Page 103 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Now several of the guys are laughing. I shake my head and stand, dragging a hand over my face, freshly shaved this morning. I haven’t been able to stand the sight of myself with a beard ever since I got back from Florida. I finally took a razor to it today.

Like the facial hair was a reminder of her.

How I looked when I was with her. How I felt. How she made me feel.

“I’ve got an iron stomach, man.” I stand and lift my shirt, patting my abs. Because that’s what Normal Van would do. Make jokes. Brag. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

“I think the phrase is supposed to be an iron lung,” Tucker says.

“It can be both,” Alec says. “Now, how about you stop arguing about semantics and get on the ice before Coach puts us all in shallow graves. The man has been in amoodsince the wedding that wasn’t.”

“Can you blame the man?” Logan asks. “Someone broke his daughter’s heart. I’d burn the world down.”

And … on that note, I'm out the door before any of them.

I make it through practice like it’s a normal day. Like I didn't run into Mills in Summer's office that morning.

Do I play horribly? You bet.

But I do it smiling and staying in character—smart-mouthed comments, horsing around, generally being the lovable pain I am.

I hang back when the other guys leave the ice, still trying to shake the restlessness I feel. It’s in my limbs, but I think it’s spreading outward from my heart. I skate a few quick laps, then take shot after shot. Missing them all.

It’s like I’m hoping for someone to pin a participation ribbon on my jersey rather than hoping to win the Calder Cup—the AHL’s version of the Stanley.

“Van—a word?” Coach calls.

My stick clatters to the ice.

If there’s one thing I’ve succeeded at since getting home, it’s avoiding Coach. I didn’t want to get caught in a room with him. To have to meet the eyes of the man who is technically my father-in-law. Once, I even ducked into a shower fully clothed to avoid being seen.

Unfortunately, it was also the shower occupied by Dumbo.

Still—to avoid Coach, it was worth getting a little too up close and personal withall ofDumbo.

I retrieve my stick, miss one last shot, and skate over to the bench, where Coach now stands, gripping the wall. Hisexpression is unreadable, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to rip my head from my body, so my secret is probably still safe.

For now.

“I wanted to thank you for your help with Milly,” he says.

Hearing the nickname makes my gut twist. Or maybe what I’m feeling is the twist of the knifeMillystuck there.

“No problem.”

Coach chuckles. “‘No problem’? Son, you gave up almost a week to help out someone you barely know.”

I try not to flinch. Someone I barely know … but someone I alsomarried.

“Though I guess itwasa free vacation. For the most part.” He shifts, and I realize he’s pulling out his wallet. “Milly said you ended up having to pay for some things, and I wanted to make that right.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I insist,” he says. “But if you don’t want cash, I can do Venmo. Isn’t that what all the kids are doing these days?”

“No, really?—”

“Zelle?”

---