THIRTY
The entire arena exploded in pande-fucking-monium.
Bren whipped around, frantically seeking out his girls. Harper was already here, crashing into Remy’s arms before he fell to his knees and kissed the child swelling her belly, whispering something over and over in French.
Petrov was practically humping Isobel against the Plexi. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and her lips suctioned to his face. Even Cade and Dante were getting in on the act—about time those two offered a little PDA to the soap opera–hungry masses.
Still no sign of his girls.
He skated over to Harper. “Where are they?”
She looked over her shoulder. “They were right behind me. Where have—oh, there they are!”
And then he saw them, running down the tunnel, their beautiful faces shining back at him. Kendra walked behind them slowly with Drew beside her, but that was okay. Bren held no ill will toward him, and they had to figure out how to get along eventually.
Fuck, they’d won.
“Dad!” Franky yelled, and crashed into his outstretched arms. Cat joined in and twined herself around his neck.
“You won!” she screamed in his ear. “I knew you would.”
“Glad one of us did,” he said, laughing.
Over their heads, he shook hands with Drew and met his ex-wife’s eyes. “Thanks for coming to the game.”
A week ago, he’d flown to Atlanta, and against the advice of his lawyer, met with her one-on-one to tell her how their daughters’ custody would be handled from here on out. She’d fumed and railed and called him names, but he had her over a barrel, and she knew it.
She wouldn’t be the wife of this NHL champion, but he expected she’d land on her feet. Kendra was a survivor.
“Dad, Violet’s here,” Franky said. “We saw her up in the box.”
He stood, his mind crazed with missing her. With needing to see her and touch her and hold her close.
He had to find her.
A large palm landed on his shoulder and he turned to see Remy. “Come on, mon capitaine. You’re needed for the Cup presentation.”
Kendra smiled at him over their daughters’ heads. “I’ve got them.”
The next ten minutes were a blur. The commissioner spoke and a few other suits said their piece and then there she was, brought down on the red carpet by NHL brass wearing white gloves: the Stanley Cup. All shined up and ready for their greedy mitts.
It was his right as captain to raise it first, and as he skated to the pedestal where they’d placed it, his mind rewound to everything that had happened this year. Rehab, divorce, hell away from his girls, getting them back, making it to the play-offs against all odds.
Violet.
She was here somewhere in the building. She wouldn’t come to the final game of the season to support her family and leave without a word. She’d want to see it through.
He scanned the faces of his teammates, his coworkers, his soul brothers and sisters. They’d put up with his shit, and he couldn’t have done this without them. The commissioner congratulated the team and called out his name, but he was already skating back to his circle of truth before he’d laid a finger on the hardware.
“Remy,” he said to his friend, who had his arms wrapped around Harper. “I’d carry your woman and child, but I reckon you’d feel safer doing it yourself.”
“Captain, you have a trophy to lift,” Harper said, gesturing behind him.
“Aye, but not alone.”
Remy smiled in understanding. “C’mon, minou.” He lifted her heels a few inches off the ice, and holding her tight, skated over to the pedestal with Bren following him.
“What the hell? Remy, put me down!”
“Yes, boss.”
The commish, who had never exactly approved of a woman-owned team, looked on in semidisgust, but the man had to admit Harper Chase had done a helluva lot more for the Rebels—and hockey in general—than her old man had.
Usual form was for the commissioner to hand it off to the captain, but there was nothing usual about this Cinderella run to the finals and all the way to the winner’s circle. Bren took Harper’s hand, squeezed it, and placed it on the Cup.
“Thank you, Harper. For everything.”
“You bastard,” she said with a watery sniff. “You know how hormonal I am.” She lifted the Cup a few inches off the pedestal.
“Good enough,” he muttered, then he took over and raised it above his head. Damn, the fucker was heavy, but it was a weight he could handle. One he’d longed for. To raucous cheers—and a few boos because there were still some shitheads who hated him—he skated a couple of rings before passing it off to Remy.
“Merci, mon ami,” the Cajun said before he whooped and hollered like a little kid.
Tears streamed down Harper’s face as she watched her man achieve his life’s goal, or one of them, anyway.
“Is she still here?” he asked her.
Harper nodded, smiling through the tears. “She came back.”
“For her family.”
“For all her family.” Harper grasped his arms, but as she was short, even in heels, she could only reach his elbows. “While I’m glad I didn’t can your ass last year, Bren, if you don’t tell my sister you love her, I will trade you out at the first available opportunity.”
He had no doubt she’d do it, too.
But Bren didn’t need threats from Harper Chase-soon-to-be-DuPre. He just needed Violet.
Alamo now had the Cup and was howling his head off while Dante looked on indulgently. This could take a while, so it was a good thing Bren had something better to do.
He had the hardware. Now for the true prize.
At the far end of the tunnel the noise was deafening, yet Violet could still hear her pounding heart above it all as she paced outside the locker room.
Go out there. Go tell him you love him. Do it dramatically in front of a million people.
That’s what Harper had done in the full-blown view of the sports media. Isobel, too, with the team looking on as she told Petrov what a fool she’d been. Cade had come out during a press conference, for himself and his man. Dante had since claimed him right back.
All these emotionally stunted people of her acquaintance had somehow managed to get their heads out of their asses and tell the people they loved that they . . . well, loved them! And here she was, wandering backstage at the Cougars’ arena after the team she owned had won the Stanley freakin’ Cup.
Just do it. Year of the V, girl. Where V stands for Vagina, Victory, and . . .
“Violet.”
Oh, thank God. She turned to greet a bearded god. God himself, maybe, if the Almighty was Scottish and grouchy and beautiful.
“You won.”
“I did. We did.” He motioned between them.
She shook her head, suddenly shy. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You sure about that? Violet Vasquez, the mixer, the troublemaker, the bringer of fun? The woman who questions the status quo and pushes everyone on this team and in this family to do better? To be better. You’re underestimating your contribution to the Rebels.” He paused, then added a gruff, “To my happiness.”
“Of course you’re happy. You just won the Stanley Cup!”
“Doesn’t mean much without you, Vi.” His brow lined, his mouth skewed. “That night I told you what the lawyer said, what he’d advised, I was being torn apart. To come so far and to get so close to them again—I couldn’t think beyond that to a point where I could have everything I wanted. Cat, Franky, you—this life I imagined with us all. Fighting for my girls is something I’d only recently learned. Fighting for myself and for us was something I still needed to learn, and baby, I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”
She widened her eyes to stave off the tears. “This isn’t all on you, Bren. I—I panicked at the first sign of trouble. I didn’t want you to regret fighting for me. I had a hard time believing I was worth it, so I didn’t grab on to that sexy beard and pull you close. I could have told you I had your back, that we’d work it out together. Instead I convinced myself that walking away was doing you a favor. And when you didn’t stop me, I felt vindicated in every preconception I had about how men—how people—can’t be trusted. I thought I had a lucky escape not knowing my father, that none of those hurts he’d inflicted on Harper and Isobel could touch me. Shows what I know. I’m even more screwed up than them!”
“No, you’re not. Well, maybe a little, but you’re this family’s heart, with the blood of your sisters pumping through its chambers.”
She liked that. Not Clifford’s blood, but something more elemental. A feminine power she shared with the Chase women.
He stood about three feet away from her, balancing on his skates, but with the grace of a cat and the solidity of a mountain.
She took a step toward their future.
So did he.
“I was worried about my girls, about what Kendra could do to rip them from my arms. But I’m not going to let her get in the way of me living my life. Of this life I want to build with my daughters. With the woman I adore. I wasn’t ready for you, Violet. I wasn’t fully formed. You need a man who will give you 100 percent of his focus, who will treat you like the queen you are. It took me time to become that man. He stands before you.”
And this guy thought he had no words! Her heart leaped in all-consuming joy, before checking ever so slightly. Didn’t they still have a Kendra-sized problem? “You’d risk her going public with what happened?”
“I’ve already hit rock bottom. There are no more layers of hell to visit. If she wants to dig deeper and find one I don’t know exists, then she can go ahead. I’m not going to run from this, even if it means confessing my mistake to the world to get a jump on her.”
Another step from him.
One more from her.
“So I told her as much.”
“You—you’d tell everyone what happened?”
“I’d be honest. Tell my side. And while I might not be charged with a crime, I would be tainted, and that stink of scandal could result in me losing it all. The Rebels wouldn’t re-sign me. No other team would touch me.”
Oh my God. She saw it now. “You lose. She loses. No more alimony, no more anything.”
His smile was wry. “She could be the rich ex-wife of a Cup-winner or the poor ex-wife of a washed-up drunk.”
“But—but the Rebels would have stood by you once they heard your side of the story. I would have made sure of it.”
“She doesn’t know that. She can’t have it both ways. She can’t paint me as a villain and expect no consequences for her own life. I did something I’m finding it hard to forgive myself for, but if I have my girls, I can work on it. I can work on anything.”
She was so proud of him for coming to this realization. Love was the ultimate battle and the future was so worth fighting for.
He was barely inches from her now. “Thing is, I called her bluff. But I’d have gone through with it in a heartbeat and taken my chances in court. I know I have people on my side, an amazing support system with my team and my friends, and I hope that includes my woman. I need it to include my woman. Because I might have my daughters, but there’ll always be a hole that only one person can fill. I’ve been asking forgiveness for over a year, trying to make amends to everyone I’ve hurt, and I’ll do it for the rest of my life if it means you’ll spend it with me. Will you stand with me while I fight for my girls, Violet? For all my girls?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you over there and I’m over here?”
They were mere inches apart, but he was right: it felt like a giant chasm still existed between them. “I don’t know!”
“C’mere, lass.” His chest heaved, releasing what must have been a pent-up breath, and he gripped her face with both hands. His mouth sought hers, such hunger, such joy in it, and she gasped in relief.
He wanted her.
He would fight for her.
She would claw the heart out of anyone who tried to come between them.
“I love you, Bren,” she said when he let her up for air.
“Aye, well, I love you more, my valiant, vibrant, victorious Violet.”
And then he kissed her again so she couldn’t argue with him, as if his loving her more was even possible.
It wasn’t, and one day she’d tell him. For now, she’d climb her Scot like a tree and cling for dear, dear life.