Page 51 of Goalie's Obsession

She’s perched across from me in the limo, sunglasses sliding down her nose as she stares out the window with a clenched jaw and that tight smile she pulls when she’s trying not to panic. Her fingers are twisted around the strap of her purse like she’s one second away from a full-blown panic attack.

And in her lap? The snack-size pack of chocolate-covered almonds. The same ones I slipped into her seat pocket on the plane back in Iron Ridge before we took off.

I’d picked them up after casually grilling Emma at Chapter & Grind about Lucy’s go-to reading snack.

Yes, that’s right. I can be fucking thoughtful without being obvious, too.

"Okay, but seriously, did anyone else know the hotel had a rooftop pool shaped like a hockey stick?" Ryder’s voice bounces around the limo as he looks over the itinerary Coach Brody handed out on the plane after takeoff.

Blake snorts. "Swear to God rookie, if you get us kicked out of another five-star resort, I’m not covering for you. Again."

“Relax,” Ryder says, chewing on a Twizzler like it’s a cigar. “I’m a changed man. I’m here for the exposure. The brand-building.”

Logan throws an empty can at him. “You’re here for the tan, dipshit."

Natalie, squeezed in beside Lucy, raises an eyebrow as she laughs at Ryder. " He’s right, you know. Except for the fact that you brought six tank tops and a gallon of sunscreen. You’ll be lucky if you leave with freckles."

Lucy doesn’t say anything amongst the grilling. In fact, she barely laughs.

I watch her for a moment and clock the way she’s breathing—shallow, deliberate. Like she’s trying to regulate something that’s slowly getting away from her.

She looks gorgeous, for what it’s worth. Hair in a loose braid that drapes over one shoulder, makeup soft and glowy in the California light. But she’s stiff. Guarded. Like she’s armoring up for battle.

And I think I get it now.

This isn’t new for her. Flying on the private plane, driving in a limo in fuckingLos Angeles…This isn’t exciting or indulgent or bucket-list territory.

This isfamiliar.

The flashing lights, the luxury hotel creeping into view from the tinted windows, the curated perfection of everything surrounding her and the team.

This is the exact life she walked away from—and now here she is, neck-deep in it, with my arm around her waist and cameras tracking her every move.

"You okay over there, sweetheart?" I ask, low enough so only she hears.

She drags her gaze away from the window and levels it on me. "Totally. Loving the noise. The traffic. The smog. It’s everything I dreamed of and more."

I flash her a sympathetic grin. "And the company?"

She pops an almond in her mouth and chews like she’s too classy to roll her eyes, so she’s letting the almonds do it for her. "The jury’s out."

The limo slows, then eases into the curved entrance of the hotel.

And holy hell.

We’re talking white marble columns, valets in full uniform, floral arrangements taller than Blake, and a glass chandelier that looks like it cost more than my rookie year salary.

A red carpet stretches from the curb to the doors. And of course, literal paparazzi have gathered behind a rope line like this is a goddamn awards night for Hollywood itself.

“Is this normal for an offseason tour?” Sophia asks, eyes wide as she peers through the tinted windows.

“Define normal,” Logan mutters.

“Please tell me they have robes,” Ryder says, looking beyond the reporters and into the lobby. “Like, the stupid fluffy kind that make you look like a marshmallow.”

Lucy still doesn’t move.

I lean across just enough to nudge her knee with mine. "You sure you're good?"

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