Page 98 of From Ice to Home
I close my eyes, breathing in that tiny thread of hope. We haven’t dealt with all our issues, but today is a step in the right direction.
“Fair enough,” I say. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Thank you, Heavenly Father.
I stepout of the shower, running a towel over my hair before pulling on a pair of sweats. Steam drifts into the room behind me, my mind still on the conversation I had with my dad earlier. I want him to come, and I also want him to make his peace with Hannah and with our marriage.
I sigh, hanging the now wet towel over the bathroom door.
It doesn’t feel like we’ve been able to catch our breath and regroup since the moment we ran into each other. Now I understand why so many other NHL players opt to get married in the off-season instead. Marriage is difficult enough. Add the playoffs and Vegas and media and family drama…and it’s easily the hardest thing I’ve ever had to adjust to in my entire life.
After it’s all over hopefully we can reset and spend some much needed time alone. It might help us to figure out where we are, what we want, and how we can move forward in a way that brings us nothing but peace and happiness.
As I step into the room, the worry melts away as my gaze lands on the reason this is all worth it. Hannah Sanders is lying in my bed, her golden hair spilling over my pillow like sunlight. The sight stops me in my tracks, like some part of me doesn’t believe this is real. Her being here, with me—it’s everything I didn’t know I could hope for. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to having her here, and a part of me never wants to get used to the sight of her.
It’s terrifying. Because I don’t know what I would do if I lose this.
If I loseher…I don’t think I could take it.
Her eyes widen slightly as she takes me in, and I realize I’m just standing there, staring. I clear my throat and gesture toward my chest. “I can grab a shirt if this is too much,” I offer, trying to sound casual, even though my heart’s poundingharder than skates slamming into the boards during a hard shift.
Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head.
“No, it’s not…” she says softly, her gaze dropping for a moment before landing on the chain around my neck. “You’re wearing your ring,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I glance down, lifting the chain where my wedding band rests.
“I’ve worn it since that morning when I found you were gone,” I admit. “With games, practice, and training, this is just easier.”
Her gaze drops to her hands, now fumbling in her lap. We’ve been dancing around the subject, but the expression on her face tells me that we’re having this conversation right now.
Without saying a word, she gets out of bed. Her pink pajamas fit her perfectly and it’s hard not to notice her soft, perfect frame as she walks toward the dressing table. A wave of longing moves through me, fierce and not entirely welcome. I try to shake it off, but it lingers…hot, real, and restless. She’s my wife in every way, and still we haven’t found our way back to each other. She opens the drawer and pulls something out. When she turns back to me, the fire inside quiets because resting in the palm of her hand is her wedding ring.
“I took it off before I got out of the car back home,” she says, not meeting my gaze. “I wasn’t ready to tell my parents about us, and…I didn’t feel like I deserved to wear it after what I’d done.”
Her words hit me like a gut punch.
The thought that she wasn’t wearing her ring because she felt she didn't deserve it, never crossed my mind. Not even once.
I close the distance between us in two strides and wrap my arms around her. The need to hold her, to make her understand how much she means to me, is overwhelming. Sheexhales shakily, her body softening against mine and it feels like a small victory.
“You haven’t once doubted us, Luke,” she whispers against my chest. “You knew this would work, even when you found the bed empty the next morning.”
“Ihoped, Sanders,” I tell her honestly. “I didn’tknowanything.”
“I should’ve been able to do that for us,” she says, looking up at me, her green eyes filled with regret and guilt. “And now, it’s like everyone is doubting this marriage. It’s been interviews and photos and comments from every possible hockey fan on the planet, and it’s been eating away at me.”
She sighs, moving back toward the bed and sitting with her legs tucked beneath her. I used to dream about what it would be like to have Hannah in bed with me. To see her after she took a shower, with her hair over her shoulders, in her comfy pajamas as she snuggles into bed after a long and rough day. I’ve always wanted her to find peace with me at her side.
But right now, there’s no peace in her expression.
“Sanders, people will talk, no matter what we do.” That’s the truth, as much as I hate it. We can’t live our lives to please the fans. “Besides,” I lift the ring hanging around my neck, “as far as they’re concerned, I’m not wearing a ring either.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Luke, but it does matter.” She points to the windows. “It matters to them. And because of that, it influences you. It influences your team, your manager, your coach. What happens between us now feels dictated by the people out there and I hate that.”
She’s not wrong. The past week I’ve let those same headlines nearly tank my game. I was more than happy to give her time to work through everything on her own terms, until I saw that headline. It planted doubts in my mind. Doubts I’ve fought hard to ignore because we’re married and she promised me she’s in this. Those doubts crippled me. It nearly cost memy spot in the line-up and the GM thought it his business to call my wife behind my back.
I take a seat next to her, resting my hand on her thigh, watching her skin come alive beneath my touch. Something inside of me stirs at her body’s reaction to me. She looks at me, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. The shy look in her eyes as she looks at my chest, reminds me of the night in Vegas—when we gave each other everything.
