Page 65 of Ice Cold, Red Hot
“I wouldn’t expect you to, but it was worth a shot,” he said. “Good thing I got a big signing bonus, I guess. I’m going to spend it flying back here to see you.”
I stared up at him. “Do you really think it can work? Part time, long distance? All the puck bunnies you’ll be seeing at every game?”
Shepherd sat up, pulling me with him. “Celeste. Do youreally think any silly hockey groupie could distract me from the real deal?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly, hating the fear I felt at the idea.
“I do.” His tone brooked no more discussion, and I decided to allow his confidence to be enough for both of us. “Once you’ve figured out what’s real and found it,” he went on, “I don’t think you can put up with anything less. It would just be a cheap imitation.”
I nodded, holding his gaze.
“We went through too much to be together to let it slip away.”
“We did,” I agreed.
He kissed me then, and I let the fear slip away like a silky layer of fabric from my skin. I wasn’t going to ruin the best thing I’d found by worrying about it.
We laid back down, and I let my mind shut off as Shepherd’s hands and mouth went to work again, making it impossible to think of anything but him.
EPILOGUE - CELESTE
Two months later - Chicago
“You were practically in my lap the whole time,” Nat complained as we sat in the back of a taxi from O’Hare.
“Middle seat gets both arm rests. Everyone knows that. It’s an unspoken rule of air travel, right Moreno?” Griff leaned past Nat to address the question to me.
I was too giddy to get in the middle of whatever spat they were having now. Nat and Griff had been spending a lot of time together, but I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. Nat was keeping quiet, and every time I saw them together, they bickered like brother and sister. “Sure,” I said, watching the city slide by outside.
“I can’t wait to see Renshaw play,” Griff said. “Maybe I’ll pick up some pro tips from him.”
“He’s been at camp a couple months,” Nat said. “I don’t know how much he can really have learned so soon.”
“He’s been killing himself,” I told them. “I think he’ll be great.”
“You’re supposed to think that. You’re his girlfriend,” Griff said. “But you’re probably right.”
Nat sighed, and I wondered for the tenth time if it was a mistake asking her to come. She’d been distracted and irritable lately, and I worried that I’d been too wrapped up in my own happiness to be a good friend to her.
When we arrived at the Storm arena and checked in, excitement was pounding through me. I’d never been a big sports fan, but Shepherd’s phone calls and visits had made his enthusiasm and excitement rub off on me. This was the real deal and it was a huge opportunity for him. I was nervous and proud all at once.
“So…” Nat said, a question in her voice. “Think he’ll get much playing time?”
“It’s a pre-season scrimmage,” Griff explained. “So they’ll play a lot of the younger guys, get them some ice time before the season starts. Hopefully that’ll include Shepherd.”
A few minutes later, the announcer came over the PA. “Welcome to the Chicago Storm development camp scrimmage with the Toronto Tritons!”
Even though it was just a scrimmage, the crowd was huge, and they exploded as the first group of Storm players took the ice. These guys looked huge—bigger than the college players, and so much more fierce.
I scanned each group of players, listening for Shepherd’s name, and finally heard it as he came out, the blue and black Storm jersey stretched across his pads. “Shepherd Renshaw, number 27!”
Griff, Nat, and I jumped to our feet, screaming, and Shepherd looked up. He skated close and tapped his stick on the boards, acknowledging us as his eyes found mine for a brief moment.
And then the game started.
Shepherd played well, and pride swelled in my chest every time he touched the puck. He glided across the ice with that same effortless power I remembered from Coldwater, cutting past defenders like they weren’t even there. When he stole the puck mid-play and threaded a perfect pass to his teammate, I caught myself holding my breath. And when he ripped a shot that rang off the post and into the net, the sound of the puck hitting metal echoed through the arena like a promise.
I was laser focused on him, but as the scrimmage wore on, I realized there was another group cheering for Shepherd just a few seats down. I leaned forward, trying to get a look at them, when one of them stood to cheer.
