Page 13 of Vital Blindside

“Well, either way. I wouldn’t miss it. It’s already on my calendar,” I say. My answer satisfies her, and she relaxes in Tyler’s arms.

“Adam would never turn down a boat ride on a private yacht, Gray,” Oakley chips in with a laugh.

“He’s got a point,” I hum, a teasing smile pulling at my mouth. “I’ve never been invited to such a prestigious event before. I’m honoured.”

“It was Ty’s idea,” she argues. “I would have been okay with a small dinner at our house.”

Tyler scoffs. “You’re turning thirty. We’re not celebrating that by doing something we already do together every weekend.”

“Another good point,” I say. “It’s your dirty thirties, Gracie. Let your rich husband throw you a party that will make his wallet weep.”

“I’m not sure that even renting a yacht would make a dent in Tyler’s wallet,” Ava teases, joining us again.

“Says the one married to the previously highest-paid hockey player in the world,” Tyler pokes.

“Oh, hush.” She waves him off. “Dinner is done, and I was about to call the kids in. I figured I would give you a chance to prepare yourselves for the chaos.”

A collective groan fills the room, and I can’t help but smile to myself.

Now the fun really begins.

6

SCARLETT

I’m pretty sure I could skate before I could run. I don’t remember the first time my little feet hit the ice, but I know deep in my bones that I’m right.

From the very first time the icy chill of the arena pushed a shiver through my toddler-size body, it was game over. I might not remember much from those first few trips to the rink, but I do know that they became an addiction as I grew older—something I needed to do to feel.

Hockey isn’t just a sport to me—it never has been. It’s a way of life. My everything.

I was raised by a single mother, so money was always tight. She worked two jobs—both of which still barely paid the bills. Our house was small, but it was ours. The fridge had just enough to keep my belly full. But I didn’t miss a single season of hockey. Not since my very first practice. My mom made sure of that. And to this day, I’m still not sure how she pulled it off.

But now? Now there’s a void inside of me that I can’t fill. An empty feeling that threatens to spread like a disease, eating away at me more and more each day.

Working for Adam White, training athletes who will go on to do things I will never have a chance to, will only be rubbing salt in the wound. But I’ve never been a quitter. Going back on my word isn’t an option.

So here I am, standing in front of WIT with my freshly sharpened skates thrown over my shoulder and my stomach hanging between my knees.

I wipe my palms off on my leggings and scold myself for getting so nervous. It seems ridiculous to be scared right now—I’ve played in the Olympic games and been under more pressure than some people will ever experience. Yet I haven’t been able to calm my racing pulse since the moment I slipped my arms into my new White Ice Training embroidered track jacket this morning.

If my old teammates could see how I’m acting, I would never live it down.

The sound of sneakers scuffing the pavement behind me makes every muscle in my body tense up. Great. I’ve been caught staring at the front doors like a terrified child waiting for their mom to check the closet for monsters.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe in a massive lungful of air through my nose before letting it out of my mouth. Once I’ve relaxed as much as possible, I open my eyes and look over my shoulder.

Adam’s lips part on a grin when I meet his gaze. He’s shaved since the last time I saw him, making him look a few years younger than I know he really is. Not like he looks his age in the first place. He has a naturally youthful appearance, but I think he owes most of that to the genuine happiness he wears like a second skin.

There may actually be some truth behind the whole scowling takes decades off your life saying I was always told as a teenager. Adam certainly won’t have to worry about that.

“Good morning, Scarlett,” he says, and I notice the tray of coffee cups in his hand when he extends it toward me. “I didn’t know how you liked yours, so there’s an assortment.”

I double blink at the Starbucks cups.

“If you don’t like coffee, I can have Brielle bring you something else when she comes in,” he offers a second later, sounding far too genuine to be considered normal.

With a quick shake of my head, I grab a cup labelled as a plain black coffee and hold it to my chest. “Thank you.”

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