by Elise Faber
Play hard. Take the licks. Rework the negative. Highlight the positive.
And do it all over again.
Done.
In the meantime, though, he needed to hope that his parade of gifts had begun the process of winning Dani over, because he needed to see her, needed to talk to her, needed to fix this . . . with more words and fewer presents.
“Ethan!”
He glanced behind him, stopping on the threshold of the locker room.
Scarlett, PR-Rebecca’s assistant, her hair as red as her name, hustled up, clutching an iPad in one hand, using her other to push up her glasses. Her blue eyes shone with worry.
“What’s up?” he asked, stepping toward her.
“I fucked up,” she whispered, darting a glance over her shoulder. “I am so getting fired. This is the first time I’ve been on my own, and Rebecca finally trusted me to pick up some of her slack, and I am so totally going to get fired.” She groaned, and he figured she was approximately a millisecond from freaking out.
Which was why he just crouched a little bit, enough to meet her blue eyes, and asked, “What can I do to help?”
“You’re late for a meet-and-greet,” she hissed. “A meet-and-greet,” she added in reply to what was no doubt a confused expression on his face, since he didn’t have any fan interactions scheduled. He always received notice before, always had them cleared with him just in case . . . and ah, he realized, finally comprehending her miserable expression, that was her fuck up.
“You’re going to tell Rebecca, aren’t you?” she asked dejectedly.
He patted her shoulder. “Let’s worry about the fans before we panic about Rebecca,” he said. “Give me the specifics.”
She rattled them off.
“Okay,” he said, stripping off his jersey. “I’ve got this.”
And truthfully, he didn’t mind this kind of thing. He wasn’t a big draw, so these interactions weren’t frequent enough to be draining, and when they involved kids, like tonight’s, they were extra special.
“You’re definitely going to report me, aren’t you?” she asked morosely, as they walked down the hall. “It’s my fault. I didn’t tell—”
His shoulder pads were driving him crazy, so he took those off next. “If you can get these to Richie”—the equipment manager—“then we’ll call it even.”
“That’s not—”
“It’s fine,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I promise you, this is fine.”
“You’ll still tell Rebecca, won’t you?”
Ethan paused, considered that. “I’ll have to if she asks,” he said truthfully. “But I don’t see why she’d specifically ask about this. She’ll ask if you did your job well. She’ll want to know that you care about the team as much as she does.” He squeezed her shoulder. “And my answer to both of those will be yes.”
Relief slid through her expression.
“You good with the gear?” he asked, less because he needed her to take care of his shoulder pads and more because he felt like she needed something to do that wasn’t worrying about stepping into PR-Rebecca’s shoes.
“I’m good,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” he said, handing them to her, and then he moved toward the teeny, tiny little girl and her mom, crouching down to talk about his three favorite things: hockey, more hockey, and . . . YouTubers.
Grinning over the girl’s—Catherine’s—head, he saw her mom sigh and open her mouth, like she was going to interrupt, but he shook his head, letting her know it was all good, and then listened as Catherine explained what sounded like a very intense trick shot that had been performed by her favorite, yup, he’d guessed it, YouTuber. “Do you think you could do it?” she asked once she’d finished.
He solemnly shook his head. “No way.”
Her face fell.
“But I bet you’ll be able to do it before I can.”
She smiled wide enough to light up the already bright hall then threw her arms around his neck. “You really think so?”
He nodded. “I know so. Also,” he said, handing her the jersey he’d stripped off earlier. “This is for you.”
Another huge smile that had his heart squeezing tight. “Really?”
“Really.”
Catherine yanked it over her head, practically swimming in the fabric, but she was happy, her mom was happy, and he chatted with them for a few more minutes. It got harder to concentrate as those minutes passed because he felt it.
Or rather her.
As Catherine spoke, his nerves prickled, the skin on his nape prickled, awareness filling every cell. His inner Dani detector was on full alert, telling him she was near.
He wanted to break off the conversation, to track her down.
But he wouldn’t.
Because this moment was one of the big ones, an important interaction, something that—even at risk of him sounding egotistical—but it might be something Catherine remembered forever.
So, he’d give the little girl his time, his patience.
His complete focus.
Also, this just in, apparently men could multitask—or at least his inner Dani detector could still work while he listened to Catherine chatter. He felt her watching him, sensed her staying in place.
And that gave him the strength to finish the conversation.
Eventually, though, Catherine yawned, and her mom bustled her away after he’d signed the jersey, thanking him. He scored one more hug and a super special fist bump before mom and daughter disappeared down the hall, Scarlett swooping in out of somewhere to show them the way.
Thankfully, that inner detector was still blazing strong.
He turned, his gaze immediately arrowing in on Dani.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dani, Fifteen minutes before
“Why do you like to be called Fanny?” she asked her friend, who was lingering in her office waiting for the bus to the airport and the plane that would take them home.
“What’s going on between you and Ethan?” Fanny countered, making Dani’s mouth drop open and her finger slip as she nearly deleted the wrong video file. Quickly, she closed and saved everything, knowing she could finish the rest of her work on the plane, when she wasn’t at risk of crashing her whole system.
“Nothing,” she squeaked.
“Sure.” Plump lips turned up. “You were all lovely-dovey for a few weeks, and now I’m surrounded by mopey Joes, but nothing is going on.” She sank onto the edge of the desk. “Also, I go by Fanny because every other girl in school growing up was named Stephanie.” A shrug. “Being Fanny helped me stand out from the fold. Plus, I had plenty of opportunities to practice my comebacks for someone comparing me to a butt and/or a vagina.”
Dani shuddered. “That sounds horrible,” she said.
“Life is horrible sometimes.” Another shrug. “You might as well control the shitty parts as much as you’re able.”
“That’s actually kind of deep.”
“I can be deep,” Fanny said. “Just like I know that you’re in love with the man, and yet you’re not in his arms making goo-goo eyes at him.”
Dani groaned, covered her face with her hands. “I blew it,” she said. “He announced he loved me, and I freaked out. Yes, I love him, too. I’ve loved him for ages, but by the time I found the words, he was all shut down, and now I keep trying to talk to him, but he’s either hiding or avoiding me and . . .” She groaned again, banged her head on the table, and wailed, “I still haven’t been able to tell him that I love him!”
“He can’t avoid you forever,” Fanny said, “you work together.”
“Well, he’s done a damned good job of it so far,” she muttered, opening her laptop.
“It’ll be okay,” Fanny said.
“How?” Dani lifted her head. “I hurt him.”
Fanny squeezed her shoulder. “He loves you, babe. That’s how I know it’ll be okay. Plus, you have this organization of perfectly matched soul mates to serve as an example of ho
w everything will work out.” Another squeeze. “It’s almost sickening how many HEAs we have among the Gold. You two are in good company.”
“I know, but . . .” Dani sighed, cut herself off, hating that even though she had so much love for Ethan, she was still worried it might all implode.
Fanny bumped her shoulder. “Self-reflection builds character, but too much can freeze you in quicksand.” Brown eyes gentling. “There is always risk in life, always a chance it might go wrong. But courage goes to those who can grab on to their happy.” A flash of a smile, before her face went serious. “Because when you love someone, when you stop being afraid and just go for it then . . .” She released a breath. “It’s like that, as simple as breathing, but you finally feel like your lungs can work fully. You can be yourself without fear, without being so locked down that you’re not open to new experiences. You can be . . . happy.”
Dani ran her thumb lightly back and forth along the space bar on her laptop, not hard enough to depress the key, just enough to feel the warmed plastic slide along her skin. “You make it sound easy.”
Fanny pressed her thumb down on the key. “It is easy. As easy as striking a key,” she said, returning her hand to her lap, “and it’s also the hardest thing you’ll ever do.”
“Is that what your experience was like with love?”
Fanny smiled sadly. “That’s a story for another time, preferably when I’ve had an entire pitcher of daiquiris.”
“I’m sorry, Fan.” Her eyes went to the single space on the blank document, the cursor blinking to its right. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“I’m not.” She swallowed. “Now, I have it on good authority that a certain sexy, bearded forward is . . .” She named a location that wasn’t too far away.
No fear.
Just rightness.
“Excuse me,” Dani said, pushing up out of her chair and moving to the door. “I need to go to him . . .”
“Dani?” Fanny called just as her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob.
She stopped.
“For the record, no one is allowed to tell you how to feel. Not even me and my pushy self,” Fanny said with a smile. “And definitely not those asshole inner voices. Just . . . throw in some mental earplugs and listen to your heart. That will always give you the strength to make the right decision.” Fanny went to the door, warm brown eyes staring into hers, turned the knob, and opened it wide. “You got this.” A wink. “Plus, love and the power of the Gold are on your side.”
Dani released a long, slow breath and nodded.
Fanny smiled approvingly. “It’s just that easy, babe.” A beat. “Now, go on and tell that man what he means to you.”
Dani slipped into the hall, moving toward the place Fanny had mentioned, knowing there were a million other post-game things she should be doing, and number one of those was that she shouldn’t be walking out of the office she used while at this arena. She should be labeling and splicing and loading content onto devices, emailing it out to players and coaches so they had it before they could even think about wanting it. But tonight, as she took that first step, as she strode down the hall and passed the tunnel that led to the arena, the cool air of the ice hitting her skin, she paused and watched the men and women walk across the rink, repairing it, prepping it for the next game.
And she found peace . . . and courage.
Ethan could run, but she’d find him.
He could avoid her, but she wouldn’t stop showing Ethan she loved him.
So, yes, there was courage inside her.
Instead of pain and fear, anxiety and insecurity. Those sharp spikes that had lived inside her for so long, eased by Ethan but still hiding in the background, threatening, waiting, making it so she had to breathe carefully and move cautiously, lest she do either wrong and jab herself . . . they’d retreated, disappearing into the ether.
Permanently.
Because she loved Ethan.
She turned away from the rink, and with that simple thought on her mind, in a sort of perfect moment of symmetry, she spotted Ethan.
Dani watched as he, still in the bottom half of his gear, his strong chest and arms on display with a tight black undershirt, smiled and fist-bumped a little girl who was maybe seven, the Gold jersey she wore engulfing her from her neck nearly down to her toes. After they spoke for a few minutes, he gently reached for the little one, those hands giant on tiny shoulders as he spun her so he could use the marker her mom held out to sign his name.
That done, he handed the pen back, and they talked for a little while longer. But he didn’t seem to be in any rush, even though he had to be tired, had to be wanting a shower and to get out of that wet gear.
Finally, he took some pictures, got a hug and another fist-bump, and waved at the mother and daughter as they disappeared down the hall.
Dani waited, hardly breathing, and the moment the daughter and her mom were gone, Ethan turned, his eyes coming unerringly to hers, as though it wouldn’t have mattered if she possessed the ability to camouflage with her surroundings, he would have still known she was there.
Her lips parted on a silent exhale, her heart thumping against her ribs.
He walked toward her.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Then he was there, towering over her even more than normal with the extra inches gained from his skates, and her nose was filled with the scent of salt and spice and . . . Ethan.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted.
His eyes gentled. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand wrapping around her wrist in one smooth move—as though it were an unconscious action, as though he’d greeted her that way for an eternity, with his slightly roughened fingertips running along the delicate skin there. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed you. I should have—”
Unbidden, her eyes burned, her throat working as she attempted to swallow the sob bubbling up in its depths.
She wanted this.
She wanted him.
“I love you, Ethan.”
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, his thumb drifting a little higher.
“I’ve been trying to find you all damned day, wanting to tell you that from the moment you left with your parents.” She grabbed his shoulders, shook him lightly. “I was surprised, yes,” she murmured. “And scared. And had a full-on panic attack.” She inhaled sharply, released it slowly. “Truthfully, I am still a little scared because what I feel for you is so big, so intense, so much more than I’d ever hoped. But I love you, so fucking much.”
Her eyes continued to burn, and in a heartbeat, she lost her battle with tears, one sliding down her cheek, a hot, liquid brand, then more streaking in their wake. “I thought I’d messed it up.” She sniffed. “I thought I’d lost you, and for one second, I wanted to give up.” She shook her head. “But I won’t give you up, even if you keep trying to avoid me and push me away.”
“I wasn’t.”
She blinked at the fierceness in his tone. “What?”
“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he said, cupping her jaw. “I fucked up. I hurt you. I scared you. I needed to find a way to prove to you that I would wait.” He rested his forehead to hers. “I needed to make it up to you. To—”
She yanked out of his hold.
“You stupid, stubborn man!”
His mouth fell open.
“That was a universally stupid thing to do!” she snapped, shoving away from him.
“You didn’t like the gifts?”
She froze, spun back. “They were wonderful.”
“So, why am I stupid?”
“Because you could have come back, and we could have talked it out, and I didn’t need the gifts. I was miserable and hurt, and I—I just needed you.”
A warm chest pressed to her back, arms around her middle. “You’re right. It would have been much simpler to talk. Though I wouldn’t have gotten the whole team on my side, helping, wouldn’t have learned you loved Hot Tamales
. Wouldn’t have gotten to shower you with the small gifts that are only a fraction of what you deserve.”
“I didn’t need—”
He spun her to face him. “But I did. I needed to give them to you, and I’m going to keep giving you everything you need in a thousand different ways.”
“Eth—”
“I love you. I’m going to take care of you.”
“I feel the same—”
His thumb brushed over her lips.
“But I didn’t think I deserved you. I had this well inside me that said because I’m not as smart as my parents because I’m not the most talented player on the ice, that because . . . so many other things . . . I thought you couldn’t want me. That I’d need to be more.” His hand slid down, lightly gripped the side of her neck. “And for you, I want to be more.”
“I don’t want more. I just want you.”
He shuddered, his chin resting on top of her head, his arms banding tight, drawing her against his chest. Probably, she should be disgusted to be wrapped in the sweaty embrace of a man who’d just spent the last three-plus hours working his ass off, but instead of that, she was just wrapped in everything that was this man—his scent, spice and salt, but not unappealing; his gentle touch, his arms slipping around her, holding her carefully; and his words, softly whispered in her ear, words of love and romance, ones she didn’t fully process at first, except to understand that the tone was smooth and easy, and then she did, and more tears joined those on her cheek, her lungs breathing.
Because this man was wonderful.
Ethan ran his hand up and down her back, calming her, still murmuring gentle words, comforting her without telling her to stop crying.
Because she hated that, hated when someone told her to not cry.
And of course, he instinctively knew that, just continued to whisper that he “had her,” and held her tight, stroked her gently until she’d gotten herself under control, until the tears no longer came, and the sobs quieted.
“Sorry,” she whispered, wiping her eyes and cheek with the hem of her shirt, glad that what little makeup she wore was waterproof and so wouldn’t end up with her fun, sparkling gold eye shadow smeared all over her face. “This was supposed to be a romantic moment, but now I snotted all over you.”