Page 33 of Penalties and Proposals

I can’t hide the displeasure as I skate up beside her and stop. Of course she’s wearing my jersey. She is my ex, after all.

I look around, surprised she doesn’t have any kind of entourage with her, but continuing my scan of the crowd, I’m not disappointed. When I look beyond her, I see a small crew of her “friends” sitting in the stands, waiting for her. The hangers-on, as she used to call them. People who like to be near famous people, like her.

“Cecilia.” I have no time for this. “I thought you were on a movie set somewhere in Europe. What brings you here?”

CHAPTER 14

WILLA

The arena was absolutely buzzingwith energy from the moment I arrived up to and including when Noah made the winning shot. The sound of the fans screaming in unison around me was absolutely amazing, even if it almost blew my eardrum.

Navigating my way through the crowd as folks begin pushing their way out of the arena, I point myself in the direction of where Noah and his teammates from the Ice Breakers are filing off the ice. The chill in the air makes me grateful I kept my coat on. With my hand wrapped around my camera, I snap away, taking as many photos of the crowd as I can, wanting to parlay this palpable feeling from the arena to anyone who sees my photos. I’m thankful I’ve got my camera as my crutch at the moment, it’s my safe place; no one can see the ridiculous smile I have plastered on my face because I got to see Noah make the winning shot.

When I get to the floor, I’m greeted by Dawson as he moves past, with their assistant coach Scotty close by chatting with him, probably about the game. I see other players I recognize from taking their photos earlier in the year—all looking worn out but ecstatic to be bringing in a win.

When I turn around, still looking for Noah, I see a twelve-year-old boy wearing an Ice Breakers jersey gripping his mother’s hand. When I catch her eye, she smiles my way, kindness reflected in her eyes. This pair would be great for a photo op.

“Hi,” I say, approaching the mother cautiously. “My name is Willa and I’m taking pictures here for a few publications, likeAthletic Edgemagazine.” Inclining my head toward the boy holding on to her hand, I ask, “May I take a photo of the two of you for them to maybe use on their social media or in the magazine?”

The boy tilts his head at me. “Do we retain all rights to these images in the future?”

“Andrew!” She eyes me warily. “We’ve been doing a lot of photos for all of the media already. Are you sure they’d want another one of me?”

Doing a double take, I look at her again, wondering if I should know her. Then I remember doing my own briefing the night I arrived, thanks to a lack of information that was shared with me; if memory serves, she’s the woman in charge of the charity.

“Wait. You’re Angelica Davis, with Happy Horizons Ranch?” I venture, crossing my fingers.

“The one and only, for better or for worse.” She winks, a wall beginning to slide down. “But everyone calls me Angel.” She thrusts her hand in my direction, letting go of the boy, who takes off into the crowd. “My son. He’s at that age where he knows everything.”

Smiling, I watch as he makes his way to the railing, leaning against it and watching the guys who are left on the ice skate around. “I’ve seen that age in their rebellion mode before.”

“You have kids?”

“No, not yet, but one day.”

She smiles, her eyes trained on her son. I can tell she’s not in the mood for a photo, so I decide not to push any more. Instead, I step back and give her a wave. “Nice to meet you, Angel. Ireally hope your charity gets everything it deserves out of these games.”

“Me, too,” she calls out over her shoulder as she begins to make her way over to where her son hangs onto the railing and swings back and forth with his heels as he pivots. “Me, too.”

Chuckling to myself I look up, not expecting to find Noah, and prepared to head back to the locker room. Which, even as I think it, makes me feel like a puck sniffer … or is it a puck bunny? Either way, yuck. I don’t want to be one of those people, but I’m excited to see him. Especially after that game.

I scan the groups clustered around me, my eyes finally spotting his familiar face. Noah’s a stone’s throw from where I’m standing, so I toss my camera in its bag, throw it over my arm, and start literally swimming upstream through the throng of moving bodies when I see the strangest thing.

As I’m approaching, there’s a small sprite of a girl with raven-black hair and crystal-blue eyes who looks surprisingly familiar. In my line of work, everyone starts to look familiar, though, but it’s not so much her as it is her actions that stump me. I watch as she stands on her tiptoes and plants her lips directly on Noah’s.

The sting that hits my gut is real. Like a slap in the face. Instinct tells me to run, as if I’m seeing the evidence that heisthe guy I thought he was. I even go so far as to start to walk away, but I stop myself.

I’m not listening to that voice anymore, as much as I can help it. Even with my armpits starting to leak water like they’re my eyes and I’m peeling an onion, I try to tuck my anxiety to the back of my brain and, instead, I do the opposite of what I want to do. No flight for me.

I march over to where the duo stands. Noah’s eyes slam into mine, showing what I think is relief as soon as he sees me. A wave of emotions and thoughts seems to cloud across his face, but even I can tell from the small amount of time we’ve been spending together that he’s uncomfortable. Whether it’s becauseof me or her, I have no idea, but I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Hi,” I say, walking up and standing beside him. I ignore the fact this woman is wearing a jersey from his old NHL team with his name on it. Actually, I find it rude. I want to say, “Duh, he’s with the Renegades now,” but I keep my mouth shut.

Instead, I keep my eyes locked on him, and I’m rewarded when his grin chases any and all storm clouds that were hovering above us away.

“That was a great game.” He taps his chest, drawing my eyes to where he’d pinned the present I’d given him. “It’s all because of this little guy.”

“Um, hi,” the petite female says, pushing herself in between us, as if taking a protective stance with Noah.

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