Page 135 of Hockey Boy

All my love,

Grams

Dearest Lennox,

I know you probably think this plan was wacky. But I remember the games you and Aiden used to play in high school. The dares. You always wore a smile when you’d tell me about them. Our relationship is a special one, Lennox. Not many grandmothers are fortunate enough to have a granddaughter who shares all about her first kiss, her first love.

You are special. And when you walked into my apartment last week and told me you’d seen Aiden Langfield again—how butterfliesflapped in your belly wildly, how upon seeing you, he ran straight into the plexiglass—I couldn’t help but laugh. I watched the clip on YouTube later, and it was clear as day that the boy was smitten.

So I devised this little plan. Force you into a marriage with the hope that you’d seek Aiden out to make that happen. Forgive me, my darling, if my plan didn’t work. I just love you so much. But if this isn’t what you want—if Aiden Langfield isn’t up for this next adventure with you, I’ve enclosed an amendment to my trust. Give it to my attorney, and he’ll turn the trust over to you, no questions asked, no marriage needed.

I love you. You have always been the sunshine of my life and the brightest light in this family. Don’t let anyone dim your sparkle.

All my love,

Grams

With a laugh,I fold the letter and slip it into my pocket. Then I rush down to the ice. While I was up in the box with the girls, Beckett texted that Melina was here and sitting with Lake. He wants me to go over the plans for the firefighter fundraiser with them both.

Although I hate missing even a second of Aiden on the ice, I take the elevator down. Once I’m rink-side, I’ll be even closer. Despite the goal early on in the game, his stress is palpable. Likely from traveling, then partying last night, when he really should have been resting. More than anything, I wanted to stay in bed with him this morning, but the message I got made it clear that my presence at the attorney’s office was mandatory.

Truthfully, I think Aiden needs more than darkness, and I plan to broach the subject after the wedding.

He needs more than quiet. More than rest. He’s clinically depressed, but he’s too scared to speak the words out loud, and he’s too scared to ask for more help.

He prefers being the one doing the helping. Hell, that’s why the commentators are going on and on about the rookie. The kid is so good because of all the work Aiden has been doing with him.

Once we’re married, once he finds out that my father no longer holds the control, at least one measure of stress will be removed. I’m hopeful that from there, he’ll agree to try antidepressants.

I still can’t believe my grandmother’s trickery. My father called this morning to tell me he’d agree to turn over the trust if I promised not to marry Aiden. I told him to go screw himself. That I was done playing his games. Then, when I walked into the lawyer’s office, I realized why my father had been so desperate.

Not only did the amendment give me access to my trust at the age of thirty, regardless of my marital status, but it gave me control of the entire Kennedy Trust. As in, I am the sole trustee for all the Kennedy Assets, including Kennedy Records, Kennedy Diamonds, and Kennedy Properties.

I snort at the thought of how Aiden will react when he finds out that I now have the power to tell my father to jump and how high.

For Aiden’s birthday, I just may make him my temporary proxy. He’d get a kick out of bossing my father around for a day.

I sober as soon as I make it through the tunnel and see the guys lining up. Aiden’s hunched over, anxiety radiating from him. When the puck drops and the play starts, I stand stock-still. I don’t want to miss even a second more of him on the ice. It’s like a dance, the way the Bolts play hockey. Normally, it’s a fun dance. They glide around, laughing, smiling, and joking, even when they’re grunting and getting slammed into the boards. Today is vastly different. The air is thicker, the lights dimmer. As ifNew York, Lukov especially, has brought the gloom along with them. Aiden is all out of sorts, as if he feels he has to prove that he’s worthy after all the Chads and Brads on the internet said his lucky streak is ending.

He doesn’t have a lucky streak. The man has talent.

I hate everyone who dares to utter a word against him.

Hall misses the shot, and the crowd breaks out into groans.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Aiden gets into position, but then freezes, staring out at the fans. Lukov is headed for him, and so is War, skating in from the other side. The two men look like they’re on a collision path, and Aiden is the target.

“Move!” I yell, willing Aiden to skate forward or sideways. Even a couple of inches would save him from being clobbered.

It’s like slow motion as the two men barrel into him. Aiden doesn’t react. He doesn’t try to steady himself. He merely crumples, dropping to the ice.

And then I’m running.

Shouts echo around me as I stand near the back of the players’ box, desperate to get to Aiden but unsure of whether I should step out onto the ice. The refs and War hover around him, then Gavin is running onto the ice, his face a mask of panic.

A hand gently grasps my elbow, then Beckett is at my side. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get closer.” He guides me past the bench where the team is congregated, watching the scene play out.

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