprised.

Tim had been the heart of the team, but Oriana was a big part of the reason they still had a team at all. It was no secret how much she and her siblings had done to keep the Cobras’ franchise alive.

He chatted a bit with everyone, then prepared to make his exit, giving Oriana one last hug and a kiss on the forehead as Max and Ford joined them. Dominik’s leaving would prompt most of the stragglers to take his lead.

But before he could say anything, Oriana put her hand on his arm. “Could you do me a favor?”

Anything. The word came to his mind, but it didn’t leave his lips. He meant it, and yet, not the same way he once had. So he simply nodded.

“I haven’t heard from Tyler or Chicklet and the guys are saying Zovko is hurt badly. Could you check on him and give Tyler my love?” She bit her lip and shook her head, wincing as though the motion hurt her. “I don’t mean it like—”

“I know what you mean.” Dominik squeezed her hand and stepped back. “I’d planned to stop by at some point today, so it’s not a problem. Just get some rest and get better so you can come watch us play. You won’t be in any condition to deal with the insanity at the Forum until at least the third round. So we have our work cut out for us.”

She smiled. “Yes, you do. And…thank you for being here. For being such an amazing friend.”

Once, the distinction might have hurt. He still expected it to a bit, but they’d reached the point where it felt right. “I always will be, sweetheart.”

On his way out, both Max and Coach Shero caught up with him. The coach gestured that they’d talk outside and slipped out the open door. Max pulled Dominik in for a rough hug.

His tone was low as he spoke. “We good? Fuck, I know this can’t be easy. I keep expecting you to tell me and Sloan to get lost. We have no right to—”

Dominik snorted and put his hand on Max’s shoulder. “I should take offense to you questioning my friendship.” That word was becoming his new mantra. “You’re my teammate and like a brother to me. Everything else is in the past. All I ask is you stop bringing it up.”

“Done.” Max breathed a sigh of relief. “See you in a few hours, man. And thank you for coming.”

Nodding, Dominik said goodbye and made his way out. He was getting uncomfortable with the constant gratitude. Hopefully, this would be the last of it.

Coach Shero was waiting by his truck. “Dominik, I hate to dump this on you at the last minute, but I could use your help. I’ll follow you to the hospital—I apologize, I couldn’t help overhearing that you were going, and I need to check on Vanek and Zovko myself. The boy’s listed as a game-time decision.”

“Reasonable, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.” Dominik hoped he sounded more direct than blunt. He needed a nap if he was going to be fresh on the ice. “Do you need me to speak to the men?”

“No, actually, I’m going to need you to host one for a time if you’re willing.” Shero rubbed his hand over his lips, his eyes showing how exhausted he was. Finding a replacement for Zovko couldn’t have been easy. “There’s a young man we’d planned to bring up next season. We’ve been discussing an entry-level contract with his agent for some time. He’s damn good and he could be a game changer.”

There were at least five men on the farm team Shero could be talking about, so Dominik just nodded for him to go on.

“The thing is, he’s got responsibilities that need to be taken care of. They could distract him if not handled carefully. I spent all day yesterday and this morning convincing his agent and his coach we could manage anything he requires. I would have approached Callahan, but clearly, that’s not an option.” Shero looked uncomfortable. “You have a stable home and you’ve roomed with rookies before.”

Ah…is that all? Dominik shrugged. “I have plenty of space. He can stay with me.”

“You may want all the details before you commit.”

“If he’s good enough for you to go to all this trouble, I don’t care about the details. Let’s go see Zovko and Vanek. You can tell me more on the way to the room.” Dominik smiled to soften his words, but he was just eager to get the insanity of the day over with so he could focus on the game. He envied the players with wives whose sole focus during the playoffs was to make sure their men had no distractions. Several of them even sent children to relatives and spent all their time watching what their husbands ate. How much they slept.

All right, he didn’t need anything that extreme, but it would be nice to share some of the burden. To go home to someone who’d listen and then tell him nothing mattered but what he did on the ice.

He pulled onto the street, picturing Sahara doing exactly that. She came from a long line of hockey players. She would understand…

Damn it, he had to stop picturing her in unrealistic roles. He’d done well giving her time and space to get where she needed to be before even considering a relationship. He refused to put any pressure on her. Or himself.

But he had to admit, over the months that they’d gotten closer, he’d considered how easily she’d fit into his life. Even when he’d struggled with the idea that Oriana was no longer part of his future, the idea that Sahara might be kept slipping in.

The next step was up to her. Which was hard to swallow. He could only stand back and hope the carefree life Pischlar offered wasn’t all she wanted. Anyone could ignore their own needs. And she had more reason than many to prefer things uncomplicated.

He had to stop seeing her with his collar when he still hadn’t decided if she craved the weight of it around her neck. He had only just accepted that he wouldn’t turn his back on the lifestyle; he’d simply stop training subs he couldn’t keep.

Thankfully, he pulled into the hospital parking lot before his mind could delve any deeper into things he had no control over. He joined Shero halfway across the lot and let the man distract him with the rookie he’d be inviting into his home.

“He should be arriving in about an hour. I hate to rush you, but I need to give the driver picking him up your address. If you’re sure—”

“I’m sure. But tell me more about the kid. Does he need a babysitter or just a place to stay?” Dominik followed Shero down the hall, figuring he knew where Zovko’s room was. “You said he had responsibilities? Will I need to make any big changes right away or do I still have time for a nap before the game?”

“I don’t see that being an issue. He’ll need to rest as well.” Shero shook his head as they took the elevator up to the sixth floor. “The information I have is limited, but I know he has family in Ontario. You may have more than one person invading your home.”

“You haven’t even given me his name yet.” Dominik grinned at Shero’s flustered look. “Give the driver my address. I’m assuming the whole entourage won’t be there today?”

“No, of course not. There hasn’t been much time…” Shero said. “His name is Heath Ladd.”

The name was familiar. “I’m sure I’ve seen his stats. A smart choice. And no drama that I know of.”

“He’s a good kid. His coaches think he’ll fit in without making waves.”

“Perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find out specifics? We’re asking a lot of you.”

“He needs a bed to sleep in. Some guidance. If he has a mother or a sister that needs to stay with him while he settles, I’m fine with that. I have a few spare bedrooms.” Dominik tried to think of anything else that could make things difficult. “I can drive him where he needs to go if he doesn’t have his own car. I can keep him away from the press. He’s eighteen, right?”

“Yes.”

“Not a drinker? Is he prone to being late or slacking off?”

“No.” Shero seemed much more comfortable discussing the young man’s habits than he had been making the request. “He’s always the last to leave the ice. His coach did mention he’s not very talkative, but he takes instruction well. He had a trainer he was close to in London, but I have several in mind to work with him. He’s dedicated. A sniper. I’ll put him on the third line to start off, but I see him making it to the second or first easily.”

“Which is exactly what we need.” The idea that Zovko wouldn’t be playing with them indefinitely was hard to swallow, but that was the reality of their sport. And the reason management kept their options open. He reached for the door. “Are they expecting us?”

Shero nodded. “They knew I’d be stopping by today. Even I wouldn’t drop in unexpected with Chicklet standing guard over him. But I don’t see them having an issue with you being here as well.”

Inclining his head, Dominik rapped his knuckles softly on the door. Chicklet opened it seconds later. She met his eyes, trying to put on a brave face.

He was having none of that. “Come here.”

Her strong body leaned into his as he wrapped his arms around her. She was a tall woman, all wiry muscle and badass attitude, but she loved unconditionally and had claimed Raif Zovko as one of her own. That he was a Dom as well didn’t matter. She’d be hovering over him, all her protective instincts on high alert until he was strong enough to tell her it was unnecessary.

Which, hopefully, wouldn’t take long.

“How is he?” Dominik asked when she pulled away, letting her wipe her tears before joining her in the private room.

She went to Zovko’s bedside, putting her hand on Tyler’s shoulder. The young man was half-asleep in a chair he’d dragged right next to the bed. He barely lifted his head to greet Dominik, struggling to keep his eyes open as he put his hand over Chicklet’s.

“Surgery went well. They put a metal plate in because parts of his skull caved in. He’s sleeping a lot.” Chicklet shook her head, looking helpless and frustrated. “I wish I could tell you more, but it’s day to day. He needed a blood transfusion yesterday. Thankfully, we’re the same blood type.”

“I can donate to anyone. I could have done it.” Tyler dropped his hand to his lap. “Still don’t get why you didn’t let me.”

“Because you’re getting back on the ice as soon as Coach here thinks you’re ready.” Chicklet turned to Shero. “He hasn’t slept in two days, so I don’t know if…”

Shero shook his head. “We’ll manage without him for another game.” He focused on Tyler. “If you can’t come to New York, the team will understand. But we could use you out there.”

Tyler nodded, but he didn’t comment. The game clearly wasn’t a priority.

Not that Dominik could blame him.

Looking at Zovko, Dominik had a hard time seeing the same strong, vibrant man he’d come to know over the past few months in the pale, lifeless form on the bed. Zovko’s usually perfectly styled, chin length hair was limp. Dark shadows surrounded his closed lids. The heart monitor showed his pulse was strong, but he looked vulnerable and drained.

Maybe it would be different if he woke and showed the indomitable spirit they all knew him for, but he needed to rest and heal. And his loved ones could do nothing but wait and hope for the best.

Damn it, Dominik wished he had more to offer than the same platitudes they’d likely heard from everyone. At least with Oriana, he’d been able to calm Sloan down. Talk to Max. And her. The accident had been frightening for them all, but compared to what Zovko was going through, Oriana had been lucky.

Approaching Tyler, Dominik crouched down to meet the younger man’s eyes. “Don’t worry about the game. If you need anything, you give me a call. All right?”

Eyes tearing, Tyler nodded quickly. He grabbed Dominik’s wrist before he could stand. “Thank you.”

The gratitude made it hard to leave, but apparently Dominik had something to offer after all. With everyone reminding Tyler it was the playoffs, the team needed him, Zovko would want him with his team…all the kid wanted to hear was that he was exactly where he needed to be.

But, while this was where Tyler needed to be, Dominik had to get home. Welcome the new rookie. And pray he could manage a power nap before he hit the ice.

He got to his truck and sat there for a while, craving a few moments of silence to get his shit together. The past couple days had been so hectic focusing on the game himself was going to be a challenge.

Taking out his phone, he flipped it idly in his hand. Then he went through his callers and pressed Sahara’s number.

“Hello?” She sounded happy to hear from him, but uncertain, as though worried something was wrong.

The smile on his face lightened his tone. “Hello, sunshine. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I’m just relaxing a bit before the game.” She paused. “Don’t you guys take naps? Like toddlers?”

He couldn’t hold back his laugh. Yes, calling her had been a very good idea. “Something like that. I had to come see Zovko first.”

“How is he?”

“Stable. Which is the best that can be expected right now.”

“I guess, but that was scary. And poor Tyler…this is too much like his own injury. He’s not playing tonight, is he? I know you guys are supposed to tough it out, but he loves that man.”

My feelings exactly. Not a conversation he could have with most of those on the team, but Sahara wasn’t in the game mentality. And neither was he, obviously. “I made sure he knew he can take the time he needs. Zovko will probably insist that he play, but maybe, once he’s able to do so himself, Tyler will be ready.”

“I’d imagine so.” Sahara’s voice relaxed, as though she’d settled into a comfortable chair. “So aside from that, how are you? I heard Oriana went home today… You don’t mind me mentioning her, do you?”

“Not at all. She’s a friend. I saw her, spoke to Max, and I think they’re going to be fine. How are your boys?”

“Pischlar and White? Good, I think. Being here is…uncomplicated.”

“Good.” He wasn’t feeling the word, but he was happy for her. She needed uncomplicated after what she’d gone through. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Yes, but you guys better win!” She giggled. “Don’t want to put too much pressure on you, but the last game sucked.”

“I agree.”

“Can you score one for me tonight? I’ve always wanted someone to do that.”

He opened his mouth, tempted to tell her to ask Pischlar or White, but that would be petty. He’d told her he was fine with her doing whatever worked for her right now. And he was.

But her asking him something like that caught him off guard. He needed a few minutes to come up with a logical reply.

Any reply.

Any time now.

“Dominik?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll score one for you.”

“That means something, doesn’t it?”

He steadied his breaths, leveling his tone. “No more than you want it to, sunshine.”

She hesitated. Then exhaled loudly. “I kinda want it to. Is that weird? I’m a head case, right? Don’t worry, you can be honest.”

“I always will be, Sahara. And no, you’re not a head case.” He rested against the headrest. “I’ll be in New York for a few days, but when I come back, I want to see you.”

“Won’t I see you tonight?”

There was something in her voice, a quiet longing. Which shouldn’t be there if Pischlar had succeeded in distracting her. If they were both her Doms, Dominik would give the man a call and see what more could be done.

But this wasn’t a partnership and Pischlar was no more than a casual, temporary lover. Very temporary if Sahara decided she needed more.

He grinned and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I’ll introduce you to my new roommate.”

“Uh…I didn’t know you were looking for one.” She released a small, irritated sound. “Is she nice?”

Her jealousy was something they’d have to work on. He could point out that she was hardly in a position to judge who he lived with while she was staying with two other men, but he’d rather build up her confidence than press her insecurities.

So he clarified. “He. And I don’t know, I haven’t met him yet.”

She laughed with obvious relief. “So stupid…I’m sorry. I guess he’s a rookie you’re looking out for? I should let you go so you can focus on him.”

“Yes, I’m about to join him at my place. But do me a favor, pet.”

A soft, rapid intake of breath, so close to the phone she must have it pressed right against her face. “Yes, Sir?”

“Don’t call yourself stupid. I don’t like it.”

Nothing. Then she laughed nervously. “Sorry. I nodded, but you can’t see me. I won’t anymore.”

“Good girl.” He shook his head at himself, both loving and hating how natural the dynamic between them felt. Loving it because he didn’t doubt they could have a good, strong relationship. Hating it because they weren’t there yet. “I have to go now, sunshine. Watch for that goal.”

After he hung up, he drove home, feeling fully at ease for the first time in a while. Things may be complicated with Sahara on the whole, but tonight, they’d be very simple.

Light the lamp. Make her smile.

And win the game.

* * *

Sahara bit back a grin as she stood with Akira in the bedroom Jami shared with Sebastian and Luke. Holding up one of each of their home jerseys, Jami dropped back on the bed and groaned. She had a tough decision to make.

And both Sahara and Akira were trying very, very hard to be sympathetic.

In nothing but jeans and a bra, Jami lay on the bed, the jerseys on either side of her, her hands over her face. “This sucks! Why isn’t it this hard during the regular season?”

“Because they take turns?” Sahara bit her lip. Exchanged a look with Akira.

They burst out laughing.

“You’re both horrible bitches and I hate you.” Jami sat up and smirked. “Besides, they don’t always take turns. Sometimes—”

“TMI!” Sahara slapped her hands over her ears and hummed loudly.

Akira was just about on the floor, hardly breathing through her laughter.

Sticking out her tongue, Jami returned her attention to the jerseys, petting the numbers with a fond expression on her face. “They both know I love them. They lost while I was wearing Luke’s jersey, so… But I don’t want him to think I blame him—”

The sharp snick of boot heels came from the hall as Chicklet strode into the room, right up to the bed, and picked up the jersey with “Ramos” and “11” on the back. She held it out to Jami. “Get dressed. You will not be late on my watch, and you’re being ridiculous.”

Jami wrinkled her nose the second Chicklet turned to leave the room again, but she quickly donned the jersey. And kept her voice to a whisper when she spoke. “How much longer are you going to need your own security detail, Sahara? Not that I don’t love Chicklet, but…damn. She’s miserable. And before you remind me, I know how scared she is for Raif, but why isn’t she with him? Can’t Cort or Cam trail you?”

That would probably be easier on everyone, but the conversation before Chicklet had come to pick her up hadn’t gone well. Sahara’s attempt to release Chicklet from her team-appointed job as bodyguard had been taken as an insult.

“I promised to tell you when I was leaving Pischlar’s place, but you don’t need to come. He’ll drop me off at Jami’s. Tyler and Raif need you more than I do.”

“They need me sitting in the damn hospital, completely useless, more than you need me watching your back?”

Sahara winced, wishing she’d worded that better. “No! I mean, I’ll be fine and you should—”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be ready.”

Chicklet had been hired because Mr. Keane thought Sahara would be more comfortable with a woman, but she’d be fine with Dominik’s brother. Having Cort watch her would be awkward after what she’d said to him, but she’d rather swallow her pride than keep Chicklet away from her men when they needed her.

“I tried to suggest she stay at the hospital, but she gets all the details of the case from Laura, so… Well, she’s not convinced that I’m safe out on my own.” She hugged herself, grateful for the long, black wool jacket that covered her uniform. She was suddenly very cold. “Grant’s out on bail, but I haven’t heard anything from him. The crazy calls I’ve been getting are from his fans. As well as the Facebook messages—”

“Death threats.” Akira corrected with the same irritation she showed anytime Sahara tried to downplay the situation. She folded her arms over her chest. “And one of the crazy bitches found your apartment.” Her lips thinned when Jami’s eyes went wide. “I’m not surprised you didn’t know. Sahara doesn’t want us to worry. Because that’s the priority.”

“Damn it, Sahara.” Jami drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “What happened?”

Sahara dropped her gaze to the floor. “My landlord said someone spray-painted ‘Lair’ all over my door.”

Akira’s brow shot up. “You mean ‘liar’?”

“I think whoever wrote it meant liar.” Sahara rubbed her arms. Laura had tried to joke about it when Sahara had called her, but finding any humor in it was difficult when both the team and the police were taking the threats seriously enough to have her constantly watched. Despite Chicklet’s presence, there was a unit parked outside Jami’s house. The last straw had been the message posted on Sahara’s Facebook wall, detailing an orgy of violence that took a truly twisted mind to think up.

At least the woman who’d left that hadn’t been difficult to track down. The arrest had brought even more attention to the case.

Sahara had changed her phone number and texted the new one to all her close contacts. Stopped going online at all. Didn’t spend much time outside. Or anywhere public.

If she hadn’t had Jami and Akira, she would have felt very alone. Fooling around with Pischlar and White had been fun the first night, but after that, simply…shallow. Not that they weren’t sweet to her. Tender and attentive, always making sure she enjoyed herself.

“Uh-oh. She’s all lost in thought again.” Jami nudged Sahara into the hall, hooking her arm on one side while Akira took the other, making the hallway very crowded. “What’s wrong, babe? You know you’re safe, right? Whether it’s Chicklet or—”

“Or?” Chicklet slapped a magazine on the coffee table as they stepped into the living room. “Why would there be an ‘or’?”

Damn it, Jami’s getting as bad as Luke and Tyler at keeping her mouth shut. Sahara worked her arms free and held up her hands. “No reason, I was just saying I felt bad keeping you away from Raif. And that maybe we could get Cam to take over.”

Chicklet grunted and grabbed her leather jacket. “I’ll talk to Mr. Keane. He’s the one who hired me, and the team needs Cam on the road. Cort would be a better option. He’s got a hearing soon.”

She didn’t sound mad. Or insulted.

Sahara nodded quickly. “Sure. I’d be fine with Cort. Or whoever—”

“Not whoever, little girl. I would like to be with my man more, but I won’t leave you with someone I don’t think can watch you as well as I can.” Chicklet opened the door and led the way out, surveying the street before heading over to the black SUV the team had loaned her. She gestured for Sahara to get in the backseat with Jami. “You’ve made your point. It will be considered.”

Another nod and Sahara sank back in her seat, silent for the ride to the Delgado Forum. Jami and Akira seemed lost in their own thoughts, which was good. There wasn’t much to say.

Once they were inside the restricted area of the Forum, Chicklet left them to go talk to Mr. Keane. There was enough security around that Sahara didn’t need a constant shadow. They were early, and she and Akira were already dressed, so there wasn’t anything to do besides hang around.

She turned toward the Ice Girls’ locker room. Akira and Jami started in the other direction.

“Hey, where are you going?” Akira crossed the short distance and grabbed Sahara’s hand. “The wives’ room is ten times nicer than our locker room. Have you been there yet?”

Umm, no. Sahara laughed and dug her heels into the carpeted floor. “Why would I go there? I’m not married to a player. And Jami’s the only one engaged to…two.”

Jami let out a happy sigh and admired her engagement ring. “I’m one lucky bitch, eh?”

“Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why I have any business in there.” Sahara had met some of the players’ wives in New York. Long-time girlfriends were sometimes accepted into their ranks, but it was a dubious honor. They could be damn catty, and Sahara wasn’t in the mood to deal with cliquish behavior.

Akira rolled her eyes. “Oriana is usually Queen Bee in there. And when she’s not running the show, Silver is. She’s probably there with Becky and the babies right now. You’ll see, it’s great.”

Babies. Yep, Akira knew just how to convince her. Sahara giggled as Akira pulled her, half running, to a room all the way down the hall from the locker rooms. She pushed the large wooden double doors, slipping in as quietly as she could, feeling like a kid late for class when the women inside looked over at her curiously.

The room was a bit bigger than the locker rooms, and much more stylish than the players’ lounge. All the décor was still in the team’s black and gold, but there were glass and mirror accents, as well as softer golden shades to lighten up the room. With leather sofas on one side, and several tables on the other, the set up was perfect for the players’ families to relax in before the game started and between periods.

Silver wasn’t here, but Becky was. In a crisp, tan skirt suit with a white shirt and snazzy nude heels Sahara was so going to beg to borrow, she was perched on a black leather armchair, bouncing Amia on her knee and watching Casey color a huge poster on the floor with several of the other Cobra kids.

A smile lit Becky’s face when she spotted Sahara and she stood, lifting Amia to her hip and crossing the room to give Sahara a hug. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?” She eyed Sahara’s chin, likely checking out the fading bruises. “You look better.”

“I’m feeling it. Everyone’s been amazing, and I’ve had tons of support from the team. Thank you.” She didn’t really want to talk about her situation though, so she turned to Amia and gave the little cutie a kiss on the cheek. She had such soft, light brown curls, darker than they’d been only a few months back. “She’s starting to look more like Casey. They could almost be sisters.”

Becky nodded, laughing as Amia made a grab for the tiny unicorn pendant that Sahara wore on a delicate gold chain. “Yes, but she’s got a bit of all her parents. I swear, the looks she gives me!” Becky gently pulled Amia’s hand back and the baby proved her point by staring at her with annoyance. “Tell me that’s not Dean right there!”

It really was, which was interesting since he wasn’t her biological father. But he was her daddy in every way that counted and she mirrored him in many ways.

Another grab and this time, a pointed “No,” from Becky got Amia’s lip sticking out in a pout.

“And that’s so Silver.” Becky winked.

Coming closer, Akira giggled, offering the baby her thicker bracelet to play with. “I was going to say that looked just like Ford when he’s not happy. Maybe we should call it the Delgado pout!”

The women around who were pretending not to listen joined in on the laughter. Several came forward to introduce themselves. Not surprisingly, most seemed to have popped right out of the magazines strewn on the table near the kitchenette. At least one of them was on two of the covers.

Sahara braced herself when the woman, who was a few years younger than her, came over and thrust out her hand. “Jackie Littlefield. The guy who has a full beard all season, Peter Kral, is mine. I just recently put a ring on it.”

An inch taller than Sahara, with long, slick black hair and startling, pale gray eyes, Jackie exuded so much warmth and confidence all at once, Sahara wasn’t sure how to react. Or what to say. She didn’t want to make an ass of herself.

She glanced at the woman’s left hand, ready to gush over a huge diamond. But the ring wasn’t gaudy at all and very pretty. “Congratulations. Can I see?”

Jackie beamed and held up her hand. “It’s a Disney engagement ring. I fell in love with them and couldn’t choose. I’d considered the Mermaid one, but he got me Aurora and said it suited me better.” She bit her lip as she gazed down at the pink sapphire, which had small hearts formed with diamonds on either side. “His ring is bigger. I was afraid I’d embarrassed him, getting down on one knee in front of his whole team—”

Jeanette, the wife of Beau Mischlue, came up behind Jackie and gave her a hug from behind. “It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Her French accent made her voice soft, but she spoke English much better than her husband. “Beau teased me after, asking why I hadn’t thought of that when I bugged him for so long about getting married. The men were all jealous.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want him thinking the ring is to make a statement.”

“Why not? Besides, the bigger the ring, the more challenged the bunnies are.” Jeanette flicked her wavy brown ponytail over one shoulder. “You trust him?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t marry him if I didn’t.”

“Good. Then no worries. The ring is perfect for his big hands.” Jeanette glanced over at Sahara, then at Jami and Akira. “Jami, have you set a date? We should have a big party to celebrate. If your father doesn’t like it, he won’t be invited.”

“Jeanette!” Cecilia Brends, the tiniest of the women, even though she was the mother of four kids, put her hand over her lips and shook her head. “You can’t say things like that! You’ll get your husband traded.”

“Et? We go to Montreal. I will miss you, but we can visit.” Jeanette winked at Jami to show she was joking. “You’re a big girl now. I remember you as a little bundle of trouble. Looking at you makes me feel old.”

“I don’t feel old. I would give up my Gucci purse to know what it’s like to be with two of our guys.” Cecilia let out a dramatic sigh. “Two like Mirek and I’d probably have eight kids. And I’d need to be committed.”

“Looking at Ramos and Carter, I think Jami might be able to give the team the whole next generation. Enjoy that tiny body now, honey.”

“Jeanette!”

Jami’s cheeks were red. Akira was doing a horrible job of not laughing at their dear friend. Someone needed to change the topic before Jami regretted coming in here.

Not that Sahara much wanted the attention on herself. Maybe they could talk about hockey?

She cleared her throat. “So…do you watch all the games here? You’ve got a nice view of the ice. And what do you think of our chances for the post-season?”

Beside her, Jami gave her a grateful look and squeezed her hand. Jeanette latched on to the subject, proving to be very knowledgeable about hockey. She threw out a few questions and comments that Sahara couldn’t help but respond to.

Tests. Not catty exactly, but close. Sahara braced for her to move in for the kill.

Jeanette cocked her head, studying Sahara with curiosity. “Most of the Ice Girls know about the game. A bit. But you grew up with it, didn’t you?”

Name-dropping would sound like bragging, so Sahara just nodded. “Yes. And I played until I was in my late teens. I wanted to be the next Manon Rhéaume, but I wasn’t good enough. And my grandfather always said he doubted a woman could play anything but goalie with the men.”

“He’s been right so far. But the women’s teams are amazing to watch. It would be good to see them draw more viewers.” Jeanette visibly relaxed, as though she’d decided she didn’t need to keep interrogating Sahara. That didn’t mean she accepted her, but she didn’t see her as a threat. “You’ve told us little about yourself. Are you dating one of the men? Or several? We’ve decided we really don’t care either way, but we don’t let just anyone in here. Akira gets a pass because Cort looks out for our men. And Ford is a darling.”

Ford? Sahara blinked at Akira, who smirked, then shrugged.

“I’m…staying with Pischlar?” Sahara winced as the words came out of her mouth. Pischlar was pretty easygoing about life in general, and there wasn’t much she could do that would piss him off. Implying they were together might be an issue for him. “White’s there a lot too. I mean, it’s not anything. I’m not dating either of them, we just… I needed…”

Fuck, that was stupid.

Pischlar might laugh about her awkwardly blurting out private details, but White certainly wouldn’t find it funny.

And she now had the full attention of every woman in the room. Jami let out a soft groan behind her. Akira scowled and shook her head.

Jackie let out a piercing whistle that made everyone jump. “Just about warm-up time! Who’s going to the box with me? I’m not missing that look Peter gives me before the game starts while you bitches gossip.”

“We have to get ready for our routine, but as soon as we’re done, we’ll join you.” Akira grabbed Sahara’s arm and Jami’s hand. “Jami, you should check on Sam. Make sure she’s doing okay. She hardly looks like she’s pregnant, eh?”

They got out of the room just as conversation turned to who did look pregnant. And then half ran down the hall before stopping to stare at one another. And start laughing like crazy women.

“So much for trying to show you how great it is in there. They’re really nice though, Sahara. You’ll love them once you get to know them.” Jami tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, pressing her hand to one blazing red cheek. “Hanging out with guys so much makes me forget how much more…open women can be.”

“Oh, it was fine. I’ve dealt with a lot worse. The Ice Girls…” Sahara hesitated, not sure she wanted to say too much about them. Jami worked at the Forum, like Sam, but she’d been promoted to an usher. She was technically part of the Ice Girls, but only as a backup if one of the others got hurt. So she wouldn’t be performing tonight.

And hadn’t all season.

Jami rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “You know I’m not as into performing as you two. Don’t hold back on my account.” She hooked her arm with Sahara. “Tell me Justine’s learned to stick up for herself?”

Sahara shook her head. Justine was one of the youngest of the Ice Girls. An amazing performer, but she was shy and insecure and had a weight issue—not a real one, she was as fit as any of the girls. But she was a medium to their extra small.

The Ice Girls’ old coach had made it more of an issue and gotten herself fired. After Silver ripped her a new one. The Ice Girls knew better than to openly bully Justine, but Sahara was sure the girl still overheard the odd nasty comment. She was always quiet in the locker room. Stuck close to Akira and Sahara.

“I think she’d quit if she didn’t love the team and being out there so much. We’re supposed to be doing a big photo shoot this summer. She’s already trying to get out of it. But she’s only talking to me and Sahara.” Akira frowned. “Silver might be able to help, but I hate bugging her. She’s so busy with work and the baby. And now with Oriana being hurt…?”

“We need to take Justine out and work on her confidence.” Jami tapped her bottom lip with her forefinger as they continued to the Ice Girls’ locker room. “Maybe bring her to the club?”

Sahara went still with her hand halfway to the door. “Are you serious? She might be submissive, but what goes on there would scare the hell out of her.”

“Not with us holding her hand.”

“BDSM isn’t the solution to everything, Jami.”

Jami rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. But some of the players who go there are just a little kinky. And there’s always Pisch. He’d be great for her, and you’re not keeping him.”

True. But if Sahara was starting to feel uncomfortable with the lack of substance in the relationship, Justine would be a wreck after the first time she let Pischlar close. She doubted he’d go near Justine; she just wasn’t his kind of girl. She needed at least the hope of more from the start.

What does that say about you?

Nothing. Sahara wouldn’t start tearing herself down about what she should have done. She didn’t judge Pischlar for his carefree attitude. She wouldn’t start doing it to herself. This wasn’t the fucking 1800s. So long as she was a single woman, she could do whatever she wanted.

But that lifestyle didn’t appeal to her anymore. Which was also fine.

Except, they weren’t talking about her. So she focused on the reasons why Jami shouldn’t be giving Justine a nudge in Pischlar’s direction. “The girl hasn’t dated anyone since I’ve known her. Pischlar would show her a good time. Then he’d break her heart. If he didn’t crush her in the first five minutes with his “You can’t keep me speech.” I heard it and I was all right. She wouldn’t be.”

“It’s not really a speech, he…” Jami ducked her head when Akira gaped at her. “So not getting into details, Sebastian made it clear to Luke and me that if he wanted our sex life out in the open, he’d play at the club. He doesn’t bring us there very often anymore. He likes his privacy.”

Well, that was new. What had changed?

Not that she could ask, since Jami had brought up privacy, but would Sahara sharing her experiences be weird now?

Akira apparently didn’t share Sahara’s reservations. She turned away from the locker room and folded her arms over her chest. “Did something happen? Is you and Luke being engaged a problem?”

“No, of course not. Sebastian just…he’s not interested in sharing anymore. He did when he thought I needed it, but we’ve renegotiated. I think all the talk about Pisch playing with Tyler got to him.” She shrugged. “Luke’s uncomfortable with rumors, and Sebastian is trying to protect him. Not that I think you’d say anything, but when my Master gives me an order…” She smiled, her eyes dreamy. “Things are perfect. I don’t know how else to explain, but I hope you understand.”

“We do.” Sahara had no doubt Akira felt the same. “No more sex talk.”

Jami shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. Just…certain things I can’t tell you. I am more than willing to listen to any dirty details you want to give me!”

Sahara smirked. “Well then, there’s probably a few interesting things about White you’d want to know. The things that man can do with his tongue…”

She cut herself off and opened the door to the locker room.

“Hey!” Jami called as Sahara ducked inside. “You can’t stop now!”

“We’re gonna be late. Love you!” Sahara blew Jami a kiss and hurried to her locker, grinning as Jami stuck out her tongue before slipping out of sight.

Just a little bit of time with her friends had Sahara feeling a million times better. She laced up her skates, waited while Akira gave the group their routine pep talk, and then followed the group out to the ice. Above, on a platform, a few of their girls danced with pom-poms like regular cheerleaders. The routine on the ice would be quick—just enough to rev up the crowd and keep them entertained before the elaborate light and music show came on to introduce the players.

Almost half of the seats were still empty, but they had a nice-sized audience. Sahara glided out around one half of the rink, three girls a few paces behind her, while Akira circled the other side. The lights dimmed and the spotlights followed them. The song “Dangerous” by David Guetta came on.

Speeding up, Sahara pushed into a leap, spinning before landing across from Akira, who mirrored her as she began to dance. Gold and red lights flashed, pulsing in a way that distorted their movements. The cold didn’t touch her as she moved to the beat, every choreographed motion perfectly natural after weeks of practice, her muscles burning as she twisted and grinded down, fast, then slow and precise.

The Jumbotron screen showed them, then the dancers on the platform who kept with their rhythm, every step a reflection, so much passion in every gesture the crowd couldn’t help but be sucked into the excitement.

All the screaming, the cheers, hell, even the catcalls made Sahara’s heart beat a little faster as she smiled and rushed away from the rest of the group to do another leap, landing only to spin in place until the world became a blur. She had given up her dreams of playing hockey so long ago, but she’d still found a way to be part of the sport she’d been born to love. Some of her best memories were from sitting out there in the stands, high above the ice but feeling every check into the boards, every fight, every goal, and every win as though she were right there with the players.

Maybe the Ice Girls weren’t all that important, but they were a link between the fans and the team. Their dancing and their cheering expressed so much of what the crowd experienced. The opinions of the critics were irrelevant. Once they were done, all that mattered was they were all screaming for the same result.

A home ice win for the team that represented them all.

When they finished, they quickly cleared the ice and raced back to the locker room. Sahara changed into her sneakers and ran with Akira up to the wives’ box to see the puck drop.

By the time they got there, the anthems had both been sung. The puck hit the ice and the crowd roared as Dominik took possession. He jetted between the Islander forwards, evaded their defense, and snapped the puck at the goal.

The lamp lit up and the cheers were deafening. Sahara jumped, clapping and screaming until her throat was sore. There was nothing like a goal within the first second of a game to set the pace.

“Sahara!” Akira grabbed her arm, bouncing as she pointed down at the ice. Then at the huge Jumbotron screen.

Huddled among his men, Dominik grinned, accepting their praise, but he was looking up, as though searching for someone. Ramos moved closer, saying something to him before pointing up to the wives’ box.

There was no way he could see her, but Sahara could feel his eyes on her as he clearly mouthed the words “For you.” Then winked.

Her heart forgot how to beat properly. She pressed her fingers to her lips, skittering out of view of the camera when she saw her own shocked expression on the screen. Around her, all the wives and girlfriends were giggling. Whispering excitedly.

But she hardly noticed them. She had a hard time staying put. She wanted to go down there and hug Dominik and thank him.

There were no words for how that gesture made her feel. Yes, she’d asked him to score a goal for her, but there’d been no guarantee. But he’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Screw diamonds and flowers and sweet words. That 1-0 on the scoreboard meant more than any gift her man could give her.

He’s not your man.

Not yet. But he would be.

You’re not ready.

She told herself to shut up and laughed, drawing a few curious glances. Maybe she’d needed some time to figure out what was going on in her own head, but all her doubts were gone. Not only because of the goal. The goal had just pushed her to accept all she could have if she let herself believe she deserved to be happy.

And she was happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy.

The only problem was, she’d put up her own roadblocks. Yeah, she and Dominik had talked, but he would need more than an “I’m ready” to show him she’d done a complete 180 and wanted to give them a real shot.

She wished she could tell him this instant, but he didn’t exactly have an office job where she could just call him up. Or text him.

He might notice one of those great big signs…

Okay, she had to pull herself together. He’d made an awesome gesture without going over the top. There was no mistaking where he stood.

All she had to do was find a subtle—and rational—way to do the same.