“He’s alive,” I snapped. “The pity would be if he died.”

Flat blue eyes peered at me from a face set in stubborn if not sorrowful lines. “Some players would tell you they were better off that way than to have a career cut short.”

Rage bubbled in my veins, but I managed to keep my tone cool. “Anyone who thinks that is a fool.”

Rickman merely shrugged and went back to watching the players. “I’m not the one you need to convince.”

Lucian

“So.” Emma smiled up at me as she wrapped her arm around my waist, and we left the stadium.

“So,” I repeated, biting back a grin. She was too adorable and felt perfectly right tucked up against me. Emma nudged my ribs, getting my ticklish spot, the evil woman.

I most definitely did not giggle. I grabbed her fiendish hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “Did you have fun, Snoop?”

“Yes.” She leaned her head on my shoulder, humming. “You were spectacular. A truly phenomenal player.”

I’d been told that in so many different ways over the years that it had lost its meaning. But hearing the words fall from Emma’s pretty mouth, her tone reverential and filled with awe, had nothing but pure pride swelling up in my chest. I wanted to crow, strut . . . pick her up, and spin her around for the joy of making her smile and laugh.

She’d gotten a small taste of who I’d been, me at my best. She’d witnessed fans cheering for me and cheered along with them, her eyes shining with pride. It made me want to put that look on her face every day of my life. I wanted her admiration, to make her proud all the time.

My chest ached with a sudden fierceness that had me pressing my hand to it. But she didn’t notice. She was still chatting about all my “effortless skill,” which was cute but made me feel like a sham.

Seeing her talk to Cassandra hadn’t helped. The exchange hadn’t looked friendly, and I could have guessed what Cass had said, but I didn’t want to ask Emma. Mainly because I didn’t want her to stop looking at me as though I was her hero.

I thought you were more than hockey, Oz. I see now that you weren’t.

Annoyed that I even thought of Cassandra’s last words to me, I shoved her into the back of my mind and caught Emma’s hand.

A crowd waited on the edges of the roped-off area leading to the valet. Several players were signing autographs. As we drew near, shouts went out, calling my name. Emma waggled her golden brows. “Your public awaits.”

“You mind?”

“Why would I mind? Fans deserve your time.”

We headed their way, and I was quickly inundated with demands for autographs. But when I heard her name being called, I looked up.

Emma had been noticed. And all these die-hard hockey fans had swarmed. There was security nearby, and Emma didn’t seem to be overwhelmed or nervous. On the contrary, her smile was gracious and beautiful as she signed autographs and posed for selfies.

“She really your girlfriend?”

The guy whose Osmond jersey I’d been signing glanced at Emma and then back to me, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. Some days I couldn’t either—not because of who she was to the world, but for the simple fact that there was no one I liked more than her.

“Yep. That’s my girl.”

“You lucky fucker.” He was in his late teens, acne riddling the edges of his jaw, his body not yet filled in. I remembered those years. I didn’t remember being so blunt, but I couldn’t argue with his sentiment.

“More than you know.” I handed him back his pen and jersey. I had intended to go over to Emma. But found I couldn’t move. God, she glowed.

I now recognized how much of a hit her confidence had taken when she’d first arrived at Rosemont. She had always been beautiful, smart, and headstrong, but she hadn’t radiated this level of self-assurance and happiness at first.

Rosemont had healed her.

I wanted to take some credit for her transformation as well. Without doubt, she’d brought me back to life, made me want to be a better man. But had I done something similar for her? I knew she liked being with me. But could I make her proud? Because after today, I would go back to Rosemont as a man without direction.

Her star was on the rise, while mine had fallen. A lump swelled in my throat as I stared at her. It was perhaps prophetic, or maybe a wish granted, that my phone buzzed with an incoming text from my agent, Carlos.

Something kicked hard and potent in the center of my chest. Rickman and my team’s GM, Clark, wanted to meet.

Carlos: I’m not promising anything. But they have some interesting ideas that I think we should hear out.

I glanced up at Emma, still working the crowd, and my fingers tightened around my phone, a weird surge of fear and hope swirling within me. My fingers were steady as I responded:

I’ll be there.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Emma

“Come with me.” I took Lucian’s hand and led him out onto the private patio of our bungalow. We’d been apart all day—Lucian in meetings, and me in meetings, then hanging out with Tate. I had so much to tell him; excitement and anticipation bubbled in my veins like freshly popped champagne. But that could wait. Here and now was our time.

The Marilyn Bungalow was booked, so Lucian had reserved us Bungalow 5, which had one particular feature I wanted to use. A pool.

He stopped at its edge, and a small smile played around the edges of his lips. “How did I know you’d eventually lead me out here?”

I toed off my sandals. “That’s what you get when you torment innocent women with your late-night hot-body aquatics show.”

He laughed, the sound rich and rumbling. Free. Lucian might not have been fully healed in mind and spirit, but he was slowly losing the tension that rode him and was starting to come out of his shell. I loved it.

“Hot body, huh?” Wintergreen eyes twinkled in the twilight.

“You know it, Brick. You’re a walking inducement to sex. Temptation with swagger.”

His nostrils flared, but his tone was smooth as cream. “You say the nicest things, Snoop.”

“Mmm . . . now off with the clothes, honey pie.”

Lucian’s brow quirked, but he was far too distracted by me pulling my dress overhead to reply for a good moment. When he did, his voice had gone gruff. “You’re stripping.”