Page 114 of Conrad

Declan frowned. “My blood?”

“I don’t know. For . . . DNA? Or some other reason?”

Declan blinked, then ran his hand across his mouth. “Yes. Yes, there is.” He shook his head. “Wow. I didn’t see that.”

“See what?”

“Get me back to the hotel. Conference is over. I need to make some calls.” He seemed almost shaken. “And then call my pilot. I need a flight out, to Montelena.”

Stein nodded, pulled out his phone, his mouth tight as he dialed.

He didn’t expect Declan to look over at him, frown. “You okay, Steinbeck? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He raised an eyebrow.Maybe. Yes. That was it.

Because in his heart, he knew?—

Call Me Phoenix was very, very much alive.

And he was very, very much in trouble.

TWELVE

Conrad didn’t knowwhy his truck drove him to the North Star Arena, why he pulled in and sat outside, hanging on to the steering wheel, Penelope quiet beside him.

Her brain had probably gotten stuck on Dead Guy in Her Potato Bin, and rightly so. But his seemed to keep rounding back to his father’s words. . . .

“You don’t need to unravel everything—you just need to put your reputation and your actions into God’s hands and follow His voice. Learn, yes, but don’t keep looking behind. Let mercy abound.”

But he couldn’t get past the sense that maybe he needed another go-round at an apology to truly break free of the past.

Of the hold Joe Johnson had on him.

So he took a breath, then reached for the door handle.

Penelope put a hand on his arm. “I know there’s a reason, but why are we at the Ice Hawks’ practice?”

“There’s something I have to do,” he said.

She just nodded and turned to get out, and he wanted to grab her back and kiss her. Something about her trusting him, not asking questions, felt like they might be a team.

And it hit him again, as she took his hand walking into the arena, that he could love this woman. Maybe he had already started to—the way she saw him, didn’t make him feel like he had to be a superstar, kept his secrets, and even needed him—yes, he wanted Penelope Pepper wearing his jersey, in his life, in his arms.

He tightened his grip on her hand as they entered the chill of the arena, shouts and the slap of the puck pinging in the air.

“Why do they have practice in the afternoon?”

“Presidents’ Day. No school.” He glanced over at the stands and spotted a few familiar faces. Parents who’d shown up at the game last weekend and even at practice.

No Joe Johnson, but he’d only given a cursory glance.

He lifted a hand to Simon, who spotted him from the ice. Simon was running the kids through a puck-handling obstacle course, round and round the rink. Conrad and Penelope walked over to the boards, and he leaned down, crossing his arms, watching. Searching.

And . . .there.

Jeremy Johnson, thicker and sturdier in his breezers and pads, wove through the cones, not sloppy as he handled the puck, so the kid had some talent.Okay then. Conrad didn’t know why seeing him out there released a fist in his chest, but?—

“Hey, King! Yeah, King Con! That game last night was a joke, man. You call that playing? My grandma could handle the puck better!”

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