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Marty

“…you may now kiss the bride.”

Ugh.

I fucking hate weddings.

I’d even hated my own.

Being here today to see the head coach of the professional hockey team I play for—the L.A. Phantoms—marry his girlfriend really isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it’s painful when you’re in the middle of an ugly divorce.

Well, the divorce isn’t so ugly.

It’s the custody battle that’s killing me.

But I’ll be damned if I let her take my kids across the country where I’ll be relegated to seeing them for a couple of weeks in the summer.

Not. Happening.

Coach Vanek and Autumn are still kissing, making a big show of it as he dips her back, and everyone is cheering and carrying on.

Fuck.

I need to muster up some semblance of interest.

A glimmer of fucks.

Even if I have none to give.

We all stand up as the happy couple walks down the aisle toward the front of the room, and I let the crowd carry me forward. At least the wedding and reception are in the same hotel, and we’re just walking from one room to another, where drinks are waiting.

I really need one.

I walk straight to the bar, order a double shot of Blanton’s and down it. The bourbon burns its way down my throat, but it feels good.

I order another, ask the bartender to pop an ice cube in it, and then wander over to my table. To my surprise, there’s someone already there, looking about as unhappy as I feel.

“Hey, Stevie.” I sink down next to the beautiful model I’ve met on a few occasions, and she gives me a wry smile.

“You look more miserable than me,” she says, absently lifting a champagne flute to her lips.

“Not really a fan of weddings,” I reply.

“I used to be,” she murmurs, looking away.

“Funny how things change,” I agree, taking a sip from my glass.

“They look so happy,” she says softly, staring over to where Coach Vanek and Autumn are now walking around greeting their guests.

They do look happy.

Were Brenna and I ever that happy?

I want to say yes, but I’m honestly not sure anymore.

“Marty!” Coach approaches us and holds out his hand.

I’m instantly on my feet, shaking his hand and giving him a hug.

“Congratulations, Coach,” I say, grinning.

I’m genuinely happy that he’s happy. I don’t have to fake that. He’s a great coach and has become a friend over the last year.

“Thanks for coming, you guys,” Autumn says, hugging Stevie and then coming over to me.

“You look beautiful,” Stevie tells her.

They start talking about her dress and makeup, and I turn to Coach.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” I say.

“Thank you.” His eyes narrow just a tad. “You doing okay?” He knows what’s been going on in my life, from the separation to accidentally seeing a nude photo she sent to my teammate.

Things have been downhill ever since.

Tomorrow, I fly out to Tennessee to pick up the kids. I can’t wait to see them, and even though it’s going to be exhausting handling them on my own, I’m more than willing to do it.

I’ve always been a pretty straightforward guy.

All I ever wanted was hockey, a good woman to love, and a family.

It’s that simple.

I thought I had it all.

Then Brenna started acting weird and my life spiraled to a place I don’t even recognize.

So I’m not sure how to answer his question.

Am I okay?

Not even a little.

But not because I’m heartbroken or miss my wife.

“I’m hanging in there,” I say after a moment. “I go get the kids tomorrow, so that will help.”

He smiles. “Good. And you know, if you need anything, just call. Not the next two weeks, but after that.”

I chuckle. He and Autumn are going on an epic honeymoon, visiting ten countries in Europe, ending with his home country of Sweden, where he’ll pick up his twin boys since they’ll be staying in Sweden with his parents.

“You have a great time. Don’t worry about me.”

He arches his brows. “You’re my friend. I’ll always worry.”

“I appreciate you, man.” I clap him on the shoulder before he and Autumn move to the next table.

“Can we get drunk now?” Stevie asks me.

I hold up my glass. “I’ve already started.”

“Oh, good. So it won’t just be me.”

“You’re not driving home, are you?”

She gives me a horrified look. “Good God, no. I have a driver for the evening.”

“I was planning to Uber.”

“I can drop you off if we’re ready to go at the same time.”

“As soon as we eat?” I tease.

She holds up her champagne flute. “That could work for me.”

Of course, nothing is ever that simple.

We’re seated with a good group for dinner, including my teammate on the L.A. Phantoms, Connor Brooks, and his on-again, off-again girlfriend Effie, who’s also a model. Another teammate, Canyon Marks, is sitting with us, along with his girlfriend, Saylor. The table is rounded out with the Phantoms’ head trainer, Gene, and his wife Marnie, and the team’s assistant trainer, Rowan, with her fiancé, Blake. Blake was called up from our minor league affiliate during the playoffs, so I don’t know him that well, but Rowan is amazing and I’m glad to see her happy.

Fuck.

It feels like the whole world is in love.

Except me.

And Stevie.

As fucked up as my life is, hers might be worse.

I don’t know the details, but I know her ex pushed her over the railing of the second floor of her New York brownstone, leading her to need emergency surgery that almost killed her. It happened last year around Thanksgiving, so it’s only been seven or eight months, and my understanding is that she’s had a rough time of it.

My wounds are all emotional; hers are both emotional and physical.

You wouldn’t know it to look at her, though.

She’s stunning.

A tall, lithe brunette with long hair and big blue eyes.

I’m usually partial to blondes, but if I were in the market or even remotely interested in dating, I would ask her out.

She seems frail somehow, like a woman who needs someone to hold her.

And I don’t mean that to sound as sexist as it probably does.

Well, maybe I do, but not in a bad way.

She just seems so delicate, like a brisk wind would be too much for her. Like a woman who needs a strong man to hold her hand, make sure she’s okay. Love the hurt out of those pretty blue eyes.

It’s not my job. Not by a longshot. And she absolutely doesn’t need a guy whose life is a shit show, but I can’t help but hope there’s a good guy out there who’ll make her forget what her asshole of an ex did.

“Marty?” Stevie’s gentle voice startles me, and I glance over.

“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”

She smiles. “Would you want to dance? We’re the only people not out there and…” As her voice trails, she lifts one shoulder a tiny bit. “I don’t know. I just thought it might be fun.”

Once upon a time, I loved dancing.

Until Brenna told me I sucked at it.

But Stevie wants to dance, and those soft blue eyes seem so sincere.

“I’m not very good at it,” I admit.

“That’s okay. It’s a slow dance.” She gets up and holds out her hand.

Now that’s not fair.

What red-blooded man is going to say no to dancing with a supermodel?

Certainly not me.

I get to my feet and let her pull me onto the dance floor.

She moves into my arms easily, one hand on my shoulder, the fingers of the other laced with mine. Etta James’s “At Last” is playing and Stevie seems to like the song, softly singing along.

“This was supposed to be my wedding song,” she says after a moment. “For the first dance. I mean, it was my song, since I was a little girl. And then Damien decided he didn’t like it. He wanted our first dance to be ‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye.”

I grimace. “ Seriously ? What kind of douche was this guy?”

She sighs. “I’ve always had bad taste in men. That’s why I’m not dating anymore.”

“Ever?” I ask curiously.

“Not for a long time. Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will arrange a marriage for me, like in the old days.” She chuckles, like that amuses her.

“He’s out there, Stevie,” I say softly, pulling her close as I look down into her beautiful face. “I promise you, the right guy—someone who’ll love you and treat you like you’re the most important person in his world—is out there.”

She stares up at me, her eyes filled with confusion and what I can only describe as doubt. “If he is, I’ll never find him. For some reason, I walk right on by the good guys and make a beeline for the one who’s going to treat me like shit. Every serious boyfriend I’ve ever had has treated me badly.”

“Maybe you need to think about why you allow it,” I suggest.

Her body is warm and soft, and she fits against me perfectly.

Like our bodies were made to move together this way.

I can only imagine what making love with her would be like.

Obviously, my brain is on the fritz because it’s been a while since I got laid, but damn, she feels good.

“My therapist says it’s because my dad treated my mom that way, so it’s all I know. But it’s not. I have lots of friends who are in good, solid relationships. Saylor and Canyon. Jensen and Bailey. Even Effie and Connor. They’re not serious, but he treats her like a princess when they are.”

“Is that what you want?”

She seems to be giving that a lot of thought.

“In the past, I always thought I wanted to be treated like a trophy, because you take care of expensive, meaningful things, but I’ve begun to rethink that.”

“A man who makes you his princess already knows that you’re the prize. Never doubt that.”

“Is that what you do?” she asks. “I mean, when you were married?”

“I tried my best,” I admit. “It just wasn’t enough. Or maybe it’s me who wasn’t enough.”

She cocks her head and then slowly shakes it.

“I don’t believe that. Somewhere out there is a woman looking for a guy just like you. And you’re going to find her, Marty. I promise.”

Why do I suddenly have the most incredible urge to kiss her?

No. Bad, Marty.

Stop that line of thinking right fucking now.

“I hope you’re right,” I whisper against her hair.