“Whoa,” she murmurs as we walk up to the swinging gate that would let us step directly onto the ice. She releases my hand, places her palms on top of the gate, and leans over. Mollie’s gaze sweeps the empty stadium, the seats, and the glistening rink before us. “This is so cool.”
“About to get cooler,” I reply as I reach down to pick up the two pairs of ice skates I’d placed there earlier. “Let’s get you out on the ice.”
She turns to me, eyes wide, glancing only briefly at the skates I’m holding up. “Really?”
“Really,” I reply with a laugh.
Mollie doesn’t know how to ice skate. It’s a running joke with us. I mean, she’s a southern California girl, so why would she have ever learned? During my time in college, there wasn’t time to teach her—not that she wanted to learn. But over the years, we’ve teased each other over the fact that my best friend doesn’t know how to ice skate. It’s inexcusable now.
We sit on the rubber matting to put on our skates. I help her up, then keep a strong hold on her arm and waist as I guide her over the tiny lip created by the swinging door and onto the ice.
Her legs immediately start to spread as she tries to figure out her balance. Being on ice is no different to me than walking on flat ground in tennis shoes, so I’m easily able to hold her steady. After a few pointers, I take her hands in mine. With me skating backward and her just holding on for the ride, I start to lead her around the rink.
The first lap around, she’s afraid to do much more than grip my hands. By the second, she dares to look around as we skate—commenting about how much bigger the arena looks when it’s empty, and how she’d love to get a look at the officials’ box sometime.
By the third lap, I have her moving her feet in tiny gliding motions.
On the fourth, I ask if she wants to try it herself, and because she’s always the adventurer, she nods enthusiastically. I gently release her, still facing her while I skate backward and watch as she goes all wobbly, but still manages to propel herself along with awkward steps.
She almost goes down once, but I’m able to catch her easily enough. Laughing in delight at being held in my strong arms, she says, “This is the best thing ever. Thank you.”
A tiny gasp escapes her as I pull her in closer, still gliding backward along the ice, then kiss her gently. Looking down, I say, “My pleasure.”
She insists on a few more laps, but I finally have to tell her I have another surprise. Her eyebrows lift in curiosity as I guide her over to the home bench where the Vengeance players sit. Opening the swinging gate, I help her step onto the slightly elevated platform that holds the bench, then smile when she once again gasps.
After helping her sit down, I watch as she stares at the setup I have on the long wooden seat.
A complete romantic dinner for two, including candlesticks I quickly light with the pack of matches that were thoughtfully left there. On the plates are perfectly cooked steaks from my favorite steakhouse, twice baked potatoes, and asparagus. Icy bottles of sparkling water sit uncapped before our plates, and the silverware is laid out perfectly on linen napkins.
“How did you do all this?” she asks in awe, angling on the bench to face her plate as I sit on the opposite side.
“While this was my brilliant idea, I couldn’t have pulled it off without help. Clarke and Pepper helped get the food and set it up.”
“It’s wonderful,” she murmurs with a soft smile. “You’re wonderful.”
We eat and talk about how our days went. We consider taking a short hiking trip tomorrow at Echo Canyon. I fill her in on how the team seems to be doing outside of gameplay, and she tells me about the progress she’s made on her book this week.
It’s all so fucking effortless, but, then again, it is always like that with us. This isn’t something new that formed since we became intimate. It’s just validation Mollie and I really connect on the non-physical plane just as robustly as we do on the physical side.
“I’m stuffed,” she mutters after swallowing her last bite of steak. I’d already cleaned my plate, so I take the opportunity to finish off the rest of her potato she’d left behind.
“Do we need to clean this up?” she asks when I finally wipe my mouth and toss the linen napkin on my plate.
“Nope,” I reply, nabbing her plate and setting it on top of mine. I twist at the waist, placing it on the bench behind me, then do the same to our empty water bottles until there is nothing left between us. “I dropped a fifty note to one of the janitors to stay late and clean this up.”
Mollie grins. “Very nice. So, should we do another few laps on the ice, or do we need to get out of here?”
I shake my head at that suggestion, scooting a bit closer so our knees are touching as we angle in toward each other. My heart is beating a hundred miles an hour, and I feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this scared and excited at the same time.
“Mollie,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “These past four and a half weeks with you have been some of the best of my life.”
“Me too,” she replies, expression going soft and sentimental.
I rub my thumbs over the backs of her hands. “And I can’t imagine wanting to spend my life with anyone else but you. I also can’t imagine not spending my life with you.”
I’m watching her carefully, and I can tell she has a clue where I’m going when her eyes round a little.
Releasing one of her hands, I lean on one hip to reach into the opposite pocket, then I pull out the ring box I’d been carrying.
It’s from a jeweler in Los Angeles I visited last week on an off day we had between playing the Dragons and Demons. While the romantic in me would have loved to have something custom made, the impatient man who wants to move forward sooner rather than later had to settle on something that had already been crafted.
But I went to one of the best upon recommendation by Dominik, and I picked out an incredible five-carat round diamond with no adornments. Just a simple, delicate platinum band that doesn’t look strong enough to hold the massive rock.
Mollie sees the box and makes a sound in the back of her throat, her eyes getting even wider.
When I flip the box open, she doesn’t even look down, merely keeps her eyes locked on mine. I smile, give a nod to the box, and she reluctantly lets her gaze drop to it.
She audibly gasps this time as she sees the ring. “Oh my God.”
“I love you so much, Mollie,” I say with every bit of feeling and emotion swirling within me. “I want you to be my wife, and I want us to be a permanent team for the rest of our days. Would you do your best friend a solid and honor me by accepting this ring?”
Mollie nods with a broad smile, her eyes misting up. I hadn’t realized I had some doubt as to what her answer would be until the massive spread of relief fills me from head to toe.
Grinning, I reach to pull the ring out, but her hands cover mine and she says, “No, wait. I need to talk to you about something first.”
A pulse of shock hits me as I take in her worried expression. Just moments ago, she was smiling and accepting my proposal. Now, she looks tense and unsure of herself.
“What is it?” I ask.
Her hands push mine down to lower the ring box from between us. I pull my hands back, setting the box on the small space of bench between us. Mollie knots her hands together and drops them to her lap, letting her gaze rest there a minute as she takes a deep breath.
When she looks back up at me, her expression is full of apology. A pit opens in the center of my stomach. “I got an offer from a big outfitting company in Australia to travel the country and write for them. It’s all expenses paid, and Australia’s one of my big bucket list items I haven’t done yet.”
She looks at me expectantly, but I don’t know what she’s searching for. So I ask, “For how long?”
Mollie winces as she admits, “A year.”
“Fuck,” I mutter and turn my head, scanning the
ice so I don’t have to look at the expression on Mollie’s face—that mixture of excitement over the offer and trepidation over how I’ll take it. I could analyze this for days, examine every nuance of emotion within me, but I go with my gut feeling instead. Turning my attention back, I say, “I don’t want you to take it.”
“What?” she exclaims, clearly not expecting that.
“I don’t want you to take it,” I reply, slowly enunciating each word.
“But… this is my dream,” she stammers.
“And you’re my dream,” I counter hotly. “And I thought I was your dream now.”
Mollie shakes her head as if she can’t comprehend my stance on this. “Wait a minute… I actually expected you to tell me to pursue this. I thought you said you wanted what would make me happy and was best for me?”
Christ, it pisses me off that she can be that obtuse. Stabbing my thumb into the center of my chest, I growl, “I’m what’s best for you, Mollie. I make you happy, and you are loved and secure here. You’ve had six years of pursuing your dream all over the world, and I’ve waited for much longer than that to have you as mine. So excuse—”
“Wait,” she exclaims, talking over me. “What do you mean by you waited much longer to have me?”
“I mean I’ve loved you and wanted you from the start. Freshman year, I wanted more than friendship, and that hasn’t changed in the decade we’ve known each other.”
“Really?” she whispers. I can tell she doesn’t quite understand.
“Christ, Mollie… everyone knows I’ve been in love with you for years. Your parents, my parents do. Hell, even Aaron figured it out a few months ago when you FaceTimed me while he was at my place. He said it was obvious.”
Mollie shakes her head, mouth drawn downward. “I didn’t know.”
“And didn’t feel the same,” I accuse.
“Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t feel,” she retorts hotly. “What I do or don’t feel?”
“Well, how do you feel, Molls?” I growl. “Because I just asked you to marry me, but you apparently want to run off to Australia.”
Her tone turns sympathetic. “It’s just a year, Kane. I’d gladly accept that ring if we can make plans to get married when I return.”
I don’t reply, turning my face away because I don’t like a fucking thing she’s said yet.
Mollie’s hand covers mine. “It’s just a year,” she repeats softly. “And then I’ll fully retire from the long-term traveling. I’ll sell the van. And besides… you’re going to be so busy with hockey this season and your own travels, so it won’t be that big of a deal.”
I pull my hand away, anger pulsing in my veins. “Now you’re just making shit up to make yourself feel better. And let’s be honest with each other, Mollie… the travel is in your blood. In your very DNA. It’s your love and it’s your passion. I know the part-time options I’ve offered don’t appeal to you because you like to go big and daring. You like to push limits. I don’t think a life here with me can compete with that.”
“Don’t say that,” she cries, but I don’t hear any conviction in her denial. She knows what I said is true.
Turning to sit straight on the bench, I put my elbows to my knees and lower my head to rub at my face.
“I swear, Kane,” she says almost urgently. “Just this one last trip. A year will fly by.”
“Maybe for you,” I reply flatly.
There’s a long silence between us as my mind starts spinning with all the ways this could end. I do love her and want her to be happy, but I also don’t want to lose what we’ve built. And say whatever, but a year is far too fucking long for me. It’s why I’ve never really considered seriously making a move on Mollie, because, deep down, I always knew I couldn’t handle her career and the distance it would put between us.
“If I go,” Mollie says hesitantly, “will you wait for me?”
I lift my head, bleakly scanning the ice. The white-blue sheen and the chill that wafts off it. It’s how my insides feel right now.
Twisting, I meet Mollie’s eyes. They look expectant and hopeful.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Are you serious?” she asks, eyebrows knitting together.
Sighing, I shake my head again. “I took a leap of faith with this,” I begin, picking the ring box up from the bench. “Knowing our friendship could have been ruined if things went wrong. But they went very right, and I’m ready for the next step. I’ve fallen way too deeply, Mollie, and I can’t do a year away from you. I’d rather cut the cord now than have resentments fester as time goes by without you.”
Her face sags, mouth falling open. Completely stunned. “I thought I’d have your support. I thought you loved me enough to let me do this.”
“And I thought I had your support,” I counter sharply. “I thought you loved me enough to want to stay.”
She blinks in surprise at my statement, opening her mouth as if she’s going to say something, but then snaps it shut again.
Because really, what more is there to say?
CHAPTER 28
Kane
The arena is packed, the fans are at a fever pitch, and we’re in the midst of a fierce battle with the Vancouver Flash. We’d taken them on in the second round of the playoffs last season, and while we swept them, they’re still a formidable opponent. We’re in the regular season now and every win counts, so the pressure is on.
Too fucking bad my head is up my ass rather than in the game. Usually, when I step out onto that ice, I’m focused like a laser beam. I play beyond my physical limits for every single second, and I never give up.
But tonight, I can barely keep my shit together. My passes are sloppy, my legs filled with lead, and I’m cranky as hell, so I’m sure I’ll end up in a fight before the end of the night.
Of course, it’s all fucking Mollie’s fault.
Or maybe it’s mine.
I’m not sure at this point.
All I know is she’s gone. For the first time in my hockey career—college and pro—I’ve lost my mojo.
First line comes off the ice, and my line is up. I hop over the board that separates our bench from the rink, catch the edge of my blade on the edge, and almost topple over. I catch myself, taking off to get into position as we move to defend our net.
The Flash enter our zone cleanly—puck before players—and spread wide to open up the passing lanes. The attempt to pull us out, open up the front of the net, doesn’t work at first. We stay tight, making pokes for the puck and waiting for the jump when they make that one bobble or slow pass.
It comes quicker than I thought, the center having gone to his left-winger, who immediately shoots it back. The center isn’t ready. It barely catches the tip of his blade, and Jim and I both jump fast. Well, Jim faster than me at first because Mollie fucking broke my mojo, but he streaks down the near side, me on the far side, and the Flash center trying to keep up.
It’s going to be a classic juke to pull the goalie off to one side. Back and forth, Jim and I pass it. Just as the goalie commits to Jim at the last second, opening the net on my side, Jim snaps it to me.
I wind up while it’s gliding over the ice toward me, intent on a clean slap shot into a nearly open net. It’s an easy goal.
Except, I can tell the minute the puck hits the slight curve of my blade that I miscalculated ever so slightly. I watch in dread as the puck hurtles toward the net, the Flash goalie still falling in Jim’s direction without a chance of stopping it, and I almost vomit as the puck clangs off the post and ricochets away. It’s immediately recovered by a Flash player, and he’s now the one streaking down the ice.
Jim is in hot pursuit, and it takes a full second or two to occur to me that I need to get back on fucking defense.
Christ, that was a disaster.
A third-grader could have made that shot.
Play is whistled to a stop before I can even make it to the other end of the rink, and the second line heads
off. There’s a TV timeout, so the third line hops onto the ice, but just chills against the boards for a few minutes until play resumes. I walk through the swinging gate, then sit down in a huff.
Ironically, in right about the same spot I proposed to Mollie two days ago. Jim plops down beside me, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he leans his forearms on the board and starts talking to Vance Gather, one of our third-line defensemen. I’m not sure if he’s doing it to avoid talking about how much I sucked out there, or if he’s truly engaged in something vital.
Whatever.
There are only about forty seconds left in the first period, and my line won’t be back on before the end of it. I slump down, staring at my stick, and try to push away the thoughts of my last conversation with Mollie.
After my proposal gone horribly wrong—where instead of accepting my ring, she informed me she wanted to spend a year in Australia and I said I wouldn’t wait for her—things went downhill very fast without the ability to put the brakes on.
We rode home in awkward silence, then puttered around my condo, avoiding each other. It was Mollie who finally approached to break the stalemate by asking, “You seriously won’t wait for me to make this one last trip?”
I was hurt and pissed, so I threw it right back in her face. “You seriously won’t turn down that offer so you can stay with me?”
“We have the rest of our lives together,” she groused. “This is only one year.”
She had a point.
But you know what… so did I.
“You know what I think?” I said, moving closer as we stood in the living room. “I think I was a safe haven for you when you were scared of Matthew. I think it made it easy for you to let this move past friendship because it made you feel protected. But the minute that threat was removed, you didn’t need me anymore. Not like you did when Matthew was on the loose. And now, I’m not your number-one priority… travel is. So tell me, Mollie… why should I wait? I mean, what the hell would I really be waiting on? Someone who doesn’t feel for me the same way I feel about her?”
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