by Grey, S. R.
“Open it,” I purr as I lounge back in the tangled sheets invitingly.
He rips away the green paper.
“Area 51,” he says out loud once the wrapping is on the floor. “What is this, some kind of toy?”
“Oh, it’s a toy all right.”
He starts smiling as he checks the packaging out more thoroughly.
“Ah,” he says when he realizes what kind of toy it is.
He rips it open and takes out a florescent green vibrator. Holding it aloft, like some kind of funky-ass light saber, he flicks on a switch and says, “Check it out. It fucking glows.”
“It’s also supposed to have some sort of pulsating action,” I chime in as I start to remember the details Aubrey shared with me. “That’s one we ladies supposedly really like.”
“It says here it actually has vibrating pulsating action,” Nolan corrects as he scans the torn-away packaging, using the glowing vibrator for extra light.
“Ooh, even better,” I say.
He tosses the packaging aside and flicks another switch on the toy. The green thing starts to wiggle like crazy and, as he holds it steady to turn off that movement feature, it starts glowing brighter.
“Oh yeah, I remember Aubrey saying it glows brighter and brighter as your body, um, warms it up.”
Raising a brow, he looks over at me and asks, “Should we turn off that light feature, then? I do make you pretty hot, babe.” Cocky bastard, but he has good reason. “You think it’ll be too much?”
“No, wait.” I glance over at a window that happens to face Brent and Aubrey’s house and I’m struck with the best idea. Though we’re a couple of houses apart, this second-floor room is high enough that the glow should go over the roofs and straight into Brent and Aubrey’s place.
“Actually,” I go on, my naughty idea blossoming. “I think we need to open the blinds a little more. That way, Brent and Aubrey will know for sure that we opened their gift. And that we’re putting it to use.”
Nolan laughs. “Hell, this thing is so bright I think the whole neighborhood will know something is up.”
He’s kidding…I think. But then again, the vibrator is rather blinding. In the end, we open the blinds only a crack. That way anyone, besides Aubrey and Brent, who notices the glow-y green coming from our room will probably just think we like to get busy in weird lighting.
But Aubrey and Brent will know the truth. They’ll know we took a little trip to Area 51. Not the otherworldly location but, as I soon discover, a place where you certainly feel otherworldly.
Coming Clean
I decide to announce the news that Lainey Shelburne and I got hitched on the Marty Quick Show. Full circle and all that, seeing as it was when I was on Marty’s show last summer that I finally realized I wanted—no, wait, I needed—Lainey back in my life. I wasn’t where I needed to be at the time, but it was a first step.
To think I was so fucking worried that Marty had discovered I’d once been married, and that I had failed miserably at being someone’s husband.
Now I don’t care about any of that.
That’s why this is unfinished business I intend to finish once and for all. That’s right, there’ll be no more secrets for me, and therefore no more worrying about shit coming back to bite me in the ass. This is the new me, living a new life, with my girl Lainey at my side. I’ve learned from the past, and I’m no longer intimidated, nor stifled, by it.
In other words, I got this shit by the balls.
The first week in December, we have a game against Toronto that’s up in Toronto. That sets the wheels in motion. I’m due to fly in early with the team, so I schedule the interview with Marty to take place the day before the game.
But I’m not doing this alone, no way.
I secure permission from the powers-that-be to take Lainey with me on the team plane. Management knows we recently got married, and I’ve informed them of my plans to make the official announcement on Marty’s show. They’re okay with that, as they like good publicity, and this is certainly what my announcement will be.
The players finally know we tied the knot, which means the flight to Toronto is filled with champagne toasts and lots of good-natured ribbing.
“Best of luck to you both.” Breeze, our goaltender, raises his glass from across the aisle.
I tap my flute to his, and Lainey, leaning over from the window seat, does the same.
Breeze then declares, “Gorka!”
“What’s that mean?” Lainey wants to know.
“It a Russian toast, and mean you must now kiss,” Breeze informs us with a clap.
“Hell, we can do that.” I turn to Lainey and press my lips to hers. We then proceed to make out for a good solid minute.
But then someone from the back of the plane yells “get a room,” and we break apart.
“I think there’s gonna be some scoring once we land,” I hear Benny say from where he’s seated behind Breeze. “Someone’s getting lucky today.”
Dylan, from behind me, chimes in, “I bet we see a little Solvenson coming along soon, what with the way these two are all over each other all the time.”
I start laughing.
“Jeez, Dylan,” Lainey says as she twists around to address him over the top of the seat. “Give us a little time first to just enjoy being newlyweds. We’ll think about kids later.”
“Hey, that doesn’t mean you can’t practice a bunch,” he retorts, chuckling.
“Oh, we plan on doing that,” I mutter as I squeeze Lainey’s leg high up on her thigh.
Humming happily, Lainey agrees. “Yeah, there’ll be lots and lots of practice.”
Brent, across the aisle and seated next to Breeze, groans. Leaning forward, he says, “Hey now, that’s a little too much information for me, Future Sister-in-Law. Seeing that funky green glow coming from your bedroom window your wedding night was more than enough.”
“Hey, you bought us the gift,” Lainey volleys back.
Brent chuckles. “Yeah, you have a valid point.”
And then he’s full-on laughing when I murmur, “Best. Damn. Gift. Ever.”
Brent reaches over Breeze to fist-bump me. “Dude,” he says, giving me a knowing look.
“You were absolutely right about that one,” I assure him in a low voice.
All the players around us then want to know what we’re talking about. I change the subject by pouring more champagne for the guys. Some things, like your new wife’s love of sex toys, need to stay sacred.
A while later, and after we land in Toronto, our great day continues. Once we’re checked in the team hotel, Lainey receives a call from Mrs. Fielding, the director of marketing for the Wolves. She informs her that the entry-level marketing job Lainey interviewed for is hers if she wants it.
Of course, she accepts.
When Lainey is done with the call she turns to me, hands on her hips, and says, “Is this your doing, Mr. Solvenson?”
I inform her it’s not, which is the truth. “You earned this on your own merits, Mrs. Solvenson.”
“Wow,” she muses, smiling. “I like how that sounds.”
“Which part? The fact that you got the job on your own…or the fact I can now call you Mrs. Solvenson?”
“Both,” she replies, “but I especially love the Mrs. Solvenson part.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I’m all set to show her just how much I love how her sharing my surname sounds, but then her mom calls, interrupting the fun. I leave Lainey be, giving her time to talk. Her parents were, understandably, a little upset we got married so quickly, and, of course, without them in attendance. But they understand how Lainey is, so they’re coming around.
When Lainey finishes with the call, she informs me we’ll be fully forgiven if we make her parents’ house our destination for Christmas dinner. Since my big family will be fine without me hanging out with them on the actual holiday, I tell her to call her mom back and tell her we’ll be there with bells on.
; “Well, maybe not literally,” she says.
“Why not?” I tease. “It is Christmas.”
She throws a pillow at me, and calls her mom back. Her parents are thrilled. I’m glad that they’re happy, but, more importantly, Lainey is smiling.
“Everything is turning out so well,” I murmur in her hair as I wrap my arms around her.
She leans back against me. “It is, Nolan. Our new life is pretty darn close to perfect.”
I can’t disagree, and we’re still flying high a couple of hours later when we arrive at Marty Quick’s studio for the interview.
Once our headphones are in place, we’re told we’re almost set to broadcast. There’s a commercial break first.
Marty, seated across from us, uses the time to look over his notes. Meanwhile, Lainey leans in to me and whispers, “Are you nervous at all?”
She knows I intend to set the record straight, not just regarding our recent nuptials, but also by revealing my past.
“Not really,” I reply. “I actually feel really good that I’m doing this.”
I do too. So much so that I kick off the interview by announcing rather early on that Lainey and I are now husband and wife.
“Wow,” Marty replies, clearly astonished. “Does that mean you just gave me an exclusive?”
“Pretty much, Marty,” I confirm with a smirk. “Only our family, friends, and my teammates know, so it looks like you did indeed just break the news.”
Marty knows his ratings just shot through the roof. He smiles over at me, nodding in appreciation. He won’t dare ask any hardball questions now, nor will he dig for any dirt. But it doesn’t matter; there’s nothing left to hide. Or rather, there won’t be real soon.
First, however, we talk more about the wedding. Lainey shares some details about our small but perfect ceremony, which Marty eats up. But soon enough, he says to me, “So, Nolan, my producers informed me you have more to say on the subject of marriage.”
“Yes.” I nod somberly, and it’s like you can hear a pin drop in the studio. “Marty, you may recall me acting a little cagey at our last meeting.”
Marty’s right on that one. “Regarding the strippers, eh?”
Lainey quietly interjects, “For the record, those days are over.”
“Yes, they are,” I confirm.
“Of course,” Marty agrees, dropping the stripper angle.
I then say, “What I was worried you’d uncovered that day, Marty, was something virtually no one knows. You see, my marriage to Lainey”—I glance over at her, and she smiles at me encouragingly—“is not my first.”
Our host drops his pen. “What? It’s not?”
Seeing Marty Quick so utterly stunned is abso-fucking-lutely priceless. I continue, unprompted, sharing the tale of my first marriage and how it ended. I don’t go into explicit detail. I simply state it was dissolved quickly due to infidelity.
“Not on my part,” I hasten to add.
“Amazing that this never came out,” Marty marvels.
“It was a long time ago,” Lainey interjects.
“Yes, it was,” Marty agrees. And then, turning to me, he says, “Still, I give you credit, man, for taking the plunge again.”
“Ah,” I softly reply. “We’ve reached the real reason why I’m here, beyond simply confessing my past to you.”
“Wait, there’s more?” Marty’s practically frothing at the mouth, eager for dishing more dirt, but unfortunately for him my next words are simply a love letter to Lainey.
I go on to talk about how she made me face my demons from the past, and how I’m a better man for it. I gush about realizing what a gift it is to find love, and how I’m learning to embrace it.
“I was always resisting,” I tell Marty, but also I’m telling Lainey, since she needs to hear this too. “I fought, and I fought. But I was only ever fighting myself. I was hurting me, holding back from who I could be.”
“So who are you now?” Marty asks, seemingly genuinely interested to hear my reply.
So I give it to him.
“That’s an easy one, Marty.” I take Lainey’s hand and face her, only her, as I tell the world, “I’m Nolan Solvenson, right winger for the Wolves and a Stanley Cup champion. But above all that, I’m Nolan Solvenson, Lainey Shelburne Solvenson’s husband…and forever her man.”
If you liked this story, please take a moment to leave a review. Even a short one means a lot.
Look for Benjamin “Benny” Perry’s story, Complications on Ice, set to drop like a puck in the summer of 2017!
S.R. Grey is an Amazon Top 100 and a #1 Barnes & Noble Bestselling author. She is the author of the bestselling Boys of Winter hockey romance series, the popular Judge Me Not books, the Promises series, the Inevitability duology, A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy, and the steamy Laid Bare series of novellas. Ms. Grey’s works have appeared on multiple Amazon Bestseller lists, including Top 100 several times. She’s also a #1 Bestselling Author on Barnes & Noble and a Top 100 Bestselling Author on iTunes.
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Thank you, first and foremost, to you—the readers! Big hockey hugs for everyone. And if you’ve read this far, please take a minute and leave a review for Resistance on Ice. Even a sentence or two of what you thought means the world.
Next, thanks to all the bloggers who help promote this series, as well as all my other novels. You are amazing and I couldn’t do this without your help.
A big thank you to Christopher John for the cover photo and Najla Qamber for designing a book jacket that completely captures the feel of this book.
Also, thank you to Franci N., for taking another first look and giving me valuable feedback on Nolan and Lainey and the rest of the crew.
Thank you to Kristin S. and the amazing editing team over at Hot Tree Editing. And thanks to Emily and her team at E.M. Tippetts for formatting services that go above and beyond.
Last, but not least, thank you to my family and friends and my esteemed hockey “consultants.” Y’all make this journey possible.
If you haven’t already, here’s your chance to read the first chapter of Destiny on Ice, Brent Oliver’s story, and the first novel in the Boys of Winter series. Oh, and there’s some Nolan in there too.
Golden Boy Gets a Little Tarnished
My father was a great hockey player. Back in the day, in the era of eighties’ big hair and synthesized music, Billy Oliver won not just one, but two Stanley Cups. He was awarded the Conn Smythe trophy both times and has received an assortment of other hardware throughout the years.
He’s retired now, but my dad was once a star.
To me, though, he’s always just been Dad.
But as his only child, I have a legacy to live up to. I pray I don’t disappoint him. I pray someday I’ll be as good as he once was. And damn it, I better win a freaking Stanley Cup like he did.
I have no choice, not really. Since the moment my father first laced up hockey skates on my three-year-old little feet, the look of pride on his face told me even then all I needed to know—anything short of being the best will never do.
And guess what?
In many ways, I’ve become the best at what I do, which is, like my dad, play professional hockey.
I’ve been good since the start, a natural some say. I don’t know abou
t that, but I do know that even before I was drafted—in the first round by the Las Vegas Wolves, an expansion team at the time—I was being called “The Golden Boy” and “The Next One.”
These days, three years later, I’m pretty much the poster boy for the NHL. And I have a slew of endorsement deals to prove it.
Lately, though, I’ve been falling short.
And I really don’t know why.
Something is missing for me in the game. Or is it something that’s missing in me?
I blow out a breath and shake my head.
Things started out so great. Where’d it all go wrong?
I made a name for myself early on. Expansion teams usually struggle for years before posting a winning record. Not so for the Wolves. With me centering what was then a subpar line, I was still able to make us shine. We came out swinging that first season in the league.
Brent Oliver Scores the Game-Winning Goal in His and the Wolves’ First NHL Game, Sets Up Teammates for Two More
One month later, there was this:
The Wolves Off to a Completely Unexpected Stellar Start
Then things started to slide.
Those subpar players on my line weren’t enough to keep afloat a pretty much overall crappy team, even with me centering. The Wolves’ owners and management made the necessary moves—they don’t mess around when shit needs to get done.
We picked up a phenomenal winger, Nolan Solvenson. He started to play and things turned around.
Adding Skilled Right-Winger Nolan Solvenson to Rookie Brent Oliver’s First Line Proving to be a Masterful Move
On a Mid-Season Winning Streak, That Solvenson Trade is Paying Off for the Wolves!
Another trade made at the deadline gave us Benjamin Perry. A big, strong left-handed winger, he was the final piece to the puzzle. Even with far-from-elite second, third, and fourth lines, it didn’t matter. Not with me, Benjamin, and Nolan on the first line. We could not be stopped.