Page 23 of Offside

I stare down at the dress I picked out for tonight. It’s a floor-length, black-sequined dress that shimmers when it catches light. I stare at my reflection in the mirror in my closet, 1940s music playing softly in the background because it’s Marv’s favorite, and I wonder who it is that I’m looking at.

A girl who had to grow up too fast after losing her parents. A girl who couldn’t walk for months after multiple surgeries to fuse her spine back together. And a now fully grown woman who went through grad school, took ownership of a basketball team, learned the ropes of managing a franchise in a sport she knew nothing about, and turned it into a championship team.

That very same woman who reluctantly stepped into her uncle’s shoes as his successor and took over everything, alone and on her own.

I try to smile at the woman in the mirror and focus on the positive and all I’ve accomplished, hoping to instill a belief in myself because Marv isn’t here to bolster me up. Questions swim in my head about what my purpose is and if this is what I want to be doing this time next year. Or five years from now.

Is it what I truly want?

Marv guided me into a life and a direction that may not have been mine if my parents had survived.

Today I turn twenty-nine. Back in my teens, I thought I’d be married and have started a family before my thirties. In the next decade, will I continue down this lonely road, follow in my uncle’s footsteps as a billionaire with no family and no special relationship?

My thoughts are interrupted with the ping of my phone. I glance over at the island in the middle of my closet where my phone sits and see it’s a text from my ride. The event is on the other side of Vancouver and I wanted to indulge in some champagne tonight, so I hired a driver to shuttle me to and from.

I grab my phone and stick it in my clutch, then take one final assessment of myself, lifting my chin up and my shoulders back to practice the art of appearing confident and happy.

Even if I feel as from that reality as I am from the moon.

* * *

“You look absolutely stunning, Karis.”

I accept the compliment from Diana Thorpe with a hug. Diana is the wife of the head of St. Luke’s Hospital’s children’s heart center. I’ve only met her once before, but I like her warmth and genuine friendliness. She’s the real deal in a world full of fakes.

I smile when I move out of her arms. “So do you, Diana. As always.”

She waves away my returned sentiment, as if I’m a fool to think so. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her midfifties. Diana is as petite as she is worldly, an extreme athlete who hikes and skis all over the globe. When not traipsing up and down mountains, Diana also serves as the head of an organization that works with impoverished children in developing nations.

Her fire and tenacity for life is something I would like to bottle up and use for myself. I aspire to be more like her and wish I had even an ounce of the courage she does to handle all the challenges that come her way.

Her warm gaze moves behind me and scans the room.

“Where’s your date for the evening?” she inquires when her eyes land back on me. “What fool of a man would leave a beautiful woman like yourself unattended even for a moment?”

I lift my eyebrows, draw a sip of champagne from the flute, and chuckle. “No date for me tonight. Unless you count a table full of hockey-playing brutes.”

Diana laughs and leans in conspiratorially. “Let’s trade. Your brutes for a table of boring doctors and researchers.”

We laugh as she clinks my glass with hers in a toast and begin to talk over the music and voices that fill the space within the large ballroom. I try to keep my interest on our lively discussion about her travels, but my gaze has been keenly focused on the open doors of the ballroom, watching for one man in particular to appear.

God, I’m hopeless.

I made it very clear to Ballas that this was not a date. I even pointed out his tousled hair and made a big deal out of him doing something with it, only because I find it to be one of the most devastatingly distracting features on him. His hair is a wave of disheveled sex appeal. I want to lace my fingers through the soft strands, bury my nose in his neck, and inhale that spicy, smoky scent of him.

“Now tell me, dear. How are things going with the hockey team?” Diana asks, drawing my attention back to her. “I have to say, I don’t have much interest in sports, but Gordon roots for the Vikings and even has season tickets. Personally, I prefer the ballet.”

I smile and give her a conspiratorial wink. “I have to admit, even I sometimes prefer the performing arts over sports myself, but I fear I don’t have a choice any longer. Although I have grown a fonder appreciation for it now that I realize how hard these guys work and their athleticism.”

Diana’s eyes wonder toward the bar, landing on a group of athletes and local celebrities. I follow her gaze and scan the mix of attendees in search of Ballas.

“Ah, yes,” she says with an admiring gaze. “Their athleticism certainly is a plus.”

She tears her eyes away and gives me a wink. I return it with a smile of appreciation.

“If I don’t get a chance to talk with Gordon tonight, please let him know how much I appreciate his loyal support of the Vikings. I know I wasn’t interested in them until…” I let my words trail off, the implication of my unspoken thought obvious.

With a pat on my arm, Diana gives me a sympathetic smile, her eyes now glittering with tears.

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