Page 131 of In It to Win It

I watch the back-and-forth with interest. Everly’s getting pretty heated, while Wyatt seems to be baiting her . . . and enjoying it.

“It’s a complicated issue,” Wyatt says.

“It’s not complicated. It’s simple—don’t fight.”

He laughs.

“How do you explain to your kids that it’s okay to beat someone up on the ice, but not off the ice?”

“I don’t have kids.” He shrugs.

I sense Everly grinding her teeth.

“That I know of,” he adds.

Now Everly actually growls.

“Kidding!” Wyatt holds up his hands. “It was a joke. Hey, we know what we’re getting into when we drop the gloves.”

“I don’t think you do. Men think they’re all invincible.”

He laughs again and lifts his glass to his mouth.

“Fighting is actually decreasing in hockey,” Théo puts in, stepping up to the island. “This season, there have only been point-two fights per game.”

Everly grins at her nephew. “Thank you, Mr. Stats.”

“Thirty years ago, it was one-point-three fights per game. So it’s changing.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt nods. “Better these days to ice the most skilled team you can—you have way more advantages than come from fighting.”

Everly’s jaw drops. “You were just arguing in favor of fighting!”

He gives her a slow, entrancing smile. “I can argue both sides of an issue. I was in the debate club in high school.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Everly’s eyebrows rise. “A hockey player in debate club?”

Wyatt doesn’t take offense. “I’m a master debater, sweetheart.”

I crack up, but Everly doesn’t seem to think it’s funny. Should I point out that Everly can also argue the other side of that issue? Mmm . . . nah.

Yeesh, serious sparks there. Interesting.

The music, the conversation, and the laughter get louder as the evening progresses. People are dancing out on the patio. Lacey warned me that JP might be here, but it’s getting close to midnight and he hasn’t shown up yet. I’m ashamed to admit I’m disappointed. I have to get over this.

Sadness washes through me. The bubbly champagne isn’t helping my mood. I want to go to bed, but I guess I have to hang in until midnight.

Lacey’s going around with another bottle of champagne, topping up glasses in preparation for midnight. Like I need any more.

The doorbell rings as Lacey’s filling my glass.

“Someone’s late,” I comment. And then, somehow, I know it’s JP.

The door opens and he walks in . . . accompanied by Byron.

“My baby!” I set down my champagne, hold my arms out to him (Byron), and he gallops toward me and leaps at me. I catch him, stumbling back a step, but I’m okay. “My Byron! What are you doing here?” I let him lick my face and then set him down. His tail waves excitedly. “Um . . . what are you wearing?”

It’s a . . . sweater. Different shades of blue, knit into a simple style, but it’s . . . crooked. One side is shaped differently from the other, hanging down nearly to his feet, and the neckline is uneven.

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