Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Alberto
If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a goalie, it’s that you have to expect the unexpected, and still be ready to control everything.
The puck doesn’t care about your strategy. It doesn’t announce its intentions before it kicks off a stick and comes at your face at a speed that makes you question every choice you’ve ever made.
Hockey is unpredictable. Probably one of the biggest reasons I crave control. That and obviously my childhood, but that’s a trauma for a therapist.
Though you know what’s not good for a goalie? Someone with no discipline. Someone reckless, impulsive—someone like Vesper Ana?s Lafontaine.
Love her dearly. Nope, I adore the woman, but she throws my balance off.
A puck, at least, has a simple mission. Find the net. Vesper? Vesper disappears into herself. She goes quiet. She smiles like she’s fine and then proves she isn’t in a bathroom that smells like expensive soap and panic.
Leaving her at the apartment so we can attend the team meeting feels like stepping onto the ice without my mask.
It’s not rational. I know that.
She’s safe. She’s inside. She has water, crackers, a couch that could swallow a person whole, and two bedrooms. The chef arrived early today to make a light breakfast and some snacks. Surprisingly, the food is excellent and he can handle the meals for someone with morning sickness.
Cally insisted Harvey send someone—“a check-in person,” he called it, like there’s a standard way to say please don’t let her be alone with her thoughts right now.
This CIP, as he called them, will accompany Ves to today’s appointments.
I hate that neither one of us can be with her, but we have a commitment to fulfill.
Next week will be harder because all the games will be away.
I hate that it’s happening and I probably have to make a few calls to my teammates to figure out how they handle everything while their pregnant wives stay home while they’re on the road.
They’re probably fine, but none of them is Vesper.
The woman I would gladly put in a bubble-wrapped home where she wouldn’t get hurt.
The most infuriating part about it is that she would never allow it. She’d say, “Fuck you, Alberto, I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want,” with that defiant look she throws when people try to control her.
Right now, she’s curled on her side on the couch, wearing oversized pajamas that make her look younger. Her phone is in a bowl of rice on the counter because she dropped it in the tub and then announced, with a straight face, that she’s starting a new trend: “hydrotherapy for electronics.”
Her humor is doing its job. Distracting. Deflecting.
Harvey promised to have a new phone with the CIP. It’s set so she can call her phone provider and connect it. I don’t understand how the technology works but if he says it’s not required to change her to Cally’s or my phone provider, I believe him.
It’s time for us to leave and this is driving me fucking crazy.
Callaway is by the door. He’s trying to look like himself—casual, charming, easy—but his knee won’t stop bouncing. He keeps checking his phone like the screen might say something that makes this all make sense.
He catches me looking at her and his face shifts. “Let’s go, Montoya. We can be quick,” he says, like he’s offering me a compromise.
“We can’t,” I answer.
Like they’re going to let us just take the jerseys and come back home immediately. My skates are already there. They’re probably going to make us skate around—even train with the team.
Plus, they have to use our story.
Rivals.
Rival goalie and forward, forced to share the same colors. Forced to smile. Forced to pretend that history is a marketing asset and not a threat.
It’s our first day in the building. Plus, our first game is tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I’m supposed to stand in net wearing new colors, in a new city, with a new crest on my chest, while the crowd decides what to make of me.
Tomorrow, Cally is supposed to score points while I maintain the last line of defense like we didn’t spend our entire careers doing those things on opposite sides. We’ll also pretend that we haven’t spent years trying to get under each other’s skin.
Now, we’re supposed to be a unit.
I walk back to her and crouch beside the couch.
She opens her eyes , like she felt me coming. “If you’re about to give me a pep talk, don’t. I’m fragile and mean today.”
“I’m not giving you a pep talk, just a goodbye kiss.”
Her eyes narrow, studying me because she doesn’t believe me. Not one bit.
“Harvey’s people will be here soon.” I point at the blanket. “Just in case you want to change your attire from comfy chic to I have to be out of the house.”
Ves turns to look at Cally. “Make sure he stops fidgeting, or he might not be allowed to play.”
“I’m totally cool,” Cally says.
“You’re like a golden retriever with anxiety,” she mutters.
“I’m a golden retriever with purpose.”
She huffs a laugh that turns into a light wince, like her body reminded her it has its own opinions. She presses her palm to her stomach for a second and then drops it, as if acknowledging it makes it worse.
“I’m totally fine. Go be professional athletes.” She waves us away with her hand. “Do your press. Smile for the cameras. Pretend you don’t want to murder each other.”
Cally makes a noise that could be a laugh in a different universe. “I don’t want to murder him.”
I glance at him. “Liar.”
Vesper’s mouth twitches. “See? Team chemistry.”
I reach for her hand, slow, giving her the choice. She lets me take it. Her skin is cooler than I want it to be.
“Just don’t leave by yourself,” I say quietly.
Her brows lift. “Excuse me?”
I hold her gaze. “I respect your independence, but if you could just use our resources, you should.” I press my lips together. “At least until you have a plan.”
She pouts. “I . . . fine. It’s temporary. Don’t think I’ll stick around to babysit your asses so you don’t kill each other.”
“We appreciate you looking after us.” Cally winks at her.
Then she exhales, and her voice goes small in a way that makes my gut turn. “I wasn’t planning to leave, by the way.”
“Promise,” I press.
Cally’s eyes snap to me like I said too much.
I don’t care.
Vesper stares at our joined hands. She swallows once, hard. “Fine. Promise. Happy?”
I kiss her temple, then her hand. I stand and back away before I do something stupid—before I pull her into me and make her feel like she has no space to breathe. Before I touch her and remember too much. Before I look at Cally and see the same need in his face and hate him for it.
Cally grabs the keys from the counter. “We need to go, Montoya.”
I nod.
Vesper raises her hand weakly. “Go. Before I start charging you rent for emotional damage.”
Cally smiles, softer than his usual grin. “Put it on my tab.”
I pause at the door. One more look.
She has her eyes closed. It makes me want to go back and hold her the way we did last night until she fell asleep, but I don’t.
We step into the hallway. The elevator ride down is silent. Not because there’s nothing to say. Because anything we say will turn into a fight or a confession, and we don’t have time for either.