Page 139 of On Ice

The offer catches me completely off guard. Not just its unexpectedness, but the thoughtfulness behind it. Luca, has changed so much toward me. He’s so much softer and careful. I’m amazed he thought of this, simply to help me heal in peace.

“I do have a month before I need to be back for training,” I say, already imagining the respite of anonymity, of space to process everything that’s happened.

“I know.” He smirks. “I’m the owner of the team, remember?”

I laugh, suddenly feeling lighter. Like maybe I can handle the stress of everything after all. If I could get some distance from obligations, just for a while, I could deal with my grief, rejuvenate my mind and spirit, and start fresh for the new season.

Behind us, voices filter from the reception. I should get back, shake more hands, accept more conflicted congratulations and condolences. My dad and brother are still inside, carrying the same impossible weight.

“Yes,” I tell him. “After the parade. After my day with the Cup. I want to go.”

Luca grins, looking very pleased with himself. “Then we’ll go.”

****

The water stretches endless and impossibly blue around our villa, so clear I can see tropical fish darting beneath the surface from where I lounge on our private deck. My muscles have finally stopped aching, the brutal playoff run and the Cup celebrations left me with bruises in places I didn’t know could bruise. But after a week in paradise, my body is remembering how to exist without constant pain.

“Another drink?” Luca asks, holding up a pitcher of something fruity and rum-heavy.

I nod, stretching like a contented cat in the midday sun. “Keep ‘em coming.”

He refills my glass, the ice clinking pleasantly. Luca looks different here, his usually perfect hair tousled by the ocean breeze, designer suits replaced by linen shorts and an unbuttoned shirt. His skin has taken on a golden tan that makes his eyes seem even more intense.

“I spoke with Derek this morning,” he says, settling into the lounger beside me. “Team’s negotiating with Torres. They want to lock him in for five years.”

“Good. Kid’s going to be a star.” I take a sip of my drink, the sweetness cutting through the rum’s bite. “Thought we agreed to a moratorium on hockey talk.”

Luca’s lips quirk upward. “Force of habit.”

On the horizon, windsurfers catch the afternoon breeze, their colorful sails bright against the blue gradient of sky andsea. I’ve been eyeing them all week, remembering summers at my uncle’s lake house where I first learned to windsurf.

“Let’s do that later today,” I say, nodding toward them.

Luca follows my gaze, his expression skeptical. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Perfect. Something I can finally teach you.”

His eyebrow arches. “You’re assuming I can’t pick it up immediately.”

“That’s exactly what I’m assuming.” I grin at him over my drink. “The great Luca Barone, at the mercy of wind and water.”

He accepts this challenge with a slight incline of his head. “We’ll see.”

****

After a little coaxing, I finally get Luca out on the water with me.

“Balance is key,” I explain, stabilizing the board as Luca stands on it in the shallow water off the beach. “Keep your knees bent, weight centered.”

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Luca grumbles, concentration etched in the lines of his face.

Ignoring him, I warn, “When you pull up the sail, it’s going to feel heavier than you expect.”

Luca scoffs. “I think I can handle it. All the Barones have excellent balance.”

I step back, giving him space. “Show me, then.”

He grips the uphaul rope and begins to pull. The sail rises from the water, heavy with seawater, and for a moment, hemaintains perfect form. Then the breeze catches the sail before he’s ready, the board wobbles, and Luca Barone, feared mob boss, business genius, owner of a Stanley Cup-winning hockey team, topples sideways into the crystal-clear water with an undignified squawk.

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