Page 13 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

I glare up at the man whose name I now know is Drew. Which is justsoperfect. He’s a totalDrew.

“Formerfiancée,” Amelia says, stepping in between us, hands on her hips and eyes blazing.

“Will someone please have the decency to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Coach shouts.

That’s Coach. And he’s pulled out the rare voice he uses when we’re all being stupid on the ice and about to lose a game if we don’t pull it together. Everyone in the room goes still. He has that effect.

I finally take in the scene around us. The cheating maid of honor is caught mid-tussle with the other bridesmaid a few feet away. A man with the same round baby face as Coach—his brother, if I had to hazard a guess—seems like he paused in the middle of trying to break up that fight. He’s got a bridesmaid in each arm.

The short, white-haired church lady with a stopwatch around her neck takes a sip from a silver flask with a cross on it.

Okay, then.

Coach’s gaze lands on me, and his eyes narrow. “Thiscan’tbe good if you’re involved, Van.”

Great. Appreciate the vote of confidence, Coach.

I know I’m not the guy’s favorite, but seriously?!

“It’s not him you should be mad at,” Amelia says, and Drew’s eyes start darting around the room, clearly looking for an escape route.

Amelia holds out her hand to me, the one not still curled around the champagne bottle. Not that I need her help, but I let her pretend like she pulled me to my feet.

Drew surges forward again, and Amelia wields the bottle like a cattle prod, shoving him back.

“It’s over. So, don’t call me your fiancée anddon’t you touch him.”

She punctuates this by shoving the bottle into his chest again.

This is a side of Amelia I only saw slivers of the night we met. Like when she and I argued over whether rereading a book should count toward your reading goals for the year. She nearly took my head off arguing about keeping your reading tally “pure” with only first-time reads.

Probably the only other person I could argue something like that with is Felix. But our bookworm of a goaltender has no idea I read as much as I do. He’s got a massive library at his place, while I mostly stick to ebooks and audio. I definitely never had fighting about books in a restaurant bar with a beautiful woman on my bucket list.

And she’s wrong, by the way. Rereads totally count. So do audiobooks—but at least we agreed on that point.

Amelia’s grip tightens on the champagne bottle, and I start to worry. Because I get the sneaking suspicion Drew is the kind of guy who would sue for assault if she takes a swing.

I gently pry the bottle from Amelia’s fingers.

She glances up at me in surprise, then offers me a small smile before turning a glare back at the idiot posturing in front of her. He puffs up even more seeing Amelia smile at me.

Coach glares at Drew and me in turn, like I hold an equal—orany—responsibility for this mess.

“It’s just a misunderstanding, sir,” Drew says, and I snort. He shoots me a withering look.

“I still don’t understand whyyou’rehere,” Coach says, his gaze hard on me.

I’ve always known I’m not Coach’s favorite player on the ice. Maybe off the ice too. Just one of the reasons I ran from Amelia the night we met. It saved me from being chased out with a barstool by her dad.

I get it. I’m too mouthy. I start things. Don’t walk away when I should. Play around sometimes when I should be serious. Coach’s approval or lack thereof never bothered me.

Until now.

Maybe I should step away from Amelia and walk right out of this room.

But I don’t.

“Robbie—orVan, I guess,” Amelia amends with a quick narrow-eyed glance my way, “is the one who made Drew come in here and confess he’s been cheating on me.” She winces as she adds, “With Becky.”

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