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Chapter Two

Viktor

Knova looks ready to crawl out of her own skin at the thought of anyone finding out about our surprise wedding. Luckily, Dante’s going to handle that part.

But her reaction? That’s fine. Totally fine. I’m not taking it personally.

Okay, maybe a little.

She signs the last dotted line and slams the pen down on the desk. “I’m leaving. I’ve got to get ready for that VIP appointment later.”

Julie clears her throat. “Are you sure you’re in any condition to be flying right now?”

Knova pauses to look around at the three of us. When her eyes meet mine, I fight the urge to turn my head away. I have this irrational fear that she’ll be able to read my thoughts as they scroll through my brain, like the output on a teleprompter.

If she could read minds, I’d be screwed. Because right now? I’m thinking this marriage might not be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

Actually... it might be the best.

I mean, I wouldn’t have gone through with the wedding if I’d been in my right mind, but I’m also not upset that it happened. This could be an opportunity of sorts. Like fate or something. Maybe we could give this whole marriage thing a go?

If I was going to wake up surprise-married to anyone, I’d want it to be her.

Knova lets out a shuddering breath. “I think now’s the perfect time to get as far away from everyone in this room as possible. I can fly under pressure, no problem. I literally flew seriously injured soldiers out of war zones on the regular.” She turns on her heel and stomps out of the room.

Ouch. Curb-stomp my heart, why don’t you?

When she’s gone, Julie gathers up the NDA paperwork and tucks it under one arm. “I’m going to get on this. Dante, my love, can you please refrain from having any more brilliant plans, at least until I get this one sorted out?”

Dante bobs his head. “Fine, fine. I’ll just sit here and play Bejeweled on my phone.”

Julie’s eye twitches, but she stalks out of the room at the same brisk pace as Knova, leaving Dante and I alone. For some reason, it feels like we’re both in time out, although I don’t know what I did to end up here. Why am I in trouble?

Okay, yes, I told Knova to sniff my dick this morning. But it was a joke! We’ve said way worse things to each other over the years.

Not when she was this upset, though. Goddammit, why is my first impulse always to run at the mouth? I like ragging on people, but sometimes I realize that I’ve gone too far even as the words leave my lips. Why did I say something gross and dumb instead of something that might make her wonder if there really is a spark between us?

“Kid, you look like someone just put sugar in your gas tank. And that doesn’t bode well for bringing back my magic.” Dante’s chair creaks as he leans forward and steeples his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say automatically.

Dante makes a sound like a game show buzzer and gives me a thumbs-down. “Try again. I saw your face. Full on regret.”

I reach up to touch my cheek. “What’s wrong with my face?” Don’t tell me I’ve had spinach stuck between my teeth this whole time or got a giant pimple since the last time I checked the mirror. I had pretty bad acne in high school, and I’ve been self-conscious about it ever since.

Understanding blooms on Dante’s features. His lips part, and his eyes pop wide. “Oh. Oh . You like her. Hm.” He bobbles his head side to side like he’s weighing his thoughts. “That is a... choice.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets, which isn’t terribly effective since I’m still wearing my dress slacks from last night and they have those crummy little tux pockets that are mostly for show.

Dante snaps his fingers. “Spill it, kid. We just signed NDAs, after all.”

“I’m in love with her, okay?”

The room goes still.

Even Dante doesn’t know what to do with that one.

Hell, neither do I.

That… is not what I’d planned to say. I’ve never admitted my feelings aloud to anyone, and Dante’s the last person I’d have planned to tell. But my head is killing me, and my feelings are all mixed up, and he asked. My boss may be a lot of things, but he doesn’t gossip.

Dante slaps his palm against the desk. “Ah ha! I knew it! I don’t make mistakes, kid. Even my slip-ups turn out to be gold. So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’ve got your shot. I got you married. I’m not saying trap her, kid. I’m saying buy yourself some time. Give her a chance to see what’s real between you—without all the pressure.”

“She made it pretty clear that she wants out.” Do I sound wistful? Dammit, I think I do. “I’m not going to force her to stay married to me.”

“Who said anything about force?” Dante shakes his head a few times. “No, that won’t work. But let’s just say I drag my heels on this paperwork for a minute. Knova’s mad at me, not you.”

“I think you underestimate her,” I warn.

Dante rests his arms on the desk, all business, like he’s trying to sell me a used car, or cajole me into a swampland timeshare in Florida. “Listen, Abbott, Knova’s real beef isn’t with the marriage. It’s about her loss of control, am I right? If she despised you, she wouldn’t have gone through with it. You know how it is when you’re drunk. Things get messy. Sloppy. You do things you’d never do sober because your rational mind would talk you out of it. But I’d bet the Mona Lisa that Knova has feelings for you. She just wants to be able to choose you. So, my question is, if I buy you a couple of weeks, do you think you can convince her that you’re the right choice?”

This is a bad idea. Anything that involves lying to Knova, or keeping her in the dark, will come back to bite me in the ass later. I know that firsthand. But Dante’s words echo something I was already thinking, and I don’t hate the idea.

“Will putting it off make it harder in the future?” I ask. “If I fail, and Knova finds out about it, she’ll make good on her threat against your face. And probably my face, too. And then if it’s too late…”

“So many ifs .” Dante waves me away. “If I were that worried about taking a hit, I wouldn’t have amassed this empire.”

And people think I’m overconfident.

“Tell you what, I know a guy,” Dante says. Of course he does, though I’m not quite sure what he means in this context. “You leave the annulment paperwork to me, and you focus on changing Knova’s heart.”

I frown. “Don’t you mean her mind?”

Dante waves a dismissive hand. “Please. Women change their minds all the time. It’s the heart you better work on, or it’s curtains for this marriage. Speaking of which, that gives me a great idea.” He taps his fingers on his lips, thinking. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll get you sorted out in no time.”

Aaaand now I’m more worried than I was before.

“Anyway, you’ve got practice to get to. Figure out some excuse to hang out with your wife for now, and I’ll make the arrangements. Off you go. Shoo, shoo.” He gets up from his desk to usher me out of the room. “We have a plan. All it needs now is the perfect execution.”

I have a terrible feeling that I’ve just made a deal with the devil.

* * *

The second I step onto the rink, my headache retreats like it’s scared of Coach Metcalfe’s wrath. The man radiates grumpy authority, like an old lion who still rules the pride even though his knees crack every time he climbs stairs.

“Move your asses!” he barks from center ice. “Skates on the line, gloves on, mouths shut—except you, Beck. I expect yours to be open, panting like a golden retriever within the first ten minutes. Just don’t puke.”

Camden salutes with his stick, all teeth and humility. “Only for you, Coach.”

Knight elbows him as we line up. “Careful. He might take you up on it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Camden mutters under his breath.

Metcalfe ignores us—he’s smart like that. He knows we’ll burn ourselves out razzing each other before the drills even begin.

Lenyx Sawyer steps onto the ice like he’s posing for a cereal box. Kid’s got that born-pretty, first-round-draft confidence that just begs to be torn apart. And since he’s Violet’s baby brother, it’s basically our duty as his teammates to haze the hell out of him—gently, of course. No felony-level trauma. Just enough to keep him humble.

I skate backward, grinning. “Hey, Sawyer.”

Lenyx glances up, already suspicious. “Yeah?”

“Did you know you’re not allowed to use your face to stop the puck? Just checking. Don’t want you breaking your jaw before you learn how to chirp properly.”

Camden snorts. “If he messes up that jawline, Violet’s gonna come after us with that tiny flashlight and a clipboard.”

“Don’t tempt her,” Knight mutters. “She already tried to sedate me when I cracked a tooth.”

“You were crying,” I add.

“I wasn’t crying,” Knight snaps. “My eye was watering from the pain. It’s different.”

Lenyx, bless him, stays quiet. Rookie mistake.

“Aw, he’s shy,” Tristan coos. “Should we sing him a lullaby?”

“Sing him a warning,” Knight adds. “About what happens when you forget to tape your socks.”

“Or forget to wash your gear,” I say. “First stall in the locker room still smells like swamp ass. That yours, Dubois?”

“Could be.” Tristan shrugs. “I let my dog sleep in my gear bag. Builds character.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“Then it’s someone’s mom.”

Coach blows the whistle before anyone can top that.

As we skate to the line, something tugs at the back of my neck—like a sixth sense. I glance up at the viewing deck just in time to spot Dante, Sergio, and Briggs Sawyer leaning against the glass.

Watching.

Evaluating.

Judging.

Of course, they’re here. Lenyx’s debut week. God forbid the golden boy doesn’t get his own welcome committee of living legends.

Dante spots me looking and raises two fingers in a casual salute. I look away fast, jaw tight.

I tell myself it’s not personal. That it’s not about me.

But I feel fourteen again. Like I disappointed Knova and ruined everything. Like I’m skating in Noah Abbott’s shadow, hoping someone—anyone—sees me and not just the name on the jersey.

We dive into skating drills. Sprints. Stops. Transitions. Cam crashes into Knight. I nearly trip over my own stick. Tristan laughs at me not with me. Fuck you, tequila and bad decisions. Len holds his own like he’s been here for years. Not bad, even if his flow looks like he walked into a Supercuts and said, “Make me look like a boy band backup dancer.”

“Move your feet, Lenyx!” Coach yells. “Don’t skate like you’re waiting for your prom date to text back!”

I cough to cover a laugh. “Coach, I think he’s more of a slow-burn guy.”

“No,” Knight shouts mid-drill. “He’s definitely a ghost-you-once-he-climaxes guy. I can see it.”

“You guys realize I’m right here,” Lenyx calls back.

“Yeah,” Cam grunts. “That’s why it’s fun.”

We circle up after the second whistle. My lungs are burning, and I’m drenched in sweat, but a calm hits once I’m in this zone. No cameras. No chaos. Just blades carving ice and chirps flying like snowballs.

That’s when Violet Sawyer, the team’s head injury specialist, walks in, clipboard in hand, her long auburn hair tied back, brows already furrowed like she knows we’ve been screwing around.

“Keep it moving,” Coach shouts. “Sawyer’s watching, and if anyone collapses, she’s got syringes. Maybe a paddle. I can’t be sure.”

Cam fakes a faint. “Catch me, Len!”

“Nope,” Lenyx says, already skating away.

“Traitor!”

Coach herds us into power play drills next, pairing us up for some light contact and decision-making.

“Abbott, you’re with Hale. Beck, you’re with Sawyer Junior. Try not to cry when he shows you up.”

Knight groans. “Why do I always get stuck with you?”

“Because I’m a calming presence,” I say, flipping my stick in my hands. “People find me centering. And we’re linemates, moron.”

“You’re a tumor on the soul.”

“Love you too, honey.”

Knight and I click like we always do—twin telepathy through osmosis. I pass, he shoots, I retrieve, he crashes the net. Easy. Familiar. But the entire time, my focus keeps drifting back to Violet on the bench, scribbling notes, and to Knova—who isn’t here but is in my head anyway. Like always.

I wonder if she’s still thinking about this morning. About the ring. About my hands.

About my mouth.

I wonder if I’ll ever get the smell of her out of my brain.

“Eyes up, Abbott!” Coach barks as a puck nearly takes off my kneecap.

I recover fast, but the flush of embarrassment is instant.

Knight raises a brow. “You good?”

“Yup,” I lie.

He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t press. That’s the thing about Knight. He’s annoying as hell, but he respects the line when it matters.

After a few more cycles, Coach calls a quick water break, and I peel my helmet off, breath sawing out in the cold air. Lenyx skates past, giving me a once-over like he’s trying to decide if I’m about to die or just pass out.

“Good hustle,” he says. “For someone who looked like roadkill this morning.”

I smirk. “Don’t get cocky, rookie. Your hair’s still prettier than your slapshot.”

Camden howls in the background.

Violet walks past, close enough I catch the faint scent of grapefruit and eucalyptus. She’s jotting something on her clipboard but glances up long enough to lock eyes with me.

“Nice recovery after that puck,” she says dryly.

“I was distracted.”

“Uh-huh.” She glances pointedly toward where Lenyx is chugging water like it owes him rent. “Try not to let the pretty boys throw off your game.”

My lips twitch. “Too late.”

The whistle blows again, and we all groan but obey, skating back into formation like good little soldiers.

As practice winds down, my legs are jelly, and my head’s still buzzing—but it’s not from the hangover anymore. It’s from the idea that maybe, just maybe, this accidental marriage is the start of something real.

But if I want a shot with Knova, I’ve got work to do.

And it starts with showing her I can handle the long game.

On the ice.

And off it.