Chapter 25
Crosby
The Winnipeg chill settles into me fast, a product of enough years here when I played for the Rebels that my body remembers before my brain.
It’s fucking downright cold as we walk from the hotel to the restaurant, and the one that was chosen is chef’s kiss.
The food scene here is surprisingly strong.
When one thinks of Winnipeg, one usually thinks of hockey. This city doesn’t like it—they live it. The fans know the game, respect the grind, and show up whether the team’s winning or not. Playing here was always special.
Still is.
There was a steadiness to this place that fit me once, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to missing that.
Our flight landed around noon, an easy trip from LA, where we lost to the Demons but took down the Dragons. At this early point in the season, we’ve won as many games as we’ve lost, and that’s not bad for an expansion team.
“So what do you think about this team dinner?” Arch asks, his pace in lockstep beside me. Both of us are wearing heavy coats, hands in pockets, and hunched against the wind as we make the three-block walk.
He’s asking me not because we’re having a team dinner, but because Cherry is hosting it.
It’s unfuckingbelievable, really.
She’s somehow managed to ingratiate herself with the team owner and announced in a massive group text to the team and their family members that she was the founding organizer of the Wildfire Family Collective.
What followed was a dozen perky messages about how honored she was to fill the much-needed role and that she will endeavor to do right by her new family.
I wanted to puke reading each one. It’s not because I can’t handle Cherry—she’s like an annoying flea—but it’s almost as if she’s perverting what a hockey team is to one another.
We build camaraderie among the men who come from holding each other up in competition, and that is at the core of our foundation.
By extension, family members are drawn into it, of course, but it’s like she’s trying to hijack that away from the players.
Cherry is making it all about herself and I hate that disingenuous crap.
“I think the dinner is a great idea,” I mutter, my breath fogging in front of me with each exhale. “But not how it came about.”
“Figured you’d say that.” Arch chuckles, adjusting the collar of his jacket against the cold. “Same ol’ Cherry, different day.”
“Yup.”
Winnipeg nights have a bite to them this time of year—nothing dramatic yet, but crisp enough to keep you alert.
The city hums around us, traffic muted, lights reflecting off damp pavement.
Up ahead, the restaurant glows warm and inviting through tall windows, a place that promises good food and better bourbon.
It really is an excellent choice. Best steak in the city, in my opinion.
“And what’s up with you and Juno?” Arch asks.
He says it casually—too casually. I clock the timing, the way he doesn’t look at me when he says it, the way his voice stays light but his pace slows half a step.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn to face him. “What do you mean?”
“Bro,” he says, breath puffing out in a laugh. “It’s cold out here and I’m hungry, so let’s not play coy. I know something’s going on with you two.”
My shoulders tense before I can stop them. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I wasn’t sure,” he admits, hands lifting in mock surrender. “But on the plane ride here… you two sitting next to each other—”
“We were talking,” I insist, even as I hear how thin it sounds.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, head tilting. “But the way you looked at her—and the way she looked at you?” He smirks. “When you’re not on that plane, you’re not just talking.”
I exhale hard and scrub my hand over my jaw, fingers rough against stubble. I don’t feel guilty. I don’t feel defensive. Mostly, I feel caught—not because it’s wrong, but because I hadn’t realized how visible it was.
I wouldn’t lie about Juno. Wouldn’t sneak around like this was shameful. If Patrick Rowe knows, which he does, and he’s fine with it, then I honestly don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.
But we’re two minutes from the door, the smell of seared beef already bleeding into the cold air, and this isn’t exactly a sidewalk conversation.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Here’s the short version.
” I glance toward the restaurant, then back at Arch.
“Yes, we’re seeing each other. Rowe knows about it.
We’re being careful—mindful about not crossing any lines that mess with the integrity of her film.
But we’re not making a big deal out of it, and we’re definitely not advertising it. ”
“Understood,” Arch says with an easy nod as we start walking again. “But so you know…”
His tone makes my spine stiffen.
“You’re advertising it.”
My head whips to the right. “Really,” I say flatly. “It’s that obvious?”
“It’s that obvious,” he confirms. “But I don’t think anyone on this team would call you out for it.” He shrugs. “We may be a new team, but every one of them would have your back.”
I nod slowly. He’s right, and I know the trust is real with my mates.
“Except,” Arch adds, reaching for the door handle, “there’s one person who might blow it up.”
“Cherry,” I say.
He grins. “Bingo.”
“Fucking great,” I grumble as the door swings open and heat spills out to meet us.
Arch claps me on the back, hard enough to grab my attention. “Chin up, goalie.”
We step inside and the noise and warmth close around us, the night officially underway.
We’re led to the private dining room, paneled in dark wood with soft mood lighting.
Round tables are set up, eight seatings per, with crisp linen and sparkling crystal.
There’s a bar at the far end of the room, and it looks like all the players, coaches and staff are here.
There are a handful of wives and SOs, but not many made the trip.
They hardly ever do, most having obligations back home that don’t allow them to fly around the country to cheer on their guys.
Cherry, of course, is everywhere. Dressed in a form-fitting, deep purple leather dress with black spiky boots, she looks both sexy and fashionable.
Her hair and makeup are done to perfection and diamonds wink at her ears, neck and wrist. She’s definitely enjoying the fruits of having a rich hockey husband.
She floats from table to table, wineglass in hand, touching arms, laughing too loud, making sure everyone knows this was her idea. Her Wildfire Family Collective may be new, but she’s treating it like she’s been running these things for years.
But that’s about as interested as I am in her, and my gaze sweeps the room. As if drawn by a magnet, I spot Juno.
She’s near the far wall with Evan, camera rigged but unobtrusive, both of them moving like they’ve done this dance a thousand times. She catches my eye, lifts one brow, then gives me a small smile that feels like a tether snapping tight around my ribs.
This road trip has been chaotic, but it’s somehow pulled us closer together.
Because Juno and Evan are with us constantly, and she shares my bed at night, we’re spending practically all our time together.
Hanging with her and her friends in Los Angeles made it very clear that this is more than a sexual fling.
We have a lot in common, not only in our interests, politics and hobbies but in our core values.
We both move through this world with a fundamental respect for others, a strong work ethic, and the knowledge that kindness should pave the way to all interactions.
Unless someone throws a cheap shot at me on the ice, then I’m going to drop the gloves and release violence.
“Want a drink?” Arch asks.
“Yeah… grab me a beer,” I say, my eyes still on Juno.
I have the insatiable need to say hello. It’s been an entire hour since I last saw her. While some of my mates went out and explored the city after we got settled into our hotel, I spent the entire afternoon with Juno in bed, and somehow, that wasn’t enough time.
I take two steps to head her way, her eyes locked on mine and her lips starting to curl in appreciation, and then Cherry is right in front of me.
I draw up so as not to barrel into her.
“There you are,” she says brightly, as if we had made solid plans to meet up. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
“I just got here,” I say, smiling politely. I look past her shoulder, see Juno’s eyebrow cocked, a smirk on her face. She knows this is a nightmare for me.
Cherry clocks my attention is not on her and turns that way, following my line of sight straight to Juno.
“Always on the job, that one,” she says dismissively.
“Although I’m still waiting on her to interview me about the Collective.
I really thought she’d jump on that idea, but since we first talked, she’s kind of blowing me off. ”
That should be a hint, Cherry.
She turns back to me, Juno forgotten, and steps closer, close enough her perfume overpowers me. She gestures toward the room. “So, what do you think? Did I do a good job?”
There are a million things I want to say, all of them letting her know I don’t give a fuck what she does, but I can’t. I can’t cause any bad vibes on this team, so I play the game. “This is very nice.”
She lifts her wineglass, glancing around the room like she’s taking inventory. “Wait until you see the Halloween party. It will be epic.”
I grunt noncommittally.
“Invitations are going out tomorrow,” she adds, like it’s an afterthought. “I really hope you’ll come.”
“Maybe… depends on my schedule.”
She smiles, eyes narrowing a touch. “Of course. The guys are already buzzing about it.” A pause. “Remember that year you and I went as Bonnie and Clyde?”
My jaw tightens.
“God, that was the best,” she says lightly. “You hated the hat, but you wore it anyway. Everyone talked about us for weeks.”
“That was a long time ago,” I say evenly.
“Sure,” she agrees, unfazed. “Still… fun to remember.”
“I guess.”
Cherry’s eyes go frosty, narrowing at me. “You know, I’m trying to let bygones be bygones.”
I play stupid. “Bygones?”
She laughs softly. “Us. The past. We don’t have to make it awkward.”
I don’t respond right away. Because the truth is, it is awkward—but not for the reasons she thinks. I don’t feel anything stirring between us. No nostalgia. No regret. Only mild irritation and a growing desire to be literally anywhere else.
And the best way to get rid of Cherry is to give her what she wants. “You’re right,” I say. “The past is the past and we can coexist on this team civilly.”
“Friends even,” she says and touches my arm. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I resist the urge to step back. My attention involuntarily drifts across the room again. Juno’s murmuring to Evan and she glances up, sees Cherry practically leaning into me, and gives me a pointed eye roll.
I fight a smile and Cherry notices, head now whipping back to Juno and Evan.
“Wow,” she says lightly. “I’m really losing the competition for your attention tonight.”
I drag my focus back to her. “Sorry. Long day.”
She studies me for a beat, then smiles like she’s made a decision. “You know, we were good together. People forget that.”
I don’t say anything because this is now getting into awkward territory. I glance around, looking for her husband. I resist the urge to yell out, “Miller… come get your wife.”
“We had fun,” she continues, oblivious to my discomfort. Her voice drops a little. “A lot of fun.”
Jesus Christ… is she… hitting on me?
“That was a long time ago,” I reply, careful but firm.
She waves it off. “Of course. Ancient history.” A pause. “Miller’s great, by the way.”
I latch onto that. “He seems like a good guy. How’d you two meet?”
Her smile freezes. “At an event,” she says vaguely. “Through mutual connections.”
“Sounds… romantic,” I deadpan.
She shoots me a look, then laughs, though it sounds a little forced. “Not everything has to be a fairy tale.”
Across the room, Juno steps out of the private dining space, leaving Evan behind. I think she might be headed toward the restrooms, and an idea strikes.
“Excuse me,” I say to Cherry abruptly. “I need to use the restroom.”
She starts to protest, then catches herself. “Don’t be a stranger,” she calls after me.
I don’t turn around.
I catch up to Juno before she reaches the hallway, my hand slipping around her wrist. I gently pull her into a recessed alcove near the coat check. She gasps, then laughs when she sees it’s me.
“Wow,” she whispers. “Bold.”
“I was being held hostage,” I murmur, leaning in. “It was traumatizing, and I might need your lips to counsel me through it.”
She grins. “I’m sorry your ex is a menace.”
“She cornered me.”
“Shocking,” Juno says dryly.
I kiss her before she can say anything else—quick, soft, more relief than heat. She kisses me back, fingers curling briefly into my jacket.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I am now.”
She smirks. “I saw her circling you like a satellite.”
“I noticed.”
“Let me guess… she hit you with nostalgia.”
I groan. “Yeah, and… it was weird. She tried to go down the memory lane of good times.”
Juno laughs, low and warm, then presses another kiss to my mouth. “You’re handling it fine.”
“Am I?”
“Very mature. Gold star.”
“Like I said, I’m traumatized,” I say, my eyes dropping to her mouth. “I really need you to kiss me to make it better.”
And she does.