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Van might mean that Naomi is too good for me, and I would agree. She’s the kind of beautiful that needs no makeup, as evidenced now by her fresh face. She even looks good when furious—though I’ll admit I prefer her smile.

Or maybe it’s because she has a kid? Our team is still pretty young, and only one or two guys have families. They’re the ones too busy to hang out much outside of required team events. Of the guys I spend the most time with, only Alec is dating someone with a kid. And Juno is still a baby, which feels different than someone Liam’s age. Though Alec is smitten—both with Evie and with Juno.

I have a sneaking suspicion Van’s comment is more about the hostility emanating from Naomi, directed straight toward me.

“Yes.” A one-word answer is all Van—or anyone else—is going to get about Naomi and me dating. “Now stop staring at her.”

“I’m not staring—ow!”

I’m not about to apologize for smacking Van again, though this time, it was a little harder.

Naomi is currently sipping a glass of orange juice and half listening to Eric, our head trainer, while fully glaring at me through the glass window of the medical suite.

I’m with a handful of my teammates in the pool room that houses our ice baths, small pool, and sauna. The chlorine is burning my nose, but I’m not about to leave. Not until they’re done stitching up Liam. He’s sitting behind Naomi on one of the exam tables, watching Dr. Samuelson with interest.

Naomi, meanwhile, sits by Liam’s legs with her back turned to the action. She clutches Liam’s foot with one hand while sipping orange juice with the other. Her posture is rigid, like she’s fighting the urge to turn around. Which would probably make her pass out again.

Naomi’s squeamishness around blood isn’t something I knew about her, and it makes my gut twist. What else don’t I know? There are so many things I never learned and probably never will.

“You’re still staring,” I point out.

“I’m a married man.” Van flashes his wedding band, which he still does every chance he gets. “I’m not checking her out or anything. I’m just curious about the woman who’s had you tied up in knots all season and why she looks like she wants to murder you.” He pauses, maybe waiting for me to hit him again. I don’t. Yet. “I’m just surprised. She’s not what I would have expected.”

I turn the full weight of my gaze on Van. He’s taller than I am, broader too, but I think he can tell I would take him out right now because he holds up both hands and backs a few steps away.

“I don’t mean anything by it,” he says.

“Whatdoyou mean?”

From his spot leaning against the wall by the sauna, Eli snorts. “Keep talking, Vanity. You’re providing a lot of entertainment right now. I’d like to see Cammie’s careful control snap.”

Eli’s smile falters as I swing my attention his way. He is what you’d get if you crossed a golden retriever with a ball of sunshine. His wild blond mop of hair only accentuates his personality. Glaring at him feels like kicking a puppy. But right now, I don’t care.

The only person whose feelings I care about punched me in the face less than an hour ago and looks willing and ready to do it again.

“Sorry, man,” Eli says. “Carry on.”

“You know you can leave at any time. All of you,” I say, glancing around at my teammates, all of whom suddenly appeared moments after Naomi passed out, like sharks smelling blood in the water.

Besides Van and Eli, there’s Logan—who at least has the good sense to stay silent—and then Dominik, which is a bit unexpected. He’s taking after Logan, mirroring his silence and his casual posture, so right now my ire is trained on Van and Eli. Felix, our goaltender, is also here, though he’s so quiet and still I almost forgot. All of them were helping today—I guess some of the guys are on rotation because Logan, Van, and Felix weren’t here last week—and so now I’m subjected to having them here.

As soon as Naomi regained consciousness, she asked me to leave. But I’ll still hold onto the brief moment while she was still coming to when she sighed and nestled into my chest.

I can tell Coach is doing his best to navigate the situation, but his cheeks are flushed and his bald head, which he’s kept shaved for the past year, is shiny with sweat. He keeps checking his phone, probably waiting for someone from our legal department to get back to him. Every so often, he shoots me a look as if he’s asking for help, but I’m definitely not wanted in that room.

Liam lifts his good arm and waves, his smile wide.

Okay, I’m not wanted in that room by onlyoneperson. Very strongly not wanted.

I think it’s irrational and probably part of a defense mechanism of some kind. She’s scared and upset about what happened to Liam. And I already know from him that she didn’t want to see me. So, I’ve become the focus of all that negative energy—the fear, the concern, the shock of seeing me.

I can handle her misplaced anger.

Ignoring the laser heat of Naomi’s glare, I nod at Liam. I’m glad he doesn’t seem bothered getting stitched up. He handled everything today like a champ, even going so far as smiling at the smaller kid who accidentally pinwheeled into our practice area, his skate slicing right through Liam’s shirt and into his arm.

“Not a big deal,” Liam told the sniffling boy who looked ready to burst into tears. Liam somehow managed a smile while holding a glove over the cut. “It’s just hockey.”

I honestly wasn’t sure until that moment if Liam would continue with hockey. Usually by his age, kids his age are well acclimated to the ice. He’s starting at a deficit. It will take work. Commitment. Heart. And though he’s incrementally better today than last week, it’s clear he’s not the most coordinated to start with.