Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Vivian hadn’t expected her time in Boston to stretch out the way it had.
What was supposed to be a quick overnight trip to meet with her editor over proposed changes to her book had started well enough.
The flight to Massachusetts had been uneventful.
After landing, she’d grabbed a cab straight to the restaurant her editor had selected for their meeting spot.
They’d enjoyed a pleasant working lunch, accomplishing everything they’d hoped.
It had ended early enough that she’d had time to walk around Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market, picking up silly souvenirs for Pip, Belle, and Victor.
The publisher had put her up in a great hotel near the Freedom Trail, with a wonderful view, so yeah, day one of this adventure had been a dream.
Today, however, had been a completely different story. After too many postponed—then canceled—flights, she’d given up hope of seeing her own bed tonight, mentally preparing herself for an uncomfortable night stuck at the airport.
Running into Dean had been a very pleasant surprise.
Unbeknownst to him, he’d been her first serious crush. Victor had introduced them one afternoon following a preseason workout, just a few days before she was to leave for Cornell and her freshman year.
Vivian had never been one of those boy-crazy girls, like so many of her friends in high school—too focused on her schoolwork to give a shit about a social life.
So, she’d made it all the way to the ripe old age of eighteen without ever having a boyfriend or even a first kiss.
Not that she really cared about that. Because unlike her girlfriends, who’d been making out in the back seats of cars and spending an inordinate amount of time at the mall, she’d managed to graduate high school with not only a diploma but also an associate’s degree, thanks to a crap-ton of advanced placement courses.
That summer between graduation and leaving for college had been…well, in a word, fucking horrible. That was two words, but she couldn’t leave the word horrible dangling there without the extra part.
She and Victor had lost their parents to a drunk driver just a few days after her graduation.
Victor had arrived in North Branford, Connecticut, their hometown, within hours of receiving the call, and he remained there for two months.
That time was a blur as they planned a funeral together, then tried to figure out what the hell came next.
In the end, they’d decided to sell their childhood home. Victor, who’d been living in a condo, bought a house that fall, since Vivian would be coming “home” to Baltimore for holidays.
Every single day of that summer had consisted of her simply putting one foot in front of the other, hoping against hope that she’d make it to the other end of the pain to find something that didn’t hurt so bad.
She’d borrowed Victor’s car to run some errands on that fateful day twelve years ago, promising to pick him up following practice. He and Dean had left the stadium together, and Vivian was suddenly inundated with—Jesus—full-blown attraction for the first time in her young life.
She could still recall the way her breath had caught and her cheeks flushed when Victor introduced them. Dean had given her that same charming smile she’d seen countless times today, and she’d fallen head over heels in lust.
The next time she saw him was the night at the pub that he’d mentioned earlier, over the holidays a few months later.
She took a sip of her wine, then decided she’d had too much when she heard the next words coming out of her mouth. “You know, I had a bit of a crush on you way back when.”
Dean lifted an eyebrow, then his eyes twinkled in pure amusement. “So my hockey god superpowers took you down too?”
She snorted. “Aaaaaand now I regret confessing that to you.”
Dean laughed. “Don’t stop now. Tell me more.”
She narrowed her eyes, but between the exhaustion of the eternal day and the wine, her filter was gone.
“I spent most of that season watching Victor’s games in the dorm with a bunch of my friends, pretending I was only interested because of my brother.
In truth, I was watching you play most of the time. ”
Dean’s eyes brightened briefly before dimming. She knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. “I didn’t make it to the end of that season.”
He hadn’t. He’d taken one hell of a hit around the end of March, and she’d known the second she saw it that Dean had played his last game that season. What she hadn’t known was that it would be his last game ever.
“It was a dirty hit,” she said.
“It was the third ACL tear in as many years. My knee was beyond bouncing back after that.”
She’d grown up with a professional hockey player, so she was well-versed when it came to the injuries related to that sport.
“I guess I should admit that I recall that night at Pat’s Pub differently,” she said, willing to turn the conversation back to her embarrassing confession if it put a smile back on his face.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, the shadows in his eyes lifting.
“I knew Victor usually celebrated wins with the team when I was away at school, but he skipped those celebrations when I was home. I’d begged him for days to let me go to the pub with him if you all won the next home game.
I was shocked when he finally agreed, and then—” Heat suffused her cheeks.
“Then I was actually thrilled when he said I could only go if I stayed close to him and you the entire night.”
Dean was clearly surprised by that. “Really? Me?”
“Victor has always looked up to you, trusted you. He claims you helped mold him into the player he is today. You were a mentor to him during those early years of his career, and I know the two of you stayed in close touch even after you moved to Vancouver to serve as an assistant coach there.”
Dean nodded. “We did. Though I’m not sure I can take much credit for his success. That guy has more hockey talent in his little finger than I do in my entire body.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re forgetting, I was the girl with a crush, watching you nonstop on that ice. You were incredible.”
He was visibly touched by her words. “Thanks, Viv. Though now I feel bad for basically ignoring you that whole night, Victor’s evil eye be damned.”
“He was shooting you looks?” she asked, aghast. Not that she believed anything would have ever happened between her and Dean. God, she’d been practically jailbait when they’d met.
And while she didn’t know the man sitting across from her as well as she wished, Victor had talked about Dean enough that she knew he’d never put the moves on one of his friend’s little sisters—even now.
Dean chuckled. “It’s Vic. Of course, he was.”
“What an ass,” she breathed, though there was no heat behind her words.
“Since you made a confession, I feel like I owe you one, as well. I was very impressed by you that night.”
Vivian’s brows furrowed. That couldn’t be right. She felt as if she’d nervously talked his ear off, certain she’d come across as exactly what she had been—a starstruck teenaged girl. “Impressed about what?”
“You were a young woman who’d just suffered a terrible loss, yet you seemed…
” He paused. “You seemed like someone who had her shit together. After all, you were starting college as a junior at eighteen, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life. You had your career and future all planned out. I remember thinking you had more confidence than half the rookies on the team, and believe me when I say, arrogance is in abundance in hockey locker rooms.”
She laughed.
Dean continued. “I found everything you said impressive because I was coming off my second injury, aware that my own career was dangling by a thread, and I didn’t have a fucking clue what came after hockey.”
“And yet you found your niche.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Coaching wasn’t a blip on my radar.
In truth, I’d sort of hoped maybe I could land a commentating gig.
My ego liked the idea of sharing my hockey expertise with the world.
” He shook his head self-deprecatingly. “Obviously, I spent way too many years of my life buying my own press. In hindsight, I can see I was a run-of-the-mill player who played decently enough to stay on the starting lineup.”
“Wow. I think I preferred it when you talked like a hockey god, because you just minimalized the hell out of what was one heck of an incredible career. You were way better than run-of-the-mill, Dean.”
“Thanks again,” he said softly, their smiles lingering. It felt strangely nice, learning they remembered that same night so differently.
“And since we’re sharing all our secrets,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “I should tell you that I was in a constant free fall that entire summer. Me, talking like I knew what I was doing, was less about confidence and more about trying to convince myself I had a plan that would work.”
“Losing your parents when you were so young couldn’t have been easy,” he said compassionately.
“Losing someone you love at any age is hard.” Vivian didn’t intend to lead them down such a dark path, but it had been a long time since she’d had such an open, honest conversation.
Sure, she confided in Belle and Victor about a lot of things, but there were some subjects she tended to keep to herself.
Dean studied her before his expression grew gentler. “You’ve suffered more than your fair share,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
The words settled between them. Not heavy. Just careful.
Vivian looked down at the table, her fingers toying with the stem of her wineglass as she thought about Phil. His face, his voice, his laugh, all of it, always played in the background of her everyday life.