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Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Though Algonquian Arena is quiet for the off-season, Zacha is hard at work behind the scenes rehabbing his injuries with single-minded focus on making a triumphant return in time for training camp. His determination to overcome both a concussion and a lower body injury is a testament to his unwavering resolve.” Renegades Rinkside Report

Novy

I didn’t leave. I’d lived with the man long enough to recognize a charade when I saw one. Bohdan Zacha was lying through his teeth.

But why the edge of cruelty to his words?

Was he lying about being cleared?

Did he not want me to find out he’d had a set back?

He’d opened up about his fears, his determination to return to hockey and compete at an elite level, and I had all the faith in the world that he could.

I settled in on the couch, popped the television on and stared at the big screen for the next hour. Then another hour. Then I got restless. Where had he gone? He’d taken his key fob, so not the gym downstairs.

When the huge round clock on the wall showed midnight, I dragged myself to my room. I’d leave my door open and hear him when he came home. No way was I waiting until morning to speak with him. I didn’t want to call it a confrontation, but it was starting to feel that way. We might have started with a contract between us, but the instant he kissed me, we’d started down a different path.

The moment I’d let him in my bed, inside my body, the dynamics of our relationship changed. We’d never defined it, but he’d not shied away from holding me, claiming me, in front of his friends and teammates. We had the veneer of a relationship, even if we hadn’t officially applied the label.

And I’d told the stupid man I loved him. Did that mean nothing? At the time, he’d turned ravenous. He’d made love to me for hours that night. Until I’d been too exhausted to move. Until I was sure he loved me, too, though he hadn’t given me the words. My Czech was a stubborn man. He’d give them to me in his own time.

I rolled to my side under the sheets. I’d spent too much time in Boh’s bedroom, in his bed. My sheets felt fresh and clean and foreign and lonely.

When I rolled over for the six hundredth time, I sat up and pulled my tablet from the bedside table into my lap. Might as well work on some recipes. Or see what was popular tonight on TikTok.

Tonight reminded me of the night I’d seen Boh asleep in a towel on the couch. The night I’d consulted Uncle Google about infamous hockey player Bohdan Zacha.

The temptation to search his name again teased at my fingertips. A quick look. Something to make me smile as I waited on the big dummy to get home so we could figure out a solution to whatever crisis he’d let take over his thinking.

I’d no sooner hit the search than regret swamped me. A thread popped up, clips of the same video, over and over. Even in preview, the blue walls and dark bar of the Puck’n Boards was recognizable.

As was the man sitting on one of the tall stools that lined the bar.

And the blond woman standing between his spread legs, kissing him in full view of whoever wielded the camera phone.

I’d seen the original kiss video the day I’d come home from shopping to find him asleep on the couch in a towel. I vividly remembered that video.

This was a new one, only hours old.

Boh, my Boh, was kissing Aubrey Canfield. Kissing his teammate's ex-girlfriend, again, the same night he’d told me in the rudest way possible to get lost.

I recognized the move. I wasn’t an idiot. He meant for me to see this. He meant for this drama to unfold now and put a permanent wedge between us. He meant for me to see him kissing this other woman, hate him, and disappear from his life.

I’d never been the jealous type. If someone was with me, they chose to be with me and I thrived in the confidence their choice gave me. But then, I’d never been cheated on. It’s a cocky woman who says she’d do this or do that when never faced with the situation.

I’d always said I’d never tolerate cheating. I’d never let someone disrespect me by giving themselves to another woman when they’d made promises to me.

But Boh hadn’t made me any promises, had he? He’d been careful, I saw now. Taking what I freely offered, but never returning the favor. Never putting himself at risk.

My gaze flicked down to the faces frozen on my screen. I didn’t hate him or Aubrey. No. My stomach twisted, bile burning the back of my throat. I was flat out devastated. Boh wanted me gone so much, he’d staged this and made sure to shove the evidence of his disregard in my face.

How far would he take it? Would he go home with her? I shuddered, a helpless tear slipping from my eye. Would he bring her back here?

I threw the blanket off.

He’d get his way after all.