Page 136 of On Ice

“But I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Tears streak down his cheeks. “I didn’t get to saygoodbye.”

“God, I know.” I put my arms around him, holding him tight as his body shakes with sobs. “But she saw you win. She was so happy, baby.”

He grips my jacket, breathing ragged. We stay like that for minutes, me holding him, and him clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright. I rub his back, kissing his hair, wishing I could take the pain from him.

“Honestly,” I say softly, “It’s like she waited until the game began. So you wouldn’t leave your team and go to her. She knewyou’d do that. She wanted you where you were, so don’t regret anything, Evan.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he seems calmer now. He straightens, wiping roughly at his eyes. “I need to call Matt and Dad.”

“Of course. I have a car waiting. I can take you to them, or to the facility, or...” I leave it open, ready to accommodate whatever he needs in this moment.

He nods absently, already reaching for his phone. Then he stops, looking lost. “The team... the celebration...”

“I’ll let Derek know. He can tell the team. They’ll understand. Obviously, they’ll understand why you aren’t there.”

“Right. Of course.” His voice is dull. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, seeming to draw strength from the certainty in my voice.

I guide him toward the waiting car, my hand at the small of his back. Behind us, fans continue to stream out of the building, many wearing his jersey number, all celebrating the victory he can no longer fully enjoy.

I hate that I can’t fix this for him. I feel so powerless. I hate that I can’t just take his pain from him and let him be happy with his victory tonight. Life can be so fucking cruel sometimes. Even though he knew this was coming, for it to happen on this day is beyond harsh.

I’m one of the most powerful men in this city. I can crush men if I want. Build them up if I want. I can say whether men live or die. But I couldn’t stop this. Couldn’t buy her more time. Couldn’t keep the light in Evan’s eyes from dimming themoment he learned she was gone. I can command boardrooms, silence senators, make entire companies kneel, but I couldn’t protect the one person I love most from unbearable pain.

I’m LucafuckingBarone. And all I can do is watch Evan suffer.

****

Outside, the dawns dull and gray. The sunlight barely makes a dent in the dense clouds, as if the weather is mourning right along with us.

Evan didn’t sleep. I know this because I woke up every couple of hours to find him staring at the ceiling, his body rigid next to mine. He didn’t say much when we got back from seeing his dad and Matt, just enough to let me know he was grateful I was there. After that, silence. A silence that feels impenetrable.

I leave him in bed to make coffee. Once it’s brewed, I take the cups back to our room, hoping he’s fallen asleep even for a few minutes, but he’s already sitting up, bleary-eyed and still not quite present.

“Here. Drink this.” My voice is gruff as I hand him the coffee. I’ve never had to really help anyone grieve, other than family. I desperately want to do and say the right things for Evan, but I’m a little out of my comfort zone.

“Thanks.” It comes out rough and exhausted.

“I’m going to call Isabella today. She can arrange stuff. Help with... whatever you need. She good friends with the funeral director of Hawthorne & Sons Funeral Home.” Isabella will know how to be soft and supportive, areas where I fear I might lack in. I want Evan to have all the loving support he can get, andworry I’ll fall short. Isabella is a natural at comforting people, plus, she adores Evan.

He manages a nod, cradling the mug between both hands like it might help keep him together for another minute. “That’s great. I love Isabella.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” I ask quietly. “Me personally?”

“No,” he says. Then he looks at me with those big soulful eyes that just break my heart. “Can you come with me? When we talk to the funeral director?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.” I touch his cheek lightly, relieved when he doesn’t pull away. Sometimes people don’t like to be touched when their upset. “I’m here for whatever you need, Evan. All of it.”

He leans into my touch, closing his eyes for a moment. I sense the conflict in him, grief warring with relief that he doesn’t have to face this alone. He’s a proud man and leaning on me probably feels wrong. But I’m so glad he trusts me enough to be with him at this awful, heartbreaking moment.

Later, once we’re dressed, Isabella meets us at Hawthorne & Sons Funeral Home. The minute she sees Evan, she throws her arms around him, her eyes already red-rimmed like she’s been crying through the night too. She’s an incredibly empathetic little thing. I struggle with empathy usually, although when it comes to Evan, I’ve been in agony right along side him. His pain is my pain.

“Evan,” she says thickly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

The funeral director, Harold Hawthorne, is a small man with a nervous smile. He shuffles papers and provides options with the solemn cheer of someone who does this every day. Evan listens, though it’s clear he can barely absorb the details.

Isabella steps in, asking all the right questions about flowers and programs. She suggests music and makes sure Evan knows he can come back to change anything if he has second thoughts later. Her gentle confidence puts him at ease, lets him focus on what matters instead of all the logistical bullshit.

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