Page 116 of Hockey Wife

So when Boston won, sending the series to a Game 7 back in Chicago, all Georgia could think of was how much more Dylan had to endure. The relentless pounding on his body. He would barely get a break before the next game.

Most everyone left to relieve babysitters and check in with their husbands and boyfriends. Mia and Georgia remained behind to help Tara clean up, and when Mia stepped outside to take a call from her husband, Georgia wondered if she should be calling Banks.

“Thanks so much for including me tonight,” Georgia said to Tara. “I learned so much.”

“You’re always welcome. And you can text me anytime, y’know.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something now?”

Tara picked up a couple of wine glasses and put them on the counter near the sink. “Shoot.”

“Do all the guys play through their injuries?”

“It depends. I mean, if something is broken then knocking back painkillers is probably only going to get you so far. But if it’s a light sprain or bruised ribs or something like that, then yeah, lots of them do that. Especially the older guys.”

“Why the older guys?”

Tara shrugged. “The younger ones came up with a different attitude. More open to talking about their feelings, their needs, their injuries. The older generation of players prefer to get on with it, plus they have fewer years left. Every second counts so they’re more likely to play hurt. Why, is Banks hurt right now?”

Before she could answer, Mia walked in. “Tara, you cannot blab about injuries to Fitz.”

Tara pressed a hand to her chest. “I wouldn’t!”

Oh. Georgia hadn’t thought about that.

Mia rolled her eyes. “If she thinks one of the guys is overdoing it, she’ll say something.”

“Only to the player when they’re in my salon chair, which is as sacrosanct as the confessional. I will not be telling anyone in the Rebels front office anything.” She glared at Mia who shook her head.

Mia turned to Georgia. “Listen, hockey players are the most resilient of all pro-athletes. They play hurt. They exist on diets of pasta, kale smoothies, and Toradol. They push through the pain. Banks knows his own body, and frankly, he’s in the twilight of his career. This year or next are probably his last shots at the Cup, so he’s going to push through.”

That was what Georgia was afraid of. After her years with Dani, she hated to see someone else she cared about suffer. But Mia was right: Banks had been doing this for years. He knew his pain tolerance.

Georgia feared she didn’t know her own.

36

Debbie looked around the box and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my. This is …” She turned to Georgia, tears in her eyes. “Too much. I can’t believe you’ve done this for us.”

A petite blonde in a gorgeous Natori sheath dress approached them. “Mrs. Draven? I’m Harper Chase-DuPre. We have a prime spot for your father over here near the window.”

Debbie blinked and took Harper’s outstretched hand. The woman was a legend in the NHL, this city, and the world of women kicking ass. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. Thanks so much for organizing this and for a Game 7, no less!”

“Well, you can thank Tara and Georgia.” She leaned over Jim and curled her small hand around his frail one. “Welcome, Mr. Dixon, I hear you’re a big fan.”

He peered up at her with rheumy eyes. “The day you won the Cup, and your husband lifted you on that ice was the third best day of my life. After my wedding day and my Debbie screaming her way into the world.”

“One of my best days, too.” Harper smiled. “Let’s hope we have more of them ahead of us.”

Debbie gripped her dad’s shoulder. “You old softie.”

One of the box assistants led the way to a dedicated spot by the window. The Rebels boss lingered behind with Georgia. “Sorry we haven’t met officially yet. I hope you’ve recovered from the accident.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” She touched her forehead and the healing scar. “Thanks for the lovely gift basket.”

Harper waved it off, her gaze following Jim and his family as they were settled near the window. “This is a kind thing you’ve done. How do you know them?”

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