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But somehow, a set of footsteps hit my senses and made me look up from my phone. Maybe because it was a familiar gait. Maybe because I realized the person was coming toward me.

For a second I thought it might be Lila, even though I already knew it wasn’t her. Wrong shoes. Wrong cadence.

No, it was…

Oh, for Christ’s sake. Yeah, Ty was coming toward me, and he looked pissed.

I straightened against the wall as I pocketed my phone. I didn’t say anything, though; I didn’t want him to be able to blame me for igniting a confrontation, and I sure as hell didn’t feel like giving him a polite hello.

He stopped a polite distance away, but he was still closer than I would’ve liked. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“Yes.” His lips peeled back as he growled, “I’m tired of you talking shit about me to the media.”

I blinked. “I don’t talk about you at all.”

“Bullshit you don’t,” he hissed just loud enough for me and no one else to hear. “You’ve told at least five reporters that you can play hockey now that we’re divorced.”

I stared at him, then huffed a humorless laugh. “Nice to see you’re keeping up on articles about me. But also—that isn’t exactly alie.”

He worked his jaw so hard I was surprised I couldn’t hear his teeth grinding. “You could at least stop telling people I wouldn’tletyou play hockey.”

I gave him a sarcastically innocent look I wouldn’t have dared deploy during our marriage. “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

He tsked and rolled his eyes. “It makes me look like an asshole.”

“Well, if the truth makes you look like an asshole…”

Ty huffed sharply. “Seriously, Sabrina?”

“Am I wrong?”

Another eyeroll. “For fuck’s sake, you don’t—”

“People ask me why I retired from hockey and why I decided to come back,” I snapped. “It’s a valid question. If you didn’t want to be part of that narrative, you could’ve just—”

“So I’m the bad guy because I wanted a wife?” He sneered. “If I wanted to live with another hockey player, I’d move in with one of my teammates.”

“Oh, stop it.” My turn for a passive aggressive eyeroll. “I wanted a husband, too, but I wasn’t at all threatened by you playing the same sport I did.”

His laugh was sharp and caustic. “You wanted a husband, huh? That’s not what I’ve been hearing.” He narrowed his eyes. “That why you brought Hamilton with you? Because you want a”—he made air quotes—“husband?”

The response that came to the tip of my tongue was rude to say the least, and I bit it back.

But then I remembered the conversation I’d had with Lila. Why should I avoid his landmines when he danced all over mine?

So… fuck it.

“Well, when we got married,” I said evenly, “I did want a husband. But three years with you finally broke through a lifetime of denial.” I flashed him a brilliant smile. “Thanks for that! Should I tell reporters and fans that instead of the part where you wouldn’t let me play hockey?”

The shock and anger in his face was almost too satisfying for words.

Then he swore, shook his head, called me something that didn’t need to be repeated, and stalked away.

As he disappeared down the hall, I pushed out a breath, trying to ignore the jittery comedown from the adrenaline surge. I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. How had I ever been married to that man?

Another set of footsteps broke away from the sparse traffic, but when I looked up this time, relief almost knocked my knees out from under me. Relief, and something I didnotneed to be thinking about when we’d be sharing a room tonight.