Page 112 of Offside Angel

Zane keeps his eyes on me as he growls at Carson. “The rookies are unloading more boxes from the truck if you need something to do. Talking to my—to the women doesn’t count.”

Everyone from the wedding has been sworn to secrecy about our marriage until the news is officially announced. Apparently, that vow of silence extends to Carson Deluth.

“And what have you been doing?” Carson drawls.

Zane points to a pyramid of boxes twelve feet tall, and Carson’s mouth twists in a frown. As he turns away, I hear him mumble, “Maybe these people should get a job and buy their own clothes. It’s what the rest of us do.”

Taylor hitches a thumb in the direction of the door he disappeared through. “That one doesn’t have a charitable bone in his body. Just pure asshole, through and through.” She gathers up a load of colors and waddles off to find an open washer.

Zane is still staring at me, his fists tight at his side. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. Really. Just being his usual charming self.” Zane doesn’t even crack a smile. I reach over the clothes between us and grab his hand. “Really, it’s fine. He’s an asshole and I can take care of myself.”

Something flares in Zane’s eyes, and I realize what I said. And how many times I’ve said it before.

Before I can say anything else, Coach Popov claps a hand on Zane’s shoulder as he passes by. “This was a good idea, Whitaker.”

Zane shrugs, looking unusually sheepish. “Thanks.”

“What was a good idea?”

Coach Popov gestures around. “This.”

I look back and forward between the two men, trying to put the pieces together. “This charity? Like, the domestic violence shelter?”

“Yep. Whitaker thought we should stretch our charity muscles and do something with some real-world impact. I think it’s going well.” Coach turns, taking in the hockey players and staff unloading boxes and washing clothes. “We might make this an annual thing.”

Coach wanders off to help the people organizing crisis kits. I’m glad, because my eyes seem to be leaking.

“You didn’t tell me this was your idea,” I snap at Zane.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t know I needed to ask.” I shove his shoulder gently, but he catches my wrist and presses my hand to his heart. “I figured someone on staff chose the charities.”

“Usually, they do. But I wanted to do something special.” His blue eyes find mine. “I wanted to do something to honor you.”

For years, I didn’t think anyone could love me. My family didn’t. Couldn’t. Why would anyone else?

Then I met Taylor and thought, maybe, if I kept my past to myself, people could come to care about me. So long as it was easy, and I didn’t make them work too hard for it.

But the fact that Zane Whitaker, my husband, not only loves me as I am now—healing and more or less whole—but also wants to honor the scared, hopeless, broken woman I was seven years ago?

I don’t know what to do with that.

I open my mouth to try to say something, but I’m a blubbering mess.

Zane walks around the pile and pulls me to his chest. “I didn’t plan to make you cry.”

“I’m just so happy.” I stretch onto my toes and give him a watery kiss. “I love you so much. And I’m so happy to be your wife.”

42

ZANE

I didn’t expect the wedding to change much in my life, but somehow, everything feels different.

Mira and I still live together, but we’re in a house that we own.

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