Page 23 of Lace 'em Up

He’s not like that.

I haven’t known him long, but I’ve seen enough to know that—volunteering to help with Chrissy’s rescue, devoted to Zeus, working hard with the team, having my back.

Not a drama or controversy or…

Woman in sight.

And he saved me from the side of the road and protected me from Phillip.

And offered up his place for me to stay as long as I want.

So, really I know he’s not a bad guy—even if it would be more convenient if he was.

I sigh and lean my head onto her shoulder. “I didn’t thank you for helping me with dealing with all the vendors and guests and stuff.”

“You did.” She rests the side of her head against mine for a second, and I know she’s smiling. “And nice try with the change in subject.” She lifts up, kisses my cheek. “But I’ll let it slide considering the last twenty-four hours you’ve had.”

Relief slides through me and I relax back against the pillows, watching as a couple of men in suits hold microphones up to their faces and blather on about lineups and injuries, all while the players skate around behind them in a mess of organized chaos of sticks and shots and pucks and stretching.

I watch for King on the screen, feeling that familiar blip in my chest when the camera cuts to him talking to Rome, both of them appearing supremely serious.

Chrissy sighs.

“What?”

She turns to me only when the camera cuts back to the announcers, lips turning up at the edges. “My man is hot.”

Amusement in my belly. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

Gentle in her pretty blue eyes. “Well, the good news is that it’s as much as I love you.”

I snort, but I settle. “Look at us being all sappy.”

“I know,” she teases. “Who even are we?”

I laugh.

But I’m thankful when the puck drops and Chrissy’s focus becomes more about the game.

Because I love my friend, I’m thankful for King’s kindness and Jean-Michel and Rome’s concern, but…I’m worried about what’s going to happen next.

Big feelings.

So many feelings.

And amongst those, I’m not heartbroken.

Which makes me wonder…

If I’m not sad about my relationship ending, if perhaps I’m feeling relieved that I don’t actually have to go through with it, that maybe for the first time in a long time, I can take a full breath because Phillip isn’t going to be my husband…

If I’m not any of those things…

Then who the fuck am I?

“I’m perfectly capable of working at a desk,” I say the next day, after having wrestled my way into work clothes and slapped on enough concealer and foundation to cover the bruises on my face and throat.

Terrible, having to swap sweats for this shit.

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