Page 180 of From Now On

I’m smiling at the silly direction of my own thoughts when I spot the framed print of Eve’s painting. She gave the original to Hunter as a graduation gift, but Conor and Aidan loved it so much they asked for copies. Coach Keller saw Aidan’s at his and Rylan’s house and reached out to Eve…and now it’s on proud display right next to the trophy case.

“Hi, Harlow. So nice to see you.” Coach Keller greets me warmly as I reach him.

“Nice to see you too…Anthony.” It feels strange to call him by his first name when Conor still refers to him as Coach, but that’s what Rylan’s father asked me to call him after I addressed him as Mr. Keller at our wedding.

“Perfect timing. I was just telling Hart we should head in. See you afterward, sweetheart.” He smiles at Rylan.

“See you guys in there,” she says, then heads for Aidan.

Conor and I follow Anthony toward the three sets of double doors that lead into the rink itself.The Conor Hart Hockey Arenais written on the wall above them in black letters. Smaller than the ones outside, but not by much.

Conor takes my hand again as we walk through the packed lobby, passing lots of familiar faces. Robby Sampson and Jake Brennan are taking selfies in front of the trophy case. There are unfamiliar faces too—Holt’s current hockey team is in attendance.They look young, I think, which makes me feel a little old.

“I’m thinking about ordering one of those for our place,” I tell Conor as we walk by the giant photo of him.

He glances at it and grunts. “Don’t you dare.”

I grin. “I’m going to. And when you’re away, I can move it into the bedroom. It’ll be like you’re back home.”

Conor rolls his eyes, but his grip on my hand tightens.

The frequent travel to away games has always been the biggest downside of his job, but I know the approaching season will be the most challenging yet. I’ve made friends in Florida through my work at a marine rehabilitation center and with some of other wives on the team, but it’s not the solidest support system. Eve’s in New York, Rylan’s in Seattle, and the Garrisons are in Claremont.

“I was kidding,” I say quietly, before walking through the door Conor holds open for me.

He squeezes my hand once as we approach our family.

They’re segregated, unsurprisingly. Conor’s mom, Anna, and her husband, Logan, are standing on the left of the lectern that’s been set up for speeches. The Garrisons—Hugh, Allison, and Landon—are waiting on the right. But anyone who knew the history here would probably be astounded they’re all in the same room, even if that room is a ginormous hockey arena.

I’ve never had the same reverence for this sport that Conor does, but I can appreciate there’s something special about a rink. Especially a silent rink. The flawless ice gleams under the lights. The empty rows of seats—double what the old bleachers sat, maybe even triple—have their own presence. And, of course, there are the championship banners, one worn and one barely beginning to fade, hanging from the rafters that crisscross beneath the domed ceiling.

I glance at Conor, wanting to watch his reaction to seeing this for the first time. His chin is raised, eyes scanning the ceiling and then sweeping around the seats.

“They didn’t change much,” I comment.

He chuckles under his breath, still glancing around, and then surprises me by tugging on my hand. I stumble for a second time since we arrived, straight into his solid chest. Conor wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me. Thanks to my wedges, he doesn’t have to bend down very far.

It’s barely a peck, but my heart rate accelerates like he just suggested we sneak off to the locker room to have sex.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before releasing me.

I nod, smile, and by silent agreement we go our separate ways.

Conor walks toward his beaming mom, hugging her and then shaking his stepfather’s hand.

I head for the Garrisons. Allison intercepts me first, gushing over my dress. I settled on blue, in honor of Holt’s primary color. Hugh’s usual smile is in place as he gives me a warm hug and welcomes me back to Washington.

I greet Landon last. “Where’s Lois?” I ask after we’ve hugged.

He gives me a sheepish smile. “We broke up.”

I sigh. “I liked her.”

“She liked you too. And me, aside from my ‘childish obsession with becoming the next David Bowie.’ Too many late-night gigs and early morning studio sessions, I guess.”

I swallow the second sigh that wants to come out. “I’m sorry, Lan.”

“Yeah, me too. Wasn’t meant to be.” He musters a shrug and a small smile.

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