Page 78 of Daddies on Ice

The next hour passes in a bubble of unexpected peace. Carl transforms before my eyes, becoming an entirely different kind of coach when it comes to Krystal’s homework.

Where he’s demanding and exacting with his players, he’s infinitely patient with her, explaining each problem with devastating tenderness.

“That’s it, princess,” he murmurs as Krystal successfully sounds out a particularly challenging word. His large hands dwarf the tiny pencil, but his touch is gentle as he helps both girls form their numbers correctly.

This is the side of him the media never sees. The grandfather who probably reads bedtime stories and checks for monsters under the bed.

It’s devastatingly attractive in a way that has nothing to do with his silver hair or broad shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Jake whispers against my ear, making me jump. He’s somehow materialized beside our table, that trademark grin playing at his lips. “Can’t say I blame you. The old man’s got his moments.”

“I wasn’t…” The protest dies as Jake’s fingers brush against my shoulder, a casual touch that sends electricity racing down my spine.

“Sure you weren’t.” His green eyes dance with mischief, but there’s heat there too, a reminder of how those same eyes looked when he was moving inside me. “Just like you weren’t staring at Ash earlier when he was doing his pre-game stretches.”

My cheeks flame. “Jake?—”

“Relax, sweetheart.” The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, sweet and dangerous. “Your secrets are safe with me. All of them.”

The bus begins to slow. Through the windows, I can see the arena rising ahead of us like a fortress of glass and steel.

Christmas garland wraps around the light posts, and a massive wreath adorns the main entrance.

But what makes my stomach drop are the crowds gathered outside.

Dozens of people holding signs, cameras flashing, voices rising in an excited buzz that penetrates even the bus’s thick walls.

Several have my name scrawled across them in bold letters, and my heart starts hammering against my ribs like a caged bird.

“This is insane,” the words slip out in a whisper.

Carl’s expression hardens as he takes in the scene outside. “Jake, get her through that crowd fast. Don’t stop for anyone.”

“Already on it, Coach.” Jake’s arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.

The familiar scent of his cologne—something woodsy with hints of pine that reminds me of Christmas trees—wraps around me like a security blanket. “Keep your head down, Tish. Don’t look at the cameras.”

We step out of the RV bus to shouting voices, clicking cameras, and questions being hurled through the air like weapons. Jake’s grip tightens on me, his body shielding me from the worst of it.

“Tish! Are you and Jake Sorenson really dating?”

Jake’s jaw clenches, and he pulls me closer, his lips brushing against my temple. “Almost there, sweetheart. Just keep walking.”

The arena doors can’t come fast enough.

Once we’re inside, the noise fades to a dull roar, but my hands are shaking as I smooth down Becky’s hair.

She’d stayed close to Carl and Krystal, protected by his imposing presence, but her eyes are wide with confusion.

“Why were all those people yelling, Mommy?”

“They’re just excited about the game, baby.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but what else can I say? That her mother has somehow become tabloid fodder?

Carl appears at my elbow, his expression grim. “Security will escort you to your seats and stay with you during the game.”

“That’s not necessary?—”

“It’s not a request, Trisha. I won’t have you or the girls put at risk.”