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Chapter Twenty-Five

Knova

“I still can’t believe we made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs,” Viktor gushes. “This is huge. I mean, obviously this is the best season we’ve had since my dad was on the team. He’s been pretending he’s chill about it, but I know my dad’s proud. It’s been, what, two decades since he made it this far? And now his kid’s wearing the same jersey, chasing the same dream? That shit gets to me. Mind you, I have no idea what our odds are of winning this game, much less of winning the Cup… which is probably not going to happen, if I’m being honest, but what if we did? Of course, if we beat New York, then we still have to take on Colorado, and they’re having an amazing season. God, if we win, Lenyx is going to be insufferable for the rest of time…”

Viktor paces the house, babbling about hockey. Not long ago, I’d have assumed that it was his ego talking—like, Let’s talk about hockey, because why would anything you care about be as important as this? Now, I know what’s happening.

Viktor is nervous. He’s talking because he can’t keep all his nerves in his head or he might explode. I’d bet my last stick of gum he hasn’t eaten anything but bland pasta all day. Knowing him, he’s probably already rotated through three pairs of lucky socks and taped his stick five different times just to get the spiral perfect.

I wait for a lull in his monologue before tapping a nail into the living room wall. I’ve already measured twice, but just to be sure, I unroll the tape measure a third time to make sure my nails will be evenly spaced along the wall. When they are, I nod and let out a satisfied little hum. Perfect.

At the sound of hammering, Viktor wanders back into the living room. “What are you doing?”

“Hanging these portraits.” I wave to the pictures we painted during our ill-fated double date night. They’re currently leaning against the bottom of the wall, but soon they’ll be on display, not far from the shadowbox where Mick’s tags are now stored, along with a folded flag and some other mementos from my years of service.

Next to the shadowbox is a smaller frame—rustic wood, a little wonky—and inside it are the two original rings from our surprise wedding. The ones Dante picked. Gaudy, oversized, Vegas-cheap. His-and-hers monstrosities that screamed Elvis-themed commitment issues. I didn’t even realize Viktor had saved them until he brought them out last week, along with a crumpled printout of our marriage license. He said if we were going to laugh about how it started, we might as well frame the proof. I rolled my eyes so hard I saw the next dimension… and then helped him pick the frame. Because honestly? I kind of love that we kept them. A reminder that we turned a joke into something real. Something ours.

Viktor eyes up the portraits. “I thought you hated those.”

I have to chuckle at that. “What? I throw them in the garbage one time and you think I hate them? I thought you knew me.”

“I did. That’s why I saved them.” Viktor wraps one arm around me for a quick squeeze and kisses my temple. “I’m glad they’re going up. Even if you made me look like a freaky toy from Hot Topic.”

I kiss his cheek. I’m so happy these days that I’m just giving the wife experience away. “Yeah, and you painted me like Picasso had a stroke mid-brush. What’s your point?”

“Mine is the work of an artistic visionary.” He waves toward the image of my lopsided face.

I smirk. “And here I thought it was the work of someone with vision problems. Here, help me make sure these are even.”

Viktor steps back to give me instructions while I hang the canvases. “A little to the left… no, tilt it to the left… too much, go back… there it is.”

I join him halfway across the living room and nod my approval. “Looks good to me. What do you think?”

“They’re perfect. Just like you.”

I click my tongue and roll my eyes. “Stop making it weird. We already hung the freak show art. See you at the arena later?”

“Assuming you accept your standing invitation to the pre-game buffet, yes.”

“Oh, hey!” I spin to catch Viktor’s arm before he can leave. “I was looking for my jersey earlier, and I couldn’t find it. Any chance you know where it’s gone?”

A secretive smile plays across his lips. “Right, I forgot to tell you. It shrunk in the wash. I was being a dummy and messed up the settings. I ordered you a new one, though. It’s on the bed.”

“Thanks.” I tip my head to one side. “Did anything else get ruined in that load? As far as I know, the jersey’s the only thing I’m missing…”

“Nope, just the jersey.” Viktor’s smile widens. “I have to go, babe. See you at the arena.”

I brush a quick kiss across his lips. As soon as he’s gone, I head back to the bedroom to see my new shirt. I don’t believe for a minute that something happened to it; if nothing else, nobody in this house is running a load of laundry consisting of a single shirt.

The new jersey is waiting on the bed, already laid out for me. The front looks exactly like the old one, but when I flip it over, Viktor’s number is printed on the back. Instead of SAVAGE, it says WIFE.

My hands start to shake, making the material of the fabric ripple as I hold it up. There’s something scribbled on the inside tag. I lift it up and see his handwriting : For my savage girl. You were always it for me.

I sit down hard on the edge of the bed, pressing the jersey to my chest like I’m trying to soak the feeling into my skin. This will be an important game for this new version of the Venom. This is a statement. This is big.

I need to make a gesture of my own. A bigger one. And I already know who’s going to help me make that happen.

* * *

Dante’s receptionist looks up as I burst through the door from the hall. She opens her mouth to greet me, but when I keep walking in a straight line right past her, she half-rises from her chair.

“You can’t go in there—” she begins.

I yank his office door open. “Funny, looks like I can do exactly that.”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times. I feel a little bad for her. Then again, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to get in trouble—Hales have been barging into Dante’s personal space for years, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop us.

Dante recoils at the sight of me. A few seconds too late, he tries to hide under his desk.

“Get back up here,” I bark. “I have an idea.”

Dante glowers at me from the floor of his office. “Jesus! Now what? You said you didn’t want the annulment. I have an envelope of confetti as proof!”

“I need your help with something.”

He struggled back into his chair; I can hear his joints pop from the far side of the room. “Fine. Just don’t punch me.”

“I’ll admit, the idea is tempting, but this is more important. And it even gets you some hype. This is the biggest home game of the season. The building is going to be packed, the cameras are going to be rolling, and everyone’s going to be watching. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it loud.”

“Really?” Dante perks up at that. Of course he does. He’d do anything for some media buzz, wouldn’t he?

“I want you to plaster our wedding photos all over the boards during the announcement for the starting lineup.”

Dante leans forward and steeples his fingers. “The photos from the original ceremony, you mean? Interesting.”

“You already paid for the event, and we’ve decided to stay together. Might as well get some mileage out of those images, right?”

“Indeed.” Dante nods, lost in thought.

“One thing, though.” I lean on the far side of the desk and narrow my eyes. “You screw this up and I will haunt your PR department until your dying breath. You’ll never have a clean headline again. I might even consider breach of contract. By using my Hale fists of fury.”

He scoffs. “I never make any mistakes.”

“Dante. You married the wrong twin.”

“Ah.” He taps his temple. “But did I really fuck that up, or did I give you both just what you needed? Sure. Mistaken identity, impulsive marriage, a little fake drama to kick things off. Classic rom-com setup. You’re welcome to claim the win if we get our happy ending.”

“I’d say you got lucky.” I rap my knuckles meaningfully against the wood. “Are you really going to gamble on getting lucky twice in a row?”

His eyes snap to my fist. “You might have a point. Don’t worry. I’ll have Julie handle it.”

I straighten up again. “Good. You’re smarter than you look.”

Dante eyes me up and down. Am I wrong, or is there grudging respect in his expression? “You know, not many people can get away with talking to me that way. Good thing I like you.”

“What’s not to like? We understand each other.” I blow him a kiss. “Be honest with me. I’m your favorite of the Venom kids, aren’t I? The others are so much easier to push around like pawns, but I’ve always kept you on your toes. You’re trying to build your own Venom dynasty, right? All the kids of legends, lined up like trophies on your shelf. Admit it—I’m the crown jewel. It wasn’t an easy win, was it?”

There’s no mistaking his smile this time. “You’ve always been difficult, Knova. But you’re the best thing your father ever did in this life. Nice to see you’re finally playing along.”

“You put off the annulment, didn’t you? I bet you could have had the paperwork filed before we left the office that first day.”

Dante’s smug smile would really piss me off if we hadn’t both gotten what we wanted in the long run. “A word of advice? If I ever tell you something is beyond my abilities, I’m lying.”

I shake my head at him. Oh, to have the confidence of a rich but otherwise mediocre man. I almost envy him.

“I have to go,” I tell him. “See you on the ice. And like I said, don’t fuck this up. I know where you live.”

There’s a weird twist in my gut, like adrenaline and hope got tangled up in a headlock. This isn’t just a stunt—it’s the first time I’m saying to the world, He’s mine. And I’m terrified Dante’s going to screw it up.

He inclines his head. “Always a pleasure, Knova.”

Somehow, I doubt that.

* * *

My wife jersey causes quite a stir at the team dinner. Viktor greets me with a kiss, while all around us, his teammates elbow each other and point at me. Violet Sawyer’s jaw quite literally drops when she gets a glimpse at my shoulders.

“I want one,” she blurts.

I grin at her enthusiasm. “You need a husband first.”

“Right?” She lowers her voice and casts a collective side-eye at the team. “I picked a career where I’d be surrounded by guys. You wouldn’t think it would be so hard.”

“You never know. Sometimes the right guy has been in front of you the whole time, and sometimes you meet them in the most unexpected ways.”

Across the room, Camden squeals when Lenyx pulls him into a headlock. Lenyx digs his knuckles into the smaller guy’s scalp. After a few seconds of this, Camden jabs him in the armpit.

“Yeahhhhh…” Violet wrinkles her nose. “I’m good.”

All through dinner, Viktor can’t stop smiling. His leg jiggles with the same nerves that haunted him earlier today, but he’s happier than before. I guess he wasn’t sure how I would feel about his gift, but I love it.

“Good luck out there,” I tell him when the meal ends. “Or is it ‘break a leg’? Because… please don’t do that. Your last injury was bad enough. I guess what I’m saying is, win, but don’t get hurt in the process?” Oh, shit, now I’m babbling. I hope he likes my surprise as much as I liked his.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got my good luck charm with me, after all.” Viktor kisses me softly, right out in the open, where anyone could see. My whole face burns as heat surges through my cheeks.

“I was here when you got hurt,” I remind him.

“Yeah, but I thought you were breaking up with me. Totally different scenario.” He kisses me again, like he can’t stand the idea of letting me go.

It’s a relatable sentiment, but he has a game to win. “Stop ogling me and get out there, perv.” I tap one palm against his butt to urge him along. Violet wolf-whistles. Knight pretends to gag. Loudly.

“Fuck off, Daddy.” I flip my brother the bird and spin away to join Sofia, whose cheeks are now at least as red as mine.

Our families are already settled in. I end up between my mom and Vivian, with Molly seated on her far side.

“Nice shirt.” Vivian winks. “I don’t suppose you have anything planned tonight?”

“Are you psychic or something?” I hiss back.

She chuckles and rubs her stomach. “Maybe I’m just working on my mother’s intuition.”

“That, or Dante said something to Coach,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Mom asks.

“Nothing.” I want tonight to be a surprise. Then, if something goes wrong, I can blame Dante.

I take a deep breath. This is it. I have no idea if this is going to work, or if Dante’s going to screw the timing, or if the photos are even going to load. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe… maybe I’m hoping too hard.

Marco’s voice comes over the speaker, so loud that it drowns out any follow-up questions. I’m reminded that there’s another weak link in my grand plan, since Marco was the one who kicked off my disastrous musical performance earlier this season.

“Hello, hockey fans!” His introduction is met with excited screams from the audience. “It’s so good to have you here, my friends! Tonight is a big night for the Las Vegas Venom, and—ow, stop it, what are you…?”

Every eye in the arena turns toward the commentator booth. Marco is dragged back from the mic, and a brief scuffle occurs just out of sight. A moment later, Dante settles into the recently vacated chair. Marco’s co-commentator stares slack-jawed at his boss, who makes a quick slashing motion across his neck.

Great. This is already getting weird.

“Good evening,” Dante purrs into the mic. “I’m Dante Giovanetti, the owner of the Venom, addressing you in person for the first time.”

Some people cheer, though there’s some general muttering from the visiting New York fans, who don’t appreciate the fact that the home team is hogging the spotlight.

Vivian mutters under her breath, “That’s not ominous at all.”

“This is either going to be iconic or a total trainwreck,” Sofia whispers. “Possibly both.”

“As many of you know,” Dante says, “I’ve done something a little unconventional with the Venom in recent years. Given that we’re all here tonight, it seems that my efforts are paying off. I’m bringing back the magic, which has included bringing Viktor Abbott onto the team.”

A spotlight swivels toward Viktor, who looks exactly as confused as I’d expect. He finds me in the crowd and mouths, What the fuck? I can only shake my head.

“This year, Viktor found a little magic of his own,” Dante announces.

My stomach does a somersault. This is it. This is the moment I handed over to Dante—and I have no control. What if he uses the wrong pictures? What if he picked the one where Viktor’s fly was open? What if—

With those words, our wedding photos light up along the boards. Viktor’s confusion morphs into delight as the arena goes ballistic. He lets his head roll back, his face bright with laughter. I’m smiling so hard my face hurts. Our families are cheering; both Mom and Molly have tears in their eyes.

He presses a hand to his chest like he’s physically holding himself together. His eyes find mine in the crowd and for a second—just a second—he looks like he might cry.

“I love you, Knova!” Viktor shouts. His voice echoes around the ice.

“I love you, too!” My answer is lost among the cheers of the crowd, but I know Viktor saw my lips move.

And right then, I know. This isn’t just a cute surprise. This is a line in the sand. A declaration to the whole damn world. No more hiding. No more “accidents” or annulments or what-ifs.

This man is my husband. And I am his wife. And we’re going to win—on and off the ice.