Chapter Fifteen
VIVI
It’s been a couple of nights since the Hawkeyes beat Boston in a close game, and now they play San Diego tonight before heading home.
Driving up to Penelope’s house, a line of luxury vehicles already fills the circular driveway—other wives and girlfriends arriving for game night. The three-story mansion that Slade bought her after they got married to start their family looms ahead, warm lights glowing from every window.
"There’s Isla’s car. Berkeley's already here." Adeline squeals.
She's already unbuckling, practically vibrating with excitement.
We use the side entrance that leads straight into Penelope's massive chef's kitchen—a space bigger than Trey's entire first floor. That might be an exaggeration, but it’s big.
The smell of various cuisines hits us immediately: garlic and ginger, melted cheese, grilled meat, and something sweet I can't quite place.
"You ladies outdid yourself. Good God," I stop short, taking in the spread. The marble island disappears under stacks of dishes that all the girls made or brought. A buffet of delicious snacks. A chocolate fountain burbles in the corner, surrounded by strawberries, marshmallows, and pretzel rods.
I’ve never been to a WAGs party without tons of really good food. It’s something this group prides themselves on. I set down the cupcake platter next to the desserts that Isla asked me to pick up from the bakery before we came over.
"I might have gone a little overboard with the food," Penelope appears from the butler's pantry carrying serving spoons. Her long blonde hair is piled in a messy bun atop her head, and she's wearing Slade’s hockey jersey. "The playoffs are coming up, and I cope with food."
“You didn’t,” I lie. We’d need to invite the entire neighborhood over to make a dent. “It’s perfect, and you always do a great job.
"Well, here, help yourself, girls, and then find a spot out in the living room. The game starts in twenty minutes."
The great room beyond the kitchen is already full of wives, girlfriends, and kids. Multiple flat screens are mounted on the walls, each showing pre-game coverage for the San Diego game the boys play tonight. The largest screen dominates the main wall above a stone fireplace.
"Vivi! Over here!" Cammy waves from the massive sectional. She's already settled in with Peyton and Isla, an array of snacks spread across the coffee table.
Berkeley appears as if summoned, grabbing Adeline's hand. "Come on! We're building a fort behind the couch!"
I help Adeline fill a plate before letting her run off with her friend. The sound of children laughing mixes with pre-game commentary and adult conversation—a familiar sound of game night.
"Perfect timing," Peyton says as I sink into the cushions. "We're planning Kendall's birthday surprise. She gets back with the guys tomorrow, and we want to do a girls' night."
"Ooh, where are we thinking?" I'm grateful for the distraction from my own problems, and a girls’ night sounds fun. I’ll just have to check with Trey before I can agree to anything to make sure he doesn’t need me for that night.
"I was thinking Ground Zero." Cammy's eyes sparkle with mischief. "I already called. They have one of the roped-off VIP sections still available to book for next Friday night."
"And the guys?" I ask.
"No boys allowed." Peyton grins. "It's about time we had a proper girls' night. No hockey talk allowed."
"I'll talk to Kendall when they land," Cammy offers. "Get her on board."
"Speaking of plans…" Isla touches my arm. "Can we talk for a minute?"
I follow her into Penelope's formal dining room, away from the pre-game excitement. A massive crystal chandelier hangs above the middle of the mahogany table. Family photos line the walls—Slade with the Stanley Cup, their wedding day, vacation shots of them.
"How did it go with Yvanne?" she asks softly once we're alone.
I sink into one of the high-backed chairs. "Not great. The contracts are iron-clad. My only option is …" I trail off, unable to say it.
"Dad?"
I nod. "Yvanne thinks he could buy out Holiday Industries' stake. Since they owe him from years ago when he called in a favor with the mayor of Seattle to help them out of a real estate venture that went bad. But you know what that would mean."
"You’d be back under his control." She squeezes my hand. "But is that worse than marrying someone you don't love?"
"At least with Jameson, I'd still have some independence.
Dad would…" I shake my head. "You remember what it was like.
The constant oversight, the 'suggestions' about how to run things that turn into decisions made the next morning you walk in, the threats to pull funding if we don’t do exactly what he wants with the company. "
"I remember." She studies me. "But what about what you want?"
What I want.
The answer comes instantly: Freedom to marry who I want, the white picket fence family in a subdivision like this. Having some level of family/work balance.
But I can’t have it all. I have to make sacrifices for the company I’m building or sacrifice the company I’m building for the family I want. I can’t have both. At least with Jameson, there is an expected family he and I will have together. It’s better than nothing.
"Game's starting!" Penelope calls from the other room.
We return just as the puck drops. The first period is brutal—hard hits, missed opportunities, growing frustration on both benches. I watch Trey closely, seeing the tension in his shoulders even through his pads.
"Come on, Uncle Trey!" Adeline cheers as he takes another shift.
But nothing seems to click. By the third period, they're down by two, and the mood in Penelope's living room has shifted from excited to tense. When the final horn sounds, the loss feels personal. The camera pans to Trey as he skates off, and the disappointment on his face makes my chest ache.
"Time to head home?" I ask Adeline, who nods sleepily.
I say goodnight to all the girls and promise to let Peyton know if I can make the party at Ground Zero as soon as I talk to Trey.
The drive home is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. At home, we change into pajamas and settle onto her bed with one of our new library books.
"Can we ask if Uncle Trey is going to be home tonight?" she asks as I open to the first page.
"I don’t think they are coming home until tomorrow morning, but let's text him and see. He might still be trying to finish post-game stuff.”
Vivi: Someone wants to know when you’re going to make it home.
His response comes quickly.
Trey: We’re trying to leave tonight, but the weather is bad. Stuck on tarmac. Won't make it home before she's asleep. Tell her I love her, and I’ll see her in the morning.
"He's delayed," I tell her gently. "But he says he loves you and he'll see you in the morning."
She nods, though disappointment clouds her features. "Will you do the voices like Mom used to?"
My heart squeezes. "I'll try my best."
We make it through three chapters before she drifts off, curled against my side. I ease away carefully, tucking the blanket around her. My phone buzzes as I close her door.
Isla: Maybe it's time to consider Dad's help. Is spite worth marrying someone you don't love?
I put my phone on vibrate and toss it onto the couch without responding. The answer isn't what I want to face right now.
The kitchen is dark and quiet as I open the freezer, seeking comfort. Three pints of ice cream stare back at me—my rocky road, Adeline's mint chocolate chip, and Trey's cookie dough. I stare at his cookie dough.
I probably shouldn't eat it. Not just out of principle for it not being my ice cream, but also because of the fact that I called his taste in ice cream “boring.” I also still have half a pint of rocky road available to eat.
The trouble is, rocky road won't hit the craving I need to satisfy.
If he isn't set to be home until early in the morning, I probably have enough time to purchase a new pint of ice cream tomorrow before he knows that I ate his boring ice cream.
Otherwise, I'll have to eat my own words too, and if I know Trey…
he'll gloat so hard it will be hard to show my face here ever again.
I grab his, making a promise to myself to replace it first thing before he finds out.
I don't bother to examine the possibility that the act of eating this ice cream is because I've missed him for the last three days.
No, absolutely not. Because if that were true, what the hell am I going to do when he's out of my life for good and I have a new last name that's not Hartley?
Curled up on the couch with my guilty pleasure ice cream and equally guilty pleasure reality TV, I don’t hear it at first—the faint sound of four digits getting typed into the outside keypad.
My body freezes—heart hammering against my chest.
I glance toward the door, but there’s no movement. Just silence.
I hear the keypad chime a successful input and then the handle jiggles.
I suck in a deep breath. God, I wish Trey were home.
I bolt upright, standing up on the couch for better leverage up higher than my protective attacker. I could grab my phone, but the cops won't be here in time so I grab the spoon like a weapon, ridiculous as it is. I'll protect Adeline and this house to the death. Trey would be proud of me.
I hear the sound of the door swing open. “Shit,” I whisper, and then there’s a thud as something drops on the floor just inside.
A duffel bag…a Hawkeyes duffel bag.
Then Trey appears, looking rumpled and travel-worn, his bag in one hand and confusion on his face. Even exhaustion, but goddamn it, he’s the best thing I’ve seen all day.
“Vivi?” he asks, eyes narrowing at the way I’m gripping my spoon like a dagger high above my head to rain it down on some intruder.
I exhale hard, my shoulders easing, lowering my spoon weapon and clutching at my heart. “Jesus. You scared the hell out of me.”