Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Viktor

Knova joins me for another pre-game dinner the first night I’m back in town. I can tell that some of the guys are making note of her recurring presence at these events. Camden and Lenyx keep shooting us sidelong glances, and Coach Grady is eyeballing us. Nobody asks, and since it’s none of their business, I don’t volunteer a thing.

What confuses me, though, is Knova’s overall demeanor. She seems… happy? But also like she’s avoiding something. Every time I try to ask her what happened during my trip, she changes the subject. I silently curse Dante for our schedule this season. I want to spend time with my wife, and I don’t want to have to wait until after tonight’s game.

“I missed you,” I whisper when Knight and Sofia are properly distracted.

Knova wraps her arm around me and gives me a squeeze. She’s rocking her SAVAGE jersey, and her makeup is flawless. “I missed you, too. I’m looking forward to tonight. I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” I’m immediately worried, because the last time she was this oddly agreeable, she was secretly sabotaging my wardrobe. Did I somehow fuck up again? Not sure how I could have, but I wouldn’t put it past me. “You doing okay? I know we haven’t had much time to catch up lately, what with my travel schedule, plus coaching Ella.”

“I know.” She squeezes me again. “Everything’s good. I know you have other obligations. I’m just glad you’re home.”

I lower my voice to whisper in her ear. “Okay, good. I’m trying to get my head in the game, which is hard enough when you look like that.”

She giggles. Fucking giggles. Since when is Knova a giggler? Since never, as far as I know. This is deeply suspicious. She’s wearing a smile, not a scowl. A giggle just escaped her mouth. Is she drugged? Is this a glitch in the Matrix? Is this a trap? I consider the possibility that she’s just straight-up happy, but things are rarely so simple.

We’re finishing up our meal when Mom and Dad come over.

“Hey, Molly. Hey, Noah.” Knova waves at them in greeting.

“Nice to see you, Knova.” Mom, of course, goes in for a hug. “You’re looking so pretty tonight!”

Dad settles for a fist-bump. “I hear the pool house is done. Congratulations.”

Knova nods. “Yeah. I saw it while the team was out of town.”

The pool house. At Cash’s place. Knova could move out. The dull, creeping dread of a full-body aneurysm takes root in my chest. It’s the exact flavor of terror that whispers, She’s packing up. She’s peacing out. And you’re about to be single and sad-eating toaster strudels at two in the morning like a sitcom divorcee. What if that’s why she’s in such a good mood? What if she’s already cleared out the condo?

I’m still quietly panicking when my parents leave, only for Dante to walk by and pause behind Knova’s chair. “Call me back to finalize the details,” he says.

“We will,” Knova chirps.

The details. Of the annulment. Of our impending fake divorce. Of my descent into bachelor oblivion, where I get visitation rights with the espresso machine and share custody of the cat we don’t even own yet. Holy shit, the annulment came through. We’re getting un-married, and Knova has already packed her bags, and she’s going to ghost me forever, and I’m going to die alone.

She rubs my arm to get my attention. “You okay, Vik?”

“Super,” I rasp. “Peachy. Super peachy.”

“Uh… huh.” Knova raises an eyebrow.

Everyone else’s chairs are scraping against the floor as they get up. It’s game time, but my head’s so far off the ice, it might as well be in the Sahara. My legs are cooked spaghetti. My brain’s short-circuiting like an old Etch A Sketch. Honestly, I should not be trusted with skates or sharp objects in this state. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this game, knowing what awaits me at the end.

Knova is leaving. And I haven’t even told her. Not really. That I want her here. That I need her here. That I’m not just surviving this marriage—I’m rooting for it.

I’m sure she’ll let me down more gently than she would have weeks ago, but this is pure torture. How am I going to convince her to stay just a little longer? To give me one more chance to prove myself?

I know this feeling. It’s eighth grade all over again. My blood isn’t flowing the way it’s supposed to—although thank God I’m not currently sporting a life-altering boner. I’m watching my hope of winning Knova’s heart slip through my hands, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I should’ve told her the truth years ago. About the dance. About how sorry I was. About how I let my pride stand in for an apology, thinking being her frenemy was better than not having her in my life at all. But that cowardice? It’s what landed me here—married to the girl I’ve loved forever, still too afraid to say it out loud. I thought circling her was safer than reaching for her. I thought protecting my ego was worth the silence. But now I know better. Pride won’t hold my hand when she walks out the door. And it damn sure won’t kiss me goodnight when she’s gone.

“See you after the game,” Knova whispers. She presses her lips to my cheek, which effectively breaks my brain. Why would she kiss me if she’s already washed her hands of me? I want to get her alone to ask for the CliffsNotes of whatever she’s thinking, but there’s no time for that now.

“See you,” I wheeze. Great, just what I needed. A full-blown panic attack. Is this what Knova felt like after her disastrous LifeSource flight? Because it fucking sucks.

“Let’s go, Romeo,” Knight mutters, dragging me toward the tunnel. “We’ve got a puck to drop and a panic attack to postpone.”

* * *

I know better than to let my mind wander during a game, but that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Knova kissed my cheek like she meant it, and now I can’t stop thinking about what she’s going to say after the game. Did she clear out the condo? Is this our last hurrah?

I miss a pass. Then another. Knight side-eyes me from across the ice like I’ve grown a second head. The puck zips by, untouched. I go after it half a beat too late.

And that’s when it happens.

I never see the guy coming.

There’s a sound—just a split second before impact. A warning. A rumble of skates. Someone shouts my name.

Then—

CRACK.

The world explodes.

I hit the boards with a sickening thud, all ribs and shoulder and skull. My helmet jerks sideways. My body bounces once, then folds like a card table. The ice is cold and too close, and I can’t seem to get enough air.

Someone screams. I think it’s from the stands. My mom. I try to sit up, but my limbs aren’t listening. My ears are ringing and my vision is doubling, then tripling. Everything is too bright and too loud.

“Shit—Vik! Viktor!”

Knight’s voice. That much I can parse.

I blink, try to speak. My mouth works, but nothing comes out. A trainer kneels beside me, flashlight already aimed at my pupils.

Coach is barking at someone. Players are circling. The ref’s arm is up, but I’m not listening to the penalty call. There’s a buzz in my head. Something swelling behind my ears.

“Stay with me, buddy,” Camden says. His voice is too tight, too high-pitched. “Just hang in there, okay?”

Knight crouches beside me, a hand on my shoulder. His eyes are wide, scared. That never happens.

I try to joke. I think I say something about cat videos. Maybe Shark booties. But it comes out a jumbled mess, so nobody laughs.

Someone’s taking off my helmet. My neck’s stiff. There’s a rattle in my teeth I can’t quite explain. The lights above me swirl into a kaleidoscope. My stomach lurches.

“Sawyer!” someone calls.

And suddenly she’s there—Violet Sawyer, all business, her gloved hands cool against my skin.

“Head injury team’s here. Let’s get him off the ice.”

“Violet,” I mumble. “Tell…”

She glances at Knight, her eyes sharp as scalpels. “Let’s just get you stabilized first, okay?”

They lift me with practiced care. A spine board. Neck brace. The cold seeping up through the back of my jersey makes me shiver. Everything’s spinning, but worse than the pain is the embarrassment.

I hate this. I hate scaring my team. I hate not being able to walk off the ice under my own power.

“You’re okay, Viktor,” Knight says, walking beside me as they wheel me toward the tunnel. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The crowd claps politely, but I barely hear it. Violet’s murmuring instructions. I catch snippets—concussion protocol, pupils, no vomiting yet. I’m trying to be brave, but everything inside me feels off-kilter.

As they guide me into the medical room, I catch Knight’s eyes again.

And I blurt it out.

“I want my wife.”