Page 65 of Glitz & Goals

“Yeah.” Noah pats the paper bag under his arm. I’ve been so distracted that I didn’t notice it until now. “I brought a bottle of Sassenach and a…” He winces. “A gift card. Jesus, now that I’m saying that, I don’t love how it sounds.”

I blink at him. “You realized that us getting tangled up in a messy play ended my career, and you brought me whiskey and a gift card to make up for it?”

“Good whiskey,” he clarifies. “And in my defense, I brought it so that we could have a talk. A real talk. I thought it might make things easier.”

All I want to do is shove Noah out the door and get back to my conversation with his daughter, but it slowly dawns on me that this is a good opportunity to lay some important groundwork.

Besides, I’m not mad at Noah anymore. The goalie stick to the knee? That was an occupational hazard. I knew I could get injured playing hockey, and I played anyway. Yeah, technically he was involved in the injury that ended my hockey career, but I like what I’m doing now. And if I was still with Larisse, I would never have found Viv, who lights up my whole world.

If Noah is going to be my father-in-law someday, I’d like to know him better. Not as the villain in my story, but the hero in Vivian’s. The man who took in his niece when she lost her parents. I know I couldn’t make it as a single dad with our schedules, but Noah had the same constraints, and he made it work.

It’s totally admirable.

He’s done so much for the woman I love that I can’t blame him for an accident fifteen years ago. Not when I could be acknowledging a lifetime of affection and care.

I have a lot to learn from this man.

“Let me get some rocks glasses,” I say. “We can drink in the backyard, okay?”

I make sure that Noah sits with his back to the house. Once we’ve got our whiskey in front of us, I text Viv to let her know she’s clear to leave and promise to pay for her ride back to the Mona Lisa later tonight. A few minutes later, her silhouette crosses through the living room. She waves before slipping out the front door.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” Noah moans. “And you never said anything!”

“At first, I thought it would be awkward,” I admit. “But I got over it. I see how you are with, uh, with Viktor and the other players. You’re a mentor. A class act. By then, bringing it up would have felt petty and beside the point. Sometimes it’s best that the past stays in the past.”

“What was it like?” Noah asks. “Leaving the league like that?”

I tell him the truth.

“It was hard. Really hard. But it got easier, and in the end, I didn’t lose anything that couldn’t be replaced. I lost my old life, but I found myself in the process.”

In so many words, I forgive him completely and leave the past where it belongs: in the rearview mirror.

* * *

When Noah leaves to walk back to his place a few hours later, I call Viktor.

“Abbott,” I bark, “I need your friend Sofia’s shop info. The jewelry store, you know. I don’t have the name.”

He groans into the receiver. “Why don’t you just ask Vivian?”

“Because it’s a surprise. Obviously. Just tell me the name of her shop and I’ll stop pestering you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he mutters. “I’ll text you the website when we hang up. What do you want it for, anyway? Thinking of getting your ears pierced, Coach? Maybe adding some diamonds to your regular look?”

“Ha ha,” I deadpan. “Just text me the info, you smartass little fuck.”

Viktor doesn’t need to know that I’m in the market for an engagement ring.

Chapter Twenty

Vivian

Game one of the opening round of the NHL playoffs is turning out to be a nail-biter, tied at three with just minutes left in the third. Knova is perched on the edge of her seat, her fists clenched like she’s ready to throw a punch herself. “Come on, Knight,” she mutters as if her twin can hear her through the din of the arena. Mom sits beside her, a bundle of nerves hidden behind her usual calm smile. Kingsley, on the other hand, looks completely at ease, like this is just another Tuesday night, not a game that could define the season.

I’m trying to focus on the ice, but my eyes keep drifting to the bench. To him. Grady’s pacing like a caged tiger, barking out commands, his dark hair spiked up, his jaw tight with concentration. Even from here, I can feel the intensity radiating off him. He’s in his element—commanding, magnetic, impossible to look away from.

“He’s got them playing smart tonight,” Kingsley says, crossing her arms. “Ranger’s a good balance for him. Keeps him grounded.”

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