Carolina laughed. “No. Well, I mean yes. That could happen. Or maybe it wouldn’t. God, I hope you wouldn’t do that. That would be so juvenile.”

Gray slanted her a look across the table.

“Okay, fine. No, there are no problems between us at the moment. We get along great. We have fun together. I can’t define what it is that’s happening between us, Gray, because, honestly, I just don’t know. We enjoy being with each other, but we’re both so heavily invested in our careers, I don’t know where it’s going. Or if it’ll last.”

“And if it doesn’t, and you two break up, you think it’ll come between Drew and me.”

“Yes. And I’d rather that doesn’t happen. I didn’t want you to know about Drew and me at all.”

Gray leaned back in his chair. “Cutting me out of that part of your life just because you think it will affect how I feel about my best friend kind of sucks, Carolina.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “For me, too. You and I have always been really close. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t tell you.”

“Until now.”

She nodded. “Because I also know how close you and Drew have always been. My relationship with him will affect your relationship with him. And it shouldn’t.”

“You can’t change that. He’s been one of my best friends for a lot of years. But you will always and forever be my sister. Family. Nothing trumps that bond. Not even friendship.”

Gray’s words shouldn’t have made tears fill her eyes. But they did. He was right. The bond they shared had always been strong. And it always would be. How foolish of her to think anything, or anyone, would come between them.

She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “Thank you for that. But I’m a grown woman now. And if it doesn’t work out between Drew and me, just know my eyes are wide open. And I can handle it, okay?”

Gray nodded. “Okay.”

TWENTY-FIVE

TRICK PASSED THE PUCK TO SAYERS. DREW WAS IN position, and despite the elbow from the defender trying desperately to shove him out of the way, he was determined to stay in front of the defender’s goal.

So when Sayers shot the puck to him, Drew turned and took the shot.

And the goalie scooped it up in his glove.

Shit.

Sawing breath until his lungs ached, Drew skated down the ice toward his own goal. They were only down one goal and there was still time left in the third period. They could pull this game out against Philadelphia, at least tie it up and then make a comeback. All they had to do was score. They were so damn close Drew could taste it.

But in order to do that, they needed the puck at the other end of the ice. Kozlow, their best defender, shifted and went after it, slamming the Philadelphia forward against the boards. Drew wanted, needed desperately, to be in the middle of that, but he stayed in position, moving fast when Kozlow wrestled the puck away and shot it down the ice.

Trick was there to take it and make the turn and dashed, time moving too fast for Drew’s liking. He knew they were no more than a minute or two from the end of the game. If they tied, they’d go to overtime.

Drew took the pass from Trick and got an elbow to the neck from the defender. He fought for it, but another defender swooped it up and took it.

Shit. He dug in his skates and went after him, but Kozlow and Ebers were there.

It went back and forth like this for what seemed like an eternity, with the defense holding on, keeping Philadelphia from scoring, while the offense couldn’t get the damned puck into the net.

And when the buzzer sounded signaling the end of the game, it was the worst damned sound Drew had ever heard.

They’d lost by one fucking goal. He’d have rather gotten his ass kicked by a blowout than to lose by one goal. They’d been close so many times, but they just hadn’t been able to muster up enough offense to get the job done.

Again.

They had another road game before heading home, and he hoped to God they could pull out a win on that one, because things weren’t looking good for the team otherwise.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He’d gone out with the guys after the game, but none of them were in the mood to do much talking or partying. They all headed back to their rooms early.

Drew grabbed the remote to watch television, but there was really nothing on he wanted to watch.

He grabbed his phone to call Carolina, but it was late, and he didn’t want to keep her up. The clock was ticking on Fashion Week, and he knew she was probably putting in a lot of long hours.

Instead, he sent her a text message saying he was going to bed early and he’d talk to her when he got to Chicago tomorrow.

Where he had another road game.

Another opportunity.

Or another chance to lose on the road.

No. He pulled his fingers through his hair and got up off the bed, determined to think positively. He stared out the window at the snowy Philadelphia night, feeling the chill all the way through to his bones.

They couldn’t lose every fucking road game this season. At some point, they’d figure out what the cause was and turn it around, win on the road, and this would all be a distant memory.

An unpleasant, distant memory.

Shivering, he climbed back into bed and found some lame old movie on TV. Anything with sound so he wouldn’t feel so alone right now. He stared over at his phone. No return text from Carolina, which meant she was either busy working, or already asleep.

He wanted to call her, to hear the warmth of her voice in his ear. He wanted her to tell him it was all going to be all right.

But she couldn’t tell him that, could she? Because she didn’t control his destiny. Only he did. Only he—and his team—could pull this shit hole of a season out of the crapper, and make it right.

He just wished he knew how they were going to do that, what the magic secret was to taking a team that kicked ass at home and sucked on the road, and turning them into absolute winners.

He closed his eyes and willed it to happen.

Because at this point, skill didn’t seem to matter. And will, hope, and prayer were the only things he had left.

TWENTY-SIX

CAROLINA COULDN’T BELIEVE FASHION WEEK WAS just around the corner.

She felt ill-prepared, but it was here. The final touches had been put on everything, so ready or not, it was here, and there was nothing she could do about it now.

The one major item left was getting her print advertising moving along, and for that she needed Drew.

He’d texted her from the road, and called her a few times. She’d been working nonstop, twelve hour days, so their phone calls had been short, but she had to admit she’d enjoyed hearing from him. He’d seemed down since they had a couple losses on the road, and she was so in her own head she wasn’t sure she was much good at cheering him up, but she did try to send him some messages about his games, which, surprisingly, she’d found time to watch.

She was hooked, and couldn’t seem to not watch his games, no matter how busy she told herself she was. Even Stella came over one night for takeout and they watched together, since Stella and Trick were still bed buddies, though Stella insisted that’s all that was going on between them.

“No emotional attachment?” Carolina had asked.

Stella laughed. “I’m too busy to be emotionally attached, and I’m pretty sure Trick is one of those girl-in-every-port kind of guys. Which suits me just fine, because my first love is dance, not men. And clingers aren’t my type.”

“Trick doesn’t strike me as a clinger.”

“He’s not,” Stella had said, opening up her fortune cookie. “Which is why I’m still sleeping with him.”

Carolina wished she could be so laissez-faire about her . . . thing with Drew. But it seemed so much deeper, so complicated between them. And maybe that was all in her head, and because Drew was tied into her fashion line. Maybe she was deliberately keeping him closer to her because of that.

She paused as she perused lighting and music for the show. Was that what she was doing? Was she keeping Drew interested because she needed him so desperately for her fashion show? Surely she wasn’t that superficial. Besides, Drew had agreed to do it before the two of them had ever slept together. And he had been the one to pursue her—rather diligently, as she recalled. She could have said no, firmly, and he still would have agreed to participate.

Wouldn’t he have?

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and pondered.

No, that wasn’t it at all. She thought about him all the time. There was more to it than that. Though her thoughts about him were often jumbled up between hot sex, how he made her feel, an ache in the pit of her stomach, and how hot he was going to look in her clothes.

She laid her head in her hands. What a mess. She’d hate to think she was using him. Then again, hadn’t he done the same thing to her all those years ago?

Oh, please. She was so past over that now. He’d apologized, she’d forgiven. That was done and she wasn’t going to think about it anymore.

Her phone rang and she picked it up with a smile on her face.

“Hey, Stella.”

“I’m starving. Are you finished working for the night?”

“No, but I’m tired. And hungry, so I need to shut it down.”

“Great. How about pizza? There’s a hockey game tonight, the Travelers last away game before they head back to town. Want to watch with me?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’ll bring the pizza. Say a half hour?”