“You wouldn’t be in my way. And I’d like to spend time with you.”

  We were adults…friends, right? I could spend a night or two with Paxton, especially if the result was the career I truly wanted.

  “What happens when you get the job?”

  A smile bloomed across my lips at Paxton’s use of when not if. I loved that he had that much confidence in me. I should find it in and for myself. “Then I’ll find a place to live.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Just to be crystal clear, I want to ask you to move in with me and for you to let me love you, but I understand that I must rebuild what I broke.”

  Such a Paxton response. He’d always been honest with me. Never pushy, but always honest about his preferences. I appreciated that, even when I couldn’t agree with his desires.

  “I’m not ready to get back in a relationship with you,” I said. “I’m not—Paxton, this is a bit confusing for me. I mean, up until last week I was sure you’d turned into the world’s biggest selfish asshole.”

  He hissed a breath. “Because I acted like it. Damn, that hurts.”

  I could see his pained expression in my mind. I knew he was rubbing his fist over his heart. That I could have considered Paxton a selfish asshole showed how angry and bitter I’d become—with good reason. But I didn’t want to be mad any longer. In fact, I wanted to find my way back to a friendly relationship with Pax. I’d missed him in my life. But we had to move slowly. I needed to be smart about this.

  That didn’t mean I planned to start something romantic with him again.

  Yet.

  Damn my mind for refusing to let me lie to myself. But it wouldn’t.

  Because I did still have feelings for Pax, and him coming here to tell me he had them for me was swoon-worthy and adorable and totally rom-com-movie-of-the-year perfect.

  “My place is yours for as long as you’d like to stay,” Paxton said, breaking through my ruminations.

  Despite what my heart wanted—or maybe because of it—I dug deep and gave him the brutal honesty we both deserved. “I’m not sure we can ever rebuild our relationship romantically. I’m different now.” I should have added that I’d been broken and stitched back together physically, as well as jaded emotionally, thanks to his leaving and Jeremy’s betrayal, but those words stuck in my throat. I was a mess and mass of scar tissue, and I hated that.

  “I hear you,” Paxton said.

  But did he? How could he understand what had changed if I didn’t share those scars with him? If it turned out we got along well now, I would show him, I decided. But first, I needed to be sure I could trust him.

  Staying with him for a couple of days would let me dip my toe in the water.

  “I need to focus on me and finding contentment with my life before I even consider romance again,” I said.

  “I hear you, Han. You need time. And I have to show you I’m serious about missing you in my life and about us.”

  “That’s not what I said…”

  “It’s what I need, too,” Paxton said quietly. “Give me that.”

  I both hoped and feared he would follow through on the promise, pretty much my constant state around him, it seemed. “Let me see if I can get that interview,” I said.

  “Anything you need, Hana, I’m here,” Paxton replied. “Don’t hesitate or worry about the request being too much. Just ask me, and if I can make it happen, I will.”

  Well…my pulse sped up faster than laser thrusters as my heart melted. Now I didn’t just need to worry about getting that interview. I fretted about holding on to my sanity. It was going to be nearly impossible not to throw myself at Pax if he continued to say—and follow through on—everything he was telling me now.

  Chapter 11

  Paxton

  Hana wouldn’t ask me for anything else. I couldn’t imagine what it had taken for her to ask if she could stay at my house. I knew from the stubborn silence, punctuated by her soft, “Bye, Pax,” that she was done being vulnerable right now.

  She disconnected, and I stuffed my phone into my back pocket. I wasn’t interested in talking to the guys anymore—not now—so I headed toward the rink’s spacious gym. I selected a stationary bike, wanting to reduce the edginess the call with Hana had caused.

  “Paxton. Nice to see you.” Gunnar Evaldson, owner of the Wildcatters, smiled at me as he pulled a towel from the handlebars of his bike. He patted his forehead as he continued to push through what looked like a grueling cycle of simulated hills. I had to give it to the guy—he was in great shape for fifty-something.

  “You, too, sir.”

  “You appear to have something weighing on you,” he noted. “Anything I can help with?”

  Normally, I’d think that was a platitude, that the team owner wouldn’t bother to listen to a player, but Gunnar was different. Hands on. Invested. Sometimes a pain in the ass, but always looking out for his players. In many ways, he was a better role model, a better man, than my father. I was thankful to be part of his team and hoped to play for the Wildcatters for many more years.

  And I was thankful I had reconnected with Hana again. Because reconnecting with her was everything. Just thinking about her pretty almond-shaped brown eyes and lustrous skin made my heart patter.

  How had I made it this long? It felt like waking up from an insidiously bad dream.

  Gunnar still waited. I opened my mouth, shut it. Then opened it again.

  “Does this have anything to do with your early flight out to San Jose and the fine Coach Whittaker slapped on you for not returning with the team?”

  I winced but nodded, looking over at him. “Yes. I had to talk to Hana.”

  “She’s the one who’s involved in aerospace physics? Fascinating career. Very cutting edge.”

  I nodded again, unsurprised to learn Gunnar knew about Hana. “I hadn’t spoken to her in years, and then when I did, she lost her job because of me.”

  Gunnar picked up his water bottle and uncapped it. “Hmmm….” He took a long swig.

  Gunnar proved to be a good listener, which was why I backtracked and gave him more information about my father’s disapproval of my relationship with Hana and his push for me to break up with her. Then I admitted that I’d screwed around and nearly lost my shot to move into the NHL because I’d been despondent and angry once I realized Hana was gone from my life. I pedaled as I spoke, but kept my leg work light since I’d already skated an additional hour at Coach’s demand—part of my penance for not coming home with the team.

  When I finished, Gunnar turned to look at his machine. I felt lighter without the weight of his icy blue gaze, and also after unburdening myself of the whole story—some of the guilt I’d carried seeped away as I realized I’d been a child who’d craved, sought out, and followed his father’s advice. Doing so had hurt me, nearly irreparably. I would never again simply accept another’s suggestion as the correct one.

  “Silas and I talked about your situation when we offered you the contract,” Gunnar said after a moment. He finally slowed his machine, and I noted the faintest of grimaces. At least the man wasn’t a robot, as he’d seemed there for a bit.

  He wiped sweat from his brow and took another long drink from his water bottle, leaving me to sweat it out for a minute. He held the power in our relationship, something a lot of professional players didn’t like to admit. They had talent, acumen, and physical prowess, but they didn’t hold the purse strings, and they didn’t make the decisions that could take a team from average to Stanley Cup level.

  Gunnar stepped off the machine, set his bottle aside, and leaned over, stretching. I continued my pedaling. “I know some people at Johnson Space Center.” He raised his eyebrows. “You do, too, don’t you, Paxton?”

  “I’ve met with the public relations representative.”

  “And a team of scientists and engineers, who you’re helping to translate their work into laymen’s terms for the group of students you’re bringing up there—what is it? Next week?”

  I nodded, surprised Gunnar knew my schedule.

  He stretched his other side as he continued to study me.

  Of course. My trip to Johnson was Wildcatter sponsored and would reflect back on the organization. Good thing I enjoyed both kids and aeronautics. It would be that much easier to make a good impression.

  “I’ll make a call,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant.

  “Nothing to thank me for. You and Hana will have to hash out the details yourselves.” He bent and picked up his towel and water bottle. “For the record, I like my players to be settled,” he added. “I find that once they get into steady, long-term, solid relationships, their focus on the game is elevated.” He waved briefly, turned, and disappeared.

  He left me, still pedaling, to ponder that nugget of wisdom and wonder what I could do to prove to Hana that I would never let her down again.

  Despite the seemingly positive step forward of discussing the situation with Gunnar, my nerves got the better of me that night, and I slept poorly. I wanted to talk to Hana, make sure she was okay, get her to promise to come to Houston sooner. But I couldn’t push her.

  She’d always had a backbone of steel. As quiet as she was, as often as people overlooked her for not being more assertive, Hana had a will of iron I could only marvel at. And now that she’d determined a new course for herself, I had to let her take it. Alone. Until—if—she invited me along for the ride.

  Puck was at her stick now, and I must wait for the pass…or the pass over.

  “What’s up with you?” Cormac asked as I put my wallet and keys in my locker the next morning.

  I stared at my phone for another long moment, noting its lack of messages, and sighed. “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing,” Maxim said. “You dropped a serious emotional bomb on us yesterday⁠—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

  “I get that.” Cruz peered at me from my other side. His expression was kindly—at least I thought it was through the beard. “But we’re here to listen. And to help.”

  “We were awesome with Adam yesterday,” Stolly pointed out. “He and Naomi are solid again, thanks to our fabulous life advice.”

  Cormac shook his head in mock disappointment. “You offered nothing to that conversation, Stol.”

  “Shove it up your ass, Mac. I was on it like a freaking bonnet.” Stol puffed out his chest and grinned. “I’m a relationship guru.”

  I glanced up at the guys. “Well, Mr. Guru, here’s one for you: Hana told me she had a miscarriage after I broke up with her. I didn’t know because, you know, I broke up with her and my dad got me a new phone. But yeah…I could’ve had a kid. One that’s older than all of yours.”

  Cormac whistled, and Cruz shook his head, clucking. Maxim leaned forward, his thick biceps bulging and his pale eyes icy-sharp. “That’s…fuck, that’s a lot,” he murmured.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “This is what’s been bothering you for months?” Cormac asked.

  I nodded. “Well, not the miscarriage but missing Hana and realizing I was the one who fucked up my happy, which, to point out, I had before any of you guys.”

  “Heavy weight to bear,” Cruz said. “No wonder you’ve been melancholy.”

  “Who the hell uses words like melancholy?” Stol asked, cutting his eyes my way. He was trying to ease the heaviness I’d created, and I appreciated his effort.

  “I do, pissant, because it’s a good word,” Cruz said. He looked ready to damage Stolly’s pretty face.

  “It is,” Maxim said, stroking his chin. “I like this one. And it suits Naese. He’s like the dude in that movie Ida Jane made me watch—the English one with the long, flappy coats and horses.”

  “Outlander?” Stol asked. “Millie’s wild for that one. Loves the dudes in kilts.”

  “Keelie likes that one, too. I don’t mind it because the sex is hot.” Cormac’s smile turned devious. “Wish there were more romance shows like that on TV.”

  Cruz rolled his eyes. “Off topic. We’re fixing Naese’s pathetic, melancholic life.”

  “Oooh, that’s better usage,” Maxim said. He repeated melancholic to himself and nodded.

  Cormac laid his hand on my shoulder. “You cannot dwell on the past, or it’ll eat you alive.”

  Maxim picked up the thread. “If you love her and want a future, you show her that. You tell her that, any and every chance you get.” The words finished low, almost growly, which made him sound like he was threatening me, but that was Maxim: deep and murky, and one of the most thoughtful men I knew.

  “Now what’s going on with you and Hana—that’s her name, right?” Cormac asked.

  I looked around the group of us. Most of the guys were leaning in, clearly interested in this conversation. I didn’t understand why people believed men didn’t gossip or weren’t fascinated by each other’s love lives. I straightened my back and met their eyes. I wanted them to know I was fine with them hearing my business. I was ready.

  “You talking to her every day?” Stol asked. He’d been in a difficult spot with Millie once, needing to gain her trust; he knew what he was talking about.

  I nodded.

  “And you’re showing her you care about her feelings and thoughts?” Maxim asked.

  “I’m trying.”

  “She needs to feel that you care about her,” Cruz stated.

  “I do care about her. I still love her.”

  “If anyone had told me we’d be talking feelings before a game, I’d have laughed, then hit them, then laughed some more.” Cormac smiled. “But this is good—right, even.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for years,” Cruz said.

  “And I’m saying you’re right,” Cormac snapped.

  And just like that, the easy, sharing moment passed as aggression washed through the locker room and carried over into the game.

  In fact, Cormac’s aggressiveness rallied the team in a spectacularly dirty game that cost one of our second liners his eyetooth and left me with double black eyes after the Bruins’ D-Man caught me at the bridge of my nose with his stick. The defenseman was ejected before Maxim or Cruz could pound him into the ice, which saved him a lot of pain.

  I wasn’t too worried about the slight cut and the swelling, though I was pulled from the game as a precaution in case of concussion. That left Stol working the offense with our old-timer who just wasn’t able to get off the line quickly enough to hit the mark and take the shot. Still, thanks to my two goals before I was pulled at the beginning of the third period, we managed a three-nil performance over Boston.

  And after, I had a concerned voicemail from Hana, who must have been watching the game.

  “Please send me a text or call me—something—so I know you’re okay,” she said in that soft voice. I could hear the tension in it, and wondered if she was pacing her studio apartment as she spoke.

  I called her back as soon as the game ended, even before I hopped in the shower. I wasn’t doing any interviews tonight, thanks to my swollen eyes. Adam would drive me home, and Cormac would bring me to the facility tomorrow so the medical staff could check me out again. They might not clear me to play the next game. Everything depended on how quickly the swelling went down.

  But before any of that, I had to reassure Hana.

  “Pax! Are you okay?” she said in greeting. “Can you see? What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” I told her.

  Cruz shook his head at his locker, mumbling about idiots and machismo. “Could have whimpered and gotten sympathy,” he muttered.

  I smiled, but I wasn’t willing to lie to Hana. I didn’t want anything but truth, respect, and love between us.

  “Are you still at the arena?” she asked.

  “In the locker room,” I said. “The game ended about five minutes ago.”

  “Oh. Well, um, that was quick…”

  “You sounded worried.”

  “I was. I am.” She blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to think—what to feel about you, Paxton.”

  “What do you want to feel?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I winced but absorbed her honesty. “That’s…” I couldn’t bring myself to say fair.

  “That was mean, wasn’t it? It’s just… You make me feel, Pax. And I’m not sure how to deal with that—if I want to deal with that again.”

  Because of how much I’d hurt her. “I’m glad you feel something for me, Han. I care about you deeply. I worry about you and over you.”

  “Pax, I…should go.”

  As much as I wanted to ask her more questions, I knew not to push. Not when I was on such thin ice. In fact, part of me swore I could hear it cracking. “Okay.” I bit my lip, refusing to say goodbye.

  She didn’t say it either, not right away. In fact, the silence grew, and my heart fluttered with hope.

  “If I call you tomorrow, would you let me know how you’re feeling?”

  I smiled, feeling like I’d just won the Cup. “Of course.”

  “Good. Great.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she agreed. “Bye, Pax.”

  She called me the next day, ostensibly to see if I was better. I wasn’t, and I was in a foul mood because my left eye had swollen completely shut while the right one was a slit. My head ached terribly every time I moved, and chewing was impossible.

  Hana picked up on my surliness because she asked if I had someone to help with meals, driving, all that important stuff I couldn’t do while my vision was impaired.

  I assured her that I did. “Mac—that’s our team captain, Cormac Bouchard—will drive me in to the complex in a while. I’m sure I could ask one of the guys or the CATS to help me out with meals or whatever…”

  “CATS?” Hana asked.

  “Comrades, allies, teammates, and spouses. Gunnar created the term to use instead of WAGS—wives and girlfriends—to be more friendly to all types of relationships.” I thought for a moment. “And because it’s a fun play on Wildcatters.”