“Because I keep pulling the ball to the left, and I want to get my strokes on the green down before Cormac and I play in that charity tournament next week.”

  Naomi wrinkled her nose. “Did that make sense to you? It didn’t to me.”

  I scooped apple butter onto a cracker and shoved the whole thing in my mouth, then guzzled down a good bit of my wine. “That’s sweet that you play together.” I offered her a smile.

  “So…how are things?” Naomi asked. She was about as delicate as a bulldozer.

  “Shitty.” I took another sip of wine.

  “Right.”

  They all turned to the big screen. By the time the game started, Naomi and Mimi were deep into the bottle of wine. Exfoliants and facial masques were applied. Keelie was behind the couch, practicing her putting, which we heard thump into a plastic cup.

  Blade continued to be antsy, pacing the length of the living room before coming back to me and leaning against my leg. “I think something’s wrong with him,” I said, setting my wine glass aside. “I’m going to take him out for a little walk. He didn’t get one earlier.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Keelie asked.

  “I’m staying here. I just put on this avocado masque, and I want it to soothe me,” Naomi said. Mimi was sprawled out next to her, both of them with vivid green faces.

  “You’d scare the neighbors,” I said with a giggle.

  “Pfft. The neighbors are us,” Keelie said. She was so bright these days now that Cormac had proposed. I wished for her happiness, envied it.

  I loved these women. They had accepted me with such warmth. I’d miss them when Maxim and I divorced. A crater opened in my chest. I scrambled off the couch, anxious for a moment by myself as much as Blade needed to walk off his restlessness.

  Once I clipped on his leash and led Blade out the front door, I heaved a sigh. Normally, I enjoyed spending time with Keelie and Naomi, but right now, I just wanted to be alone.

  I let Blade sniff while I tried to figure out my next move. I’d finally looked at my messages and knew Lance had already managed to compile the libel case, and he’d had the Wildcatters put out a statement of how Dillon’s girlfriend confronted me at the gala. It listed out the restraining order, the threatening messages, the police report, and how Stella planned to play hardball with private images of Maxim she’d procured from a former Detroit teammate.

  None of the details spun well for Dillon or Stella. Clearly, Maxim and I were shone in a positive light—a couple who’d fallen in love and were overcoming the many hurdles thrown in our path.

  It was a lie. My life was a lie.

  I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up here, but I knew Maxim and I needed to talk, and I knew it was going to hurt. Still, the only way out was through.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose as a creepy sensation slithered over my back and down my arms when I bent down to pick up Blade’s large and runny poo. No wonder the poor boy was antsy. I bent down and cleaned it up, wrinkling my nose. As I rose, a dark shadow detached from a large boxwood in the neighbor’s yard.

  “Blade, guard,” I called out, voice clear. Blade placed the bulk of his body between Dillon and me. The dog’s thick coat ridged upward, and his teeth flashed, white and terrifying, as Blade peeled back his lips. A deep, vicious rumble burst from his chest.

  “You think I won’t take on your dog?” Dillon asked.

  I should have expected him. He must have hated the Wildcatters’ press release. Up until now, our situation had remained private. But Maxim didn’t back down from a fight—something neither Dillon nor Stella took into consideration when they concocted their newest scheme. Me? I rolled over, simply wanted to wish their meanness away. That wasn’t Maxim. That would never be him—and it was part of why I loved him.

  “I wouldn’t,” I said, my voice firm. Don’t hurt Blade. Just walk away. Why hadn’t I brought my phone? I’d promised Maxim I wouldn’t go anywhere without it. But I’d needed a break from the girls’ concern.

  “I’m going to make sure you go through more torment than I have because of you and your stupid hockey player. No one comes to my house and bothers my girlfriend.”

  He’d hurt me outside of my workplace, but clearly, I didn’t matter to him. I never had. Yet, I’d given him the ability to hurt me—and to nearly destroy my relationship with Maxim.

  Wow. That was…wow. A lot to digest and this wasn’t exactly the best moment for an epiphany.

  “Leave me alone, Dillon.”

  Dillon scoffed, his face taut with strain. “I keep telling you that we do this my way, Ida. You weren’t in charge of our relationship, and you definitely don’t get to decide when or how it ends.” He pulled something from behind his back—it shone dully in the streetlights, but I didn’t know if it was a knife or a club. I backed away. Dillon’s teeth flashed, and he chuckled. “We’ll see how much your hockey player likes you when I’m done.”

  When Dillon kicked at Blade, I screamed as long and loud as I could, then again. Dillon and Blade took on a dance of predators, each looking for the other’s weaknesses.

  I gave Blade his attack command, and he lunged, teeth bared and spittle flying. He managed to sink his teeth into Dillon’s thigh and Dillon screamed louder than a stuck pig. Dillon landed a hit with the metal club to Blade’s jaw and my gorgeous furry friend squealed, falling.

  A haze of fury descended over me, and I focused all my attention on the man who’d managed to torment me for far too long. No one fucked with my fur baby…or my marriage.

  “You sack of puke,” I shrieked. “I hate you, you dog-hurting bastard!”

  I lunged, swinging the bag of warm poo I’d just collected and hadn’t yet tied off. It connected with Dillon’s mouth. Even though I didn’t want to touch him, I ground the bag into his mouth until I felt his teeth.

  Damn, I was a good shot. I stepped back a little, rolling up on the balls of my feet. I settled into the fighter stance I’d learned from Amos, which Maxim had helped me to perfect while we’d worked out together in his basement. I cackled as Dillon choked and retched, foaming as he drooled and hacked up Blade’s gift of the ages. “You’re eating shit, Dillon. Not just spewing it this time.”

  Dillon tried to rise, but Blade scrambled to his feet and lunged, pinning Dillon to the ground, his teeth at Dillon’s throat. I kicked the metal club away while Dillon squirmed under my dog.

  “Ida Jane!” Keelie reached me, breathless, wielding a golf club. Naomi and her sister Mimi, who both still wore their bright green facial masques and held bottles of wine like clubs, followed her.

  “We heard you scream. You okay?” Keelie panted.

  “Blade and I took care of him,” I said, grim satisfaction burbling in my chest.

  “Don’t make me waste a delicious Cab on your sorry ass,” Naomi snarled.

  “Did you call the police?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Mimi, said, waving her phone in her unarmed hand. “They’re on their way.”

  “Good.”

  “I totally got that on video,” Keelie said. “I was running, so it’s probably vomit-inducing, but you shoved dog poo in his mouth, Ida Jane! Holy crap.” She laughed. “That’s so gross.”

  Dillon moaned and coughed while Blade stood over him, slavering and growling.

  “Ah! There’s the calvary.” Naomi smirked. “Now we’ll definitely have something to celebrate, even if the boys lose.”

  “They’re losing?” I asked, my stomach dropping. No, this was an important game. They needed to win this game and the next one in order to clinch a chance at the Conference Finals.

  Keelie shot me a glance. “Maxim was sent to the penalty box, and San Diego scored on the power play. He’s having a hard time.” Keelie raised her golf club and snapped at Dillon, who’d gotten a hand on Blade’s neck. “Try to slink away, and I will take a full swing. Just try me.”

  God, I loved these girls. I pressed my hand to my heart and let the joy sink into my soul. “Y’all are the best of friends a girl could ask for. Ever.” Without taking my eyes off them, I pushed my foot between Dillon’s shoulder blades until he collapsed back down in the spilled spittle and dog poo.

  “Perfect. Just where he belongs,” Naomi deadpanned.

  “Ooh, Maxim is going to be beside himself when he finds out,” Keelie said. “And he’s going to rage out when he realizes he missed this.”

  “I’ll call Paloma,” Naomi said. “She’s the only one who can get to Coach Whittaker, who will talk to Maxim. That way, Maxim can focus on the game.”

  “You think he’s unable to focus?” I asked.

  All their eyes stared at me. “Right,” I mumbled. “Yeah, we’re still not good after the gala. Of course he’s struggling.”

  With my ladies standing watch, I took Naomi’s phone and dialed Paloma’s number.

  “Naomi. Is there a problem?” Paloma asked. The crowd noise was loud.

  “It’s Ida Jane. Can you get word to Maxim? We caught Dillon—he was sniffing around our house.” I shifted my stance, puffing out my chest like Maxim did sometimes. “But thanks to my rad fighting skills, he’s now sobbing in a pile of dog poo, and…ooh! The police cuffed him. It’s like being in a show! Don’t worry, Keelie’s getting it on video.”

  “I am?” Keelie blinked. “Right!” She clutched her club to her chest and used her phone to video Dillon’s arrest.

  “We’ll send it through in a minute to Maxim’s phone.”

  “Well, that’s good news. I’ll make sure he knows.” The crowd roared. “Oh, that’s not good—San Diego scored again. Damn, they really need to go into the playoffs on a winning streak.” She hung up.

  Once Dillon sat into the back of a patrol car with the door shut, Blade relaxed, settling his bulk on my foot. I shoved my hand into his fur when he leaned against me, and I braced myself against his weight. We needed the connection. I also needed to call the vet to look him over, which I’d do as soon as we finished with the police.

  We trooped back into the house, where officers took our statements, and Keelie forwarded her video—she was right; it was vomit-inducing. But it was also evidence that Dillon came after me.

  “Right. Well, that’s all we need for now,” the officer said, closing her notebook. “I’m glad no one was hurt too badly.”

  “Just Dillon,” Naomi muttered under her breath.

  “He totally deserved it,” Mimi said.

  I walked the officer to the door, Blade at my side the entire time.

  “I’m okay, Blade. You did good. How about we get you checked out now? You deserve the biggest treat.”

  “I already called my vet,” Keelie said. “He makes house calls, but it’s expensive. I figured Maxim wouldn’t care about that.”

  “I need a glass or three of this wine,” Naomi said, picking up her bottle of Cabernet that she’d set on the kitchen counter. I’d bet her face was pale under that cracking green mud masque.

  “But first, you’re going to explain why that gorgeous ring is not on your finger,” Keelie said, waving her golf club at me.

  Chapter 21

  Maxim

  Watching Ida Jane fight and win her battle against that jackoff caused a fierce burn in my chest. I replayed the video again, needing to see her bright smile and Blade’s lolling tongue as he leaned against my woman.

  “You okay?” Paloma asked from across the room.

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She left the space, no doubt returning to Trix and the game.

  I replayed the video again, and I hissed through my teeth as I realized she wasn’t wearing my ring. No, I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t going to be fine with this huge rift between us, but I was thankful that Ida Jane was safe. Finally.

  Dillon would finally be charged with a crime, and I needed to know what she was thinking. But first I needed to focus on what I could control…and that would never, ever be Ida Jane.

  Before I called Lance to let him know Dillon had been arrested on a slew of charges, I had a hockey game to finish. If Coach let me. The moment I came out of the tunnel and settled on our bench, Coach’s gaze speared me.

  “Can you focus?” Coach Whittaker asked, his eyes burning into mine, searching.

  “Yeah, I can. I will.”

  “Right, well, next line change is your rotation. I expect to see you in front of their offense.”

  I nodded again, hating the censure I heard in his voice. He slapped me on the back, and I felt the blow through my pads. I’d let my team down. I hadn’t been able to concentrate enough tonight to keep in the correct position.

  I gnashed my teeth behind my mouth guard. From the moment I’d met her, Ida Jane carried my heart. I’d refused to admit that because I wasn’t used to worrying over another person. Not since Nadia.

  With the signal, I flew over the boards and into position. Head up, torso low, thighs engaged. As soon as the puck scuttled in my direction, I skated toward it, stick outstretched. I beat my opponent to it and slapped a nice shot to Cormac, who skated around another player and flicked it to Naese. My teammate glided forward and…missed the net.

  Fuck.

  I sucked in a breath and grunted out a curse as Naese shot me an apologetic glance. I lifted my chin to him, not wanting the mistake to get into his head. I knew how easy that was to do.

  Determination coursed through me. We’d get that goal next time.

  I continued to beat the Anaheim player for the puck, and he started mouthing off. I ignored him. The fifth time I won the puck, he dropped his gloves and punched my face while my head was turned. He caught me right below the eye and the helmet, a painful shot that lifted me off my feet and flat on my back.

  I breathed hard, my cheekbone aching. The boos from the crowd intensified, making me aware that we must have scored.

  Cormac skated into view, lips compressed and worry in his eyes. “You okay, man?”

  “Of course. Just need a second.”

  “That was a cheap shot.” Cormac’s nostrils flared. Angry resolve settled over his face. “We scored on the play, but we need another to put these fuckers in their place.”

  Cruz dropped to his knees next to me, bare hand on my chest. “That was a sucker punch, the rude fuck. I’ll get him. This season, next, doesn’t matter.”

  “Thanks, man,” I said. “Help me up.”

  “Wait for med—”

  I scoffed even as I reached for his beefy forearm and used it as leverage to sit up. The world spun a little, and I wiggled my jaw. “Don’t need the trainer. Help me up. I’m fine.”

  Cruz rose and helped me to my feet, and I got even with the player by scoring a goal with forty-seven seconds left in regulation, putting us over the top with a win.

  Now, I had seven more games to prove myself—to my teammates and to my wife.

  Ida Jane

  I ran into Maxim’s arms the moment he arrived home. But once we’d hugged and I’d viewed his bruise, an unusual awkwardness settled between us.

  “Your face looks like mine did,” I said, trying to break through the tension.

  He focused all that potent energy on me. “Nah. My eye won’t swell shut.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Ida Jane…”

  Hope made my heart quicken. “Yes?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “I’m glad you handled Dillon.”

  Defeat settled in my chest. We weren’t us. We were off-kilter, and I hated it.

  “Yeah. Those moves you taught me came in handy. I, ah, made dinner. Mixed green salad with salmon.”

  “I already ate.”

  I stepped back. “Right. Yeah. It is late.”

  He winced. “If I’d known, I would have preferred your dinner.”

  But to know, he would have had to have communicated with me, and neither of us had been good about that. I’d sent him the video, he’d called to make sure I was okay. We’d discussed Blade’s bruised muzzle and shoulder, and he’d said he had to go.

  The chasm between us expanded.

  “You’re not wearing your wedding ring,” Maxim said.

  I looked down at my naked fingers. “No. I’m not.”

  Maxim worked his jaw, his eyes clouding with hurt. “Why?”

  “Because it didn’t feel right to wear—not when…” I couldn’t say the next words and my throat ached from holding back tears. Not when you’re going to let me go eventually.

  He hadn’t said that, of course. But he’d lied to me, and that was a fundamental issue; one I was struggling to comprehend but knew was rooted in my time with Dillon. If he’d cheated and been so much different after I started to show an actual backbone, did that mean Maxim would change, too?

  Those thoughts refused to settle and my anxiety grew each time they reared up.

  “You don’t trust me,” he said, his tone clipped.

  “How can I?” I exclaimed. “What else should I know about you that you’ve kept from me?”

  He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I’m going to bed,” he said before turning on his heel and leaving me in the living room, still unsure where we stood.

  And angry that we were in this awful limbo. I wrapped my arms around my waist and trudged up the stairs.

  Later that week, after I arrived home via rideshare, I stood in the kitchen, unsure what to do. Maxim had offered to pick me up from work, but I’d rebuffed him. I wasn’t sure why, and at this point, I knew I was hurting myself. I just didn’t know what to do to make the anguish and humiliation about Maxim’s sordid past go away.

  He wasn’t helping with his cold, broody silences. I set my purse on the hook Maxim had installed for me and slipped off my shoes, my gaze zeroing in on my husband, who was sprawled on the couch, reading.

  I moved toward him, wanting to break through the barriers between us. Blade rose from his bed and shook, sending a plume of dust and fur into the air. I wrinkled my nose at the mess.

  “Who’s going to clean that up?” I asked, pointing an accusatory finger toward the dog fur flying in lazy waves around the room.