Chapter Twenty-Six
TREY
The worst part about leaving for an away game isn’t the travel, the crappy hotel beds, or the schedule that chews you up and spits you out.
It’s the silence.
Adeline didn’t say a single word to me before I left this morning. She didn’t even look at me when I told her goodbye. Vivi wasn’t there—hadn’t been since the recital—and I’m the one who made sure of that.
I told her I’d take the dance mom up on her offer to help with Adeline until the season’s over.
I didn’t. Hell, I never even called the woman.
I’d rather set the house on fire than put her in charge of Adeline.
Instead, Isla and Kaenan’s mom said they’d help me limp through the last couple of months of the hockey season until I can find a proper replacement over the summer break.
But none of that changes the fact that I lied to Vivi. Or that I’ve got a nine-year-old giving me the kind of cold shoulder you only get from someone you love.
The guys are already on the plane when I climb aboard.
Slade’s across the aisle, scrolling on his phone.
Scottie and Olsen got a deck of cards out.
Hunters already passed out from the Dramamine with a face covered in gold eye masks.
Wolf and JP are zoned out with their headphones on, and Aleksi and Luca are in a heated discussion over which restaurant in Chicago has the best pizza.
I drop into my seat, nod, and put my earbuds in before anyone can try small talk.
I’m not in the mood to fake normal.
By the time we hit the locker room pre-game, I’ve gone through my warm-up routine twice and still feel like my body’s lagging behind my head. Usually, I’m dialed in by now. Tonight? I’m skating in mental mud.
“Jesus, Hart, you look like you’re heading to a funeral,” Aleksi mutters, taping his stick. “Vivi got your balls in a vice these days or what?”
I glare, but it’s half-hearted. “Shut up and play your game, M?k.”
He smirks like he hit a nerve. Maybe he did.
The coaches give us the usual rundown, keys to the game, reminders about matchups. I nod along, but my brain is replaying the recital. Vivi in that dress. Adeline grinning between us like she already knew we were a family. And then me, the idiot who pushed Vivi into the arms of someone else.
The thought of her in his Bellevue mansion, strutting around barefoot in his kitchen, making him hot cocoa, her things hanging in his closet, her Range Rover in his driveway, her sleeping in his bed—the thought of it all drives me fucking insane, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The puck drops, and my legs don’t listen. I’m a half-second late on every read. The opposing winger blows past me like I’m a rookie—which I am, but I’ve never showed it like I am tonight.
By the second period, it’s not just me noticing.
“Wake the hell up, Hartley!” Coach Haynes barks as I get back to the bench after a sloppy shift.
I don’t even have an excuse. I just drink water and keep my eyes on the ice.
Next shift, I try to overcorrect. Throw my weight into a hit I should’ve just angled. The ref’s arm goes up instantly. Two minutes for interference.
Fuck.
My head's not here, and I know it. It’s on Adeline’s silent treatment and the idea that someone other than me has his hands on Vivi.
Sitting in the penalty box, I grip my stick so tight the wood might splinter. In my head, Adeline’s voice is screaming at me. Fight for her, Uncle Trey.
And all I can do is stare at the ice, powerless to do anything about it.
We lose 5-2.
And none of those two points had anything to do with me.
The handshake line is quick. Post-game medias worse. I give them all the standard answers. We’ve got to clean up the mistakes. Back to basics. Focus on the next game. Every sentence feels like sandpaper in my mouth.
I barely uttered a word during dinner with the team and even less by the time I get to my hotel room. I sit on the edge of the bed, Hunter, my roommate, still out with the guys, and finally pull out my phone.
No messages from Vivi.
I have no idea why I thought there might be. I don’t deserve anything from her, but I was hopeful.
Two from Isla. Pictures of Adeline at their kitchen counter, covered in flour, grinning with Kaenan’s mom over a plate of cookies.
I stare at the photos for too long. Relief that she’s smiling, in a place with people she feels safe with and have her best interest at heart.
I toss the phone on the nightstand and lie back, staring at the ceiling. I’ve taken harder hits than tonight’s loss, but none that left me feeling this hollow.
I pick my phone back up and scroll, mostly out of habit. That’s when the headline hits me.
NEWPORT STAFFING MOGUL SPOTTED BACK IN WEDDING WORLD — VIVI ANN NEWPORT SEEN AT brIDAL BOUTIQUE WITH FRIEND
The photo is clear enough to stab me right through the chest. Vivi, walking into a high-end bridal shop, hair loose over her shoulders, sunglasses pushed up like she’s trying not to be recognized. Beside her, Yvanne is mid-laugh, holding the glass door open.
But it’s the glint of Jameson’s ring on her finger that sears into my brain.
She’s wedding dress shopping. And my stomach wrenches at the thought of her trying on a gown for a wedding meant for anyone but me.
I zoom in. Her mouth is curved into an almost smile, but her shoulders are tense. I know that posture. It’s the same one she had at the recital before she walked toward Jameson.
The article underneath speculates whether Jameson’s return means the wedding is back on track, how this could “reunite two of Seattle’s most powerful families.
” There’s even a throwaway line about “no sign of Hawkeyes winger Trey Hartley, though sources say the pair had been spending significant time together during Jameson’s absence. ”
I shut the screen off. Toss the phone on the bed hard enough that it bounces twice.
It shouldn’t matter. She’s not mine. She was never mine.
Later, I scroll to Isla’s number and hit call. She answers on the second ring, the sound of pots clanging in the background.
“Hey, Trey,” Isla says warmly.
I have no idea how much Vivi told Isla what I said to her or how we ended things, but she’s not giving me any indication. She’s staying neutral and I know if not for any other reason, it’s for Adeline.
I appreciate her for that.
“Is Adeline around?” I ask.
“She’s here. Hold on.” I hear her voice lift, calling across the room, “Adeline, Uncle Trey’s on the phone.”
There’s a pause, then faint but clear, “I can’t come to the phone right now.”
Never in all the away games I’ve played has Adeline ever missed my calls. I know this isn’t because she’s busy. She doesn’t want to talk to me.
Isla comes back on the line, a smile in her voice. “Sorry, the girls are fingers-deep in homemade slime and glitter. Can I have her call you back before bedtime?”
“Sure.” But we both know she won’t.
Still, I’m relieved. She’s not barricading herself in her room, refusing to talk. At Isla’s, she’s not the kid who just lost another adult in her life. She’s just… a kid.
I cling to that, even if it doesn’t make the photo of Vivi going into that bridal shop hurt any less.
“Hey, tough game tonight. Are you alright?” she asks.
“Yeah, just a bad night. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
We say quick final goodnights, and then we both end the call.
At least Adeline knows I called. I won’t let her pull away from me too far, but I also know that she needs some space to vent, and I’m happy that she has a safe place like the Altman’s to do it in.
We’ll get back to normal—eventually.
We need each other. More now than ever.