“Not well enough.” He blows out another breath.

“You can only be as good as your teammates allow, though.” I drag my nails down the back of his scalp and goose bumps flash across his arms.

“It’s not my game I’m worried about.”

“Alex is struggling.” It’s not a question. I’ve seen it during the games, and then there’s the conversation Violet and I had.

Darren chews on the inside of his lip for a few seconds before he gives me a reluctant nod. He’s incredibly loyal, and even though it’s the truth, I know all Darren wants to do is protect him.

“He needs to go into this game with a positive frame of mind, and my biggest concern at the moment is that he’s beating himself up over the loss.”

“Home ice advantage should help, shouldn’t it?”

“Theoretically, yes. We have a great team, and Randy is an excellent front line player. Rookie is pulling his weight, and Miller and Lance are holding defense, but Alex has always been the best for scoring, and he’s just not making the shots the way he used to.” Darren drops his head and mutters a quiet fuck.

“Hey.” I take his face between my hands and force him to look at me. His expression is pained, and I want to take that away for him. “It’s okay to talk to me like this. You’re not being disloyal for saying what’s true. I’m sure he knows this and it’s eating at him that you’re the one picking up the slack. I know it’s hard to separate your friendship from the welfare of the team and Alex’s ego, but you might need to start taking some of the shots you’ve been passing.”

“It’s not that simple, Charlene.”

“I know Alex likes to be the best at everything, but surely he must see how it would be better for the team—”

“It’s not Alex; it’s me.”

“That’s untrue. You’ve been incredible out there. I realize I’m biased—”

He presses his lips to mine to stop me. “You don’t understand. Alex doesn’t want me to pass to him. He knows he’s not playing like he used to, and it’s killing him because he feels like he’s letting down his team. He wants me to take the shots, but I’ve been passing anyway, so it’s my fault we lost last night, not his.”

“Why would you pass to him if he asked you not to?”

“Goals get more points than assists,” he says.

As if I don’t know this. “And that matters why?”

He mumbles something else.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Can we just drop this? It’s a real fucking downer, and that’s not what I wanted tonight to be.” His jaw tics and his throat bobs, fingers tightening on my thigh briefly before they skim up and in. I twist away from his wandering hand and cross my legs so he can’t get between them.

He purses his lips, and I mirror the expression. His sigh is heavy as he trails his fingers down the side of my neck, pushing away the blanket. “Please, Charlene. Not tonight. Any other night.” He drops his head, lips finding the place his fingers just were and gliding up to my ear. “I just want to get lost in you.”

There’s such vulnerability in his words and his tone. I pull back, wanting to see his face, trying to understand the sudden shift, the shutting down when we’re finally making progress.

“I need you to let this go tonight. We can come back to it.” His pained eyes search mine. “But for now, I need this. You. Please.”

“Okay, Darren.” I press a palm to his cheek. “If that’s what you need.”

He kisses me, softly at first, and then greedily. It’s late when we finally make it upstairs to bed. I don’t flail in my sleep. I can’t with Darren wrapped around me like a human blanket.

We’re shifting again, and I worry too much change too fast is dangerous. It creates fault lines and cracks. The kind I’ll get lost in and won’t find my way back out of.

CHARLENE

Chicago wins the game against Toronto with Darren scoring the winning goal. He should be happy about it, but he’s stoic instead. I want to chalk it up to game seven being in Toronto, but I’m sure it has to do with Alex.

We’re sitting at the bar after the game, and Darren has me tucked into his side, one arm thrown over my shoulder. He’s been quiet, smiling when people pat him on the back, but not saying much else. Which isn’t unusual. What is unusual is the number of times he tucks my hair behind my ear, or leans in to kiss my neck.

“So we’re all going to Toronto to cheer our boys on, right?” Violet says from across the table.

She told Alex last night that she’s pregnant, but she wants to keep it quiet until she’s through the first trimester. Considering how many weeks away that is, and how much he’s fawning over her like she’s an injured bird, I’m not sure the secret is destined to be kept.

I find out how right I am about five seconds later. “We can celebrate the end of the series and the fact that I’m going to be a dad!” Alex shouts. He’s a few beers into the night, so it’s hard to hold him too accountable.

Violet slaps his chest. “Alex!”

He cringes, then turns to her. “Sorry. Shit. I’m just so fucking excited. You’re going to be the sexiest pregnant woman in this history of the universe.”

There’s a flurry of excitement, and I stand, along with Darren. His mouth is at my ear. “Did you know?”

“I was with her when she took the test. Violet didn’t want me to say anything until she told Alex.” I feel as if I should apologize.

He squeezes my hand and nudges me forward. “You don’t have to explain. Alex told me this morning.”

I look into icy eyes that seem somehow soft and warm. “You’re not upset that I didn’t tell you?”

“She’s your best friend. You keep her confidence, as you should.” He strokes my cheek and presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

A moment later I’m swallowed up in Alex’s bear hug while Darren gives Violet a much gentler version of the same affectionate congratulations. I step back to let a teary Sunny hug her brother.

Darren slips his fingers between mine and pulls me into him. “It’s a weekend game; can you get an extra day off? I want the time with you.”

It’s as if he knows that this good thing is in some ways bad—like it separates us from them in yet another way.

“I can talk to my boss tomorrow,” I tell him.

“He’ll say yes.”

He’s not being cocky, not really. Our firm represents a number of Chicago players. Violet is married to the top earner on the team, and only two other players in the league have bigger contracts than Alex. Darren isn’t a slouch either, and Stroker handles his account directly. He’ll let us go.

By ten the following morning, we have the green light from Stroker, much to Jimmy and Dean’s dismay, and our plane tickets are booked. Darren wanted me on his flight, but I have to work on Friday, as do most of the girls, so we’re leaving in the evening, which means we’ll have all day Saturday to do fun girl things before the game.

When we arrive Friday night, the boys swarm the lobby and claim their significant others, leaving only the parents—of course Skye and Sidney came along, and Daisy and Robbie drove out from Guelph to be here—at the bar. It’s late, but Darren needs some release before I force him to go to sleep.

I check my phone around midnight to see what the rest of the girls are up to. Looks like I’m the last one to be done putting my hockey man to bed. I slip out from beneath the covers, find my clothes, and tiptoe to the bathroom so I can change without disturbing Darren.

It’s after two by the time I come back to the room. Lily and I drank too many cocktails while we talked lingerie. Skye and Daisy were far more sauced than us though, having been in the bar all evening. I’m not as quiet or coordinated as I’d like to be as I strip down. I try to find my pajamas, but it’s too dark, and I don’t want to risk waking Darren, who’s curled around my pillow.

I pull his discarded shirt over my head and slip between the sheets as stealthily as possible. He shifts as soon as I’m under the covers, but he’s still hugging the pillow, so it bars his way. Darren grunts his displeasure, groggy and only half aware as he struggles to get near me.

I turn to face him, settling a gentle palm on his cheek. “Let me help.”

He hums and his limbs go lax, eyes fluttering open for a second before falling closed again as I replace the pillow with myself. Darren sighs and buries his nose in my hair. His arm comes around me, fingers splayed across my stomach. They travel up, between my breasts, skimming my collarbones until he reaches the pearls. He follows the strand, curling his fingers around my shoulder, thumb resting in the hollow of my throat.

I close my eyes and relax into his warmth. I want to hold onto this protected feeling, but it’s terrifying. I crave this closeness with him, and when he’s sleeping it feels safer, because it’s unconscious on his part. I don’t have to face it the way I do in the waking hours.