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PIERRE

I had to leave right after the wake to get back to South Dakota for an important game, which we won, moving us into the playoffs.

And the one person I wanted there by my side for it, wasn’t.

Kitty has spent the day blowing up my phone, yet she never came home after work.

I don’t know where the hell my fiancée is.

All my other teammates’ partners were there by their sides, cheering them on while I was left wondering where she was.

Especially as she isn’t answering her phone anymore.

The door opens to our home, and in walks Kitty with her bags, plus a mountain load of shopping bags, which she puts down in the foyer before kicking off her heels. Where the hell has she been for the past couple of days?

“Oh, you’re home,” I call out from the living room where I’m sitting, watching the highlights from our game. Frankston is beside me, snoring away.

Kitty stills. “You’re still up, I thought you’d be asleep it’s …” she looks down at her watch, “eleven.”

“I should be out celebrating the team’s win …”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, you won, you made the playoffs.” She gasps as she rushes toward me, before jumping into my arms and hugging me.

“Yeah. I thought you would have been home for it, I needed you there,” I tell her, pulling her to me, but my mind instantly starts comparing how different Kitty and Issy feel. I try to shake it off.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I knew you would win,” she says, pulling away and kissing my cheek. “Honestly, I thought you were still in New York for some reason. I must have got my dates mixed up.”

Kitty isn’t a ditz, her entire life is highly organized. Why is she acting like one now? “That was yesterday. I had to come back to prep for the game.”

She nods. “That’s right. Did you have fun in New York?”

I still. Did I have fun? “I went to a funeral.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, this wedding prep has me all scatterbrained.” She giggles.

“Are you drunk?” I ask her.

She giggles again. “Maybe. Barbie and I might have had a couple of bottles of champagne on the plane home.”

“Where have you been? I thought you were only going away for the one night, not two.”

Kitty stills. “Oh, yeah, you know what it’s like when Barbie and I get together, we just have so much fun. I was telling Barbie how stressed I was about the wedding with all the planning and stuff, so she suggested we go to Vegas to destress.”

“You’ve been in Vegas?”

“Yeah, we went after Dallas. My photoshoot ended up being super quick so instead of coming home to an empty home …” Frankston was here, I’d hardly call it empty. “… Barbie and I decided to go and have some fun, so we took the plane to Vegas.”

“You’re telling me that while I was at a funeral for a man who was like a father to me and then playing one of the biggest games of the season, you were in Vegas having fun because you’re stressed out about the wedding?” I ask her, my voice rising as I push her away from me angrily.

“Pierre?” She gasps, surprised by my response.

I get up from the sofa and start to pace, running my hands through my hair. Maybe my sister is right. Things have changed between Kitty and me, and I don’t know if it is all wedding-related or if it’s something else.

“I don’t know if I can do this …” I mumble to myself as I continue to pace the room.

“Pierre!” Kitty squeals.

“I needed you,” I yell at her.

“You won,” she answers, looking up at me, all wide-eyed.

“Yes, but it would have been nice to have you in the box cheering with all the other wives and partners.”

Kitty stands and places her hands on my chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll never miss another game. I didn’t realize how much my being there meant to you.”

“You didn’t realize how much I would want my fiancée there?” I question her.

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

“You’re my fiancée!”

“Pierre …”

I push her away and start to pace again. “You’re my fiancée, Kitty. We are about to pledge our love for each other, through sickness and health, through good times and bad. I don’t know if you’re willing to do that for me.”

“You’re getting upset because I missed one game because I had to work,” she yells at me.

“You were in Vegas!”

She waves her hand at me. “That was after.”

“If you had time to go to Vegas with your friend, you should have had time to come to New York and be by my side during a really difficult time.”

Kitty scrunches up her face. “I told you I don’t do funerals. All that sadness is upsetting.”

“I needed you.”

“Babe, you had your family. I would have been in the way,” she says, shrugging off my feelings. I stare at her, and she’s serious.

“Do you still want to marry me?”

Kitty stills. “Excuse me?” she asks slowly.

“It’s a simple question, Kitty,” I say.

She tries to frown but her forehead is baby smooth. “What a stupid question to ask me.”

“If it’s so stupid, why are you not answering it?” I push her.

“Because you’re trying to hurt me, and I don’t appreciate it.” She huffs.

“I’m trying to hurt you?”

“Yes,” she says, folding her arms in front of her. How the hell is this now my fault?

“All because I want to know if the woman I love wants to marry me?” I question her.

“I know what this is.” She giggles. “You’re getting cold feet. My mom told me this would happen, every groom goes through it, it’s natural.”

“You think I’ve got cold feet?”

“Yes, baby,” she coos.

My shoulders drop, and exhaustion hits me like a freight train. Maybe now isn’t the right time to be having this conversation when she is clearly intoxicated. “I’m tired, baby. I’m going to head to bed. Are you coming?”

“Oh, um, I’m still amped up from traveling. I was going to get changed and head to the clubs with my girls.”

Of course she is. “Have fun,” I tell her as I turn and walk away from where she is standing in the living room. Frankston stretches, jumps off the sofa, and follows me, at least he’s got my back.

This is it, Pierre.

Everything rides on this goal.

Make this, and the South Dakota Devils go to the final of The Cup.

I shoot.

Everything is in slow motion as the puck flies through the air.

My teammates are frozen in anticipation.

If this goal makes it, we draw, and that pushes us into overtime.

I can feel the seconds ticking down, the buzzer is moments from going off, signaling the end of the game and our hopes.

My heart thumps in my chest, sweat drips down my face as I watch in agonizing slow motion whether I’ve given my team a second chance.

Goal.

I can’t believe it.

My teammates all jump on me as I’ve just given them a second chance at the finals.

Yes!

I look up into the crowd and every one of our supporters is going wild.

We all regroup and get ready to play overtime. This is do or die, now whoever gets the first goal wins.

“This is it, boys, no fucking mistakes, we do this, and we do it right,” I scream at them before we get back on the ice. We are pumped. This is my chance to take the team to the finals.

I should have taken my own advice.

Because I make a rookie mistake.

I fuck up big time.

I trip the opposing player during a breakaway as he heads toward the goal, my stick catches him around the legs, and he goes flying.

Fuck.

I just lost us our chance.

My team is screaming at me, and the fans are booing.

I fucked up.

Hanging my head, I take myself off to the penalty box for tripping and pray that nothing happens while I’m sitting in it. They restart and my stomach sinks as the opposing team breaks away again, and then I watch in terrifying slow motion the puck sink into the back of the net.

The opposing crowd goes wild.

Our chance is gone in seconds.

Because of me.

Our fans lose their minds with anger. I can feel their pissed off eyes boring into the back of my head as they smash the glass around the penalty box.

I smash my fist against the board as I watch my teammates deflate, and they slowly, one by one, skate off the ice and back to the locker rooms. As I stride off down the players’ tunnel, I hear the fans shouting at me, threats of violence against my name as I pass, all are warranted.

My stupidity cost them their hopes and dreams of our team winning the cup.

“What the fuck, Cap,” Sinclair says as soon as I enter the room.

“I’m sorry, fellas, I …” There is nothing that I can say right now that will take away the anger my team is feeling toward me.

“We wouldn’t have been in this position if Captain hadn’t won us that goal,” Gustafsson states. That man always looks on the positive side of everything. I give him a small appreciative smile.

“Thanks, Gus. I fucked up, guys. I lost us the chance. There’s nothing I can say that can take away how you all feel right now.”

“Who knew you could be a hero and a villain in one game?” Coach says, clapping me on the back.

“You’re gonna have to give us time, Cap,” Smith the rookie grumbles.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he will have plenty of chances in his career to get that cup, but he can’t see that right now. This old guy, his chances are becoming slimmer and slimmer. I take a seat and start to undress.

“Where is he, where the fuck is he,” a booming voice echoes through the locker room.

Then seconds later, I see the team’s owner, Bill Reeves, come in.

He picks me up by the scruff of my neck, and for an old guy, he’s pretty strong, still got some of that past hockey strength in him as he slams me against the lockers.

“You motherfucking asshole,” he spits in my face. “I should fucking trade you for that.”

The room goes silent.