“Thank you, Grand Forks.” I wave and walk off stage, removing my earpiece and taking the fresh towel Eddie offers. He reaches for my wires but pauses, glancing between me and Lana for confirmation.
“No more special encores tonight?” Lana teases.
“Not tonight,” I say with a tight smile. “You can pack it up, Eddie.”
Lana frowns. “You know I only want your happiness, right?”
“Of course.” I walk through the wings and down the corridor to my dressing room with Lana hot on my heels.
“Then just listen to him.”
“What?”
“Despite how it looks, I actually believe that Van didn’t do this. He’s pretty shaken, Stella.”
“Lana, I . . .” I reach for the handle, and she places her hand over mine.
“He’s in there.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“I guess security didn’t get the memo about banning him.”
“Why didn’t they get the memo?” I clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists.
“Because I never told them.”
Betrayal twists like a knife in my gut. The one person in this world who’s supposed to have my back has switched teams? “Why would you do that?”
“Because I think you need to see him. At least let him explain.”
“Fine, not that it’s going to change my mind.” I open the door, and Van turns around. He’s as imposing as I remember, but his shoulders are slumped. I trail my gaze up to his face. He has a black eye, and a cut on his lip. My masks slips. I furrow my brows in sympathy, and I swallow hard and resist the urge to go to him. After four long months, he’s standing in front of me, and I forget how to breathe.
No! I will not fall prey to that pretty lying, cheating face again. I school my features into what I hope looks like a badass bitch expression.
“Stella, baby. I didn’t do it.”
“So, what? Some bunny Photoshopped you kissing another girl?”
“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me! She swam over and just threw herself at me.”
I frown. It hurts seeing him defeated like this. It hurts even worse knowing that a part of that pain might be because of me. I mean, it’s not like anyone held a gun to his head and forced him to kiss another woman, but I don’t like seeing him this unhappy. I don’t like feeling this way either, so I have no idea where we go from here. “What happened to your face?”
“I got into it on the ice with that douchebag Karlsson.”
“Why?”
“Because he was talking shit about you. Asked if he could have a turn now that you were done with me.”
“God, what an asshole.”
“Country, baby. I didn’t touch that girl. There wasn’t a photo taken after, but I jumped back so fast she nearly drowned. Eli was there to play doctor.”
“Of course, he was.” I don’t know why, but I believe him. Maybe it’s because our lives can be whittled down to endless hours, minutes, and seconds of controlled chaos, so it doesn’t make any sense for him to waste precious time with me, a girl he’s bound to see once every four months, when he has so many other women throwing themselves at him. Maybe it’s just because looking into his eyes, seeing his sincerity and how broken up he is, I really do believe him. Perhaps that makes me an idiot, but I still trust this man, probably more than anyone—even Lana, and I trust her a whole lot. I might need to work on my communication skills, though. I feel the ice around my heart melt and I exhale noisily as I take a few steps toward him. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
A beat later I’m engulfed in his arms, my face buried in his chest as he breathes into my hair. “I’m sorry I’m such a screw up. I dropped my phone in the toilet bowl.”
“What?”
“It’s why I haven’t called you. Coach came in and interrupted our Skype sexing. I panicked. My phone took a dive, and I spent the next twenty minutes trying not to puke as I pulled it out of some other guy’s piss. I think there was a bit of jizz on it, too.” My eyes widen in horror. “That was mine.” He frowns. “I think.”
I press a hand to my mouth to cover my laughter. It’s not funny, but I can’t help laughing all the same. “And here I thought you were just freaked out that you’d accidently proposed to me.”
“You heard that, eh?”
“Yup.”
“I didn’t mean to . . . well, it just kind of—”
“Slipped out?”
“I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to, someday.”
“Relax, Van. It’s too soon for us to get married.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It is. Let’s just see where we wind up at the end of this tour and your season, okay? We don’t have to rush into anything.”
“I don’t wanna lose you, Stella, and I don’t want anyone else. The bunnies don’t matter. The money, the girls—I don’t care about any of it. I’ve done that too long, and now I found something real. I’m hanging onto it.”
I smile and lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him. He shoves me backward into my dressing table. Makeup and hair tools go flying, and he lifts me onto the counter and wedges himself between my legs. He kisses me stupid, and for once I’m glad he’s ruining my lipstick, because at least it’s not my mascara. He slides his hand up my dress and dips inside my panties. I throw my head back.
“Am I forgiven?”
“Van,” I say, as he trails kisses down my neck and across the cleavage spilling out of the top of my skin-tight dress.
“Please forgive me. I’m gonna make you come so hard, baby.”
“Van, wait.”
“No. I missed you too fucking much. I’m not waiting for shit.”
“I have a meet-and-greet,” I blurt out, wanting to get lost in his touch, his kiss, in the feel of him inside me, but knowing I can’t right now.
“What?”
“I have to go meet my fans.”
“Are you kidding me?” He searches my gaze, breathless and panting. “It can’t wait? I just got my hands on you.”
“There are sick kids in that group.” I know, if anything, that this is what will get him in the feels. I did a little research into him while I was whiling away the hours on the tour bus. He has a soft spot for sick and under-privileged kids. Maybe it has something to do with growing up with Emmett, or maybe it’s just the way he’s wired, but either way, my words have the desired effect. He straightens, cups my cheek, and with a dejected expression, he says, “Go. You can’t keep sick kids waiting.”
“You’ll stay, right?”
“I have to be back in Calgary by two p.m tomorrow, or I get fined.” He nods. “And possibly thrown off the team. Eli’s covering for me. Told the coach I got food poisoning, and I’m catching a later flight because I don’t want to make the whole team sick.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Well, I’ll miss you.”
Van frowns. “That’s it? You’re not going to beg me to stay with you?”
“No. That wouldn’t be fair.” I shrug and fight hard to keep tears from pricking my eyes. “I know you don’t care about the money, but you’ve got to get your head in the game.”
He smiles. “I think I will marry you after all.” I roll my eyes. “How long will your meet-and-greet take?”
“An hour, sometimes two if we’re swamped.”
“I can wait then.”
“You should get some sleep.”
“What are you, my coach?” He smiles, and every doubt I had melts away, just like that. Not because he’s a whole lot of pretty, but because I trust him. I believe him when he says he wouldn’t hurt me and that that girl was as shocking to him as she was to me. We’re both in the spotlight, and I know better than anyone after several years of my label trying to push Logan and I together that people will go to crazy lengths for a little media attention. I have to be patient with Van, and I have to learn not to take photos at face value. I believe him when he says he loves me, and I feel like an idiot for thinking he’d cheat on me. Van Ross is as taken with me as I am with him. Why else would he be here?
He holds my hand as we walk backstage to the media room for the meet-and-greet. It’s done up with posters and roses everywhere in my signature red, and for the first time I feel a little embarrassed at the fanfare because Van has never seen this side of my life. He lets go of my hand before we enter the room, pulls the ball cap farther down on his head, and melts into the background as several young kids run towards me. I’m engulfed in huge hugs that almost knock me off my heels, but I steady myself and crouch down to their level.
“Hi y’all.” I’m met with beaming smiles, and parents flashing pictures, which of course about gives Lana a heart attack because the paid photoshoots account for a huge portion of the money these meet-and-greets bring in, but I don’t care. I’m not going to be the person who tells them no.
After ten minutes, my legs are killing me in a squatting position so I lead the kids to a couch and make them all sit around me. A little girl no older than four with blond curls and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen climbs into my lap. Her mother shoots me an apologetic look, but I shake my head infinitesimally and squeeze her as tight as her air tube allows. She tells me her name is Sophia, and asks me to sing a song for her. I sing “Amazing Grace” because I think she’s everything that song embodies. She joins in on the chorus, but only gets out a few lines before she’s out of breath. When her mother tells her it’s time to get hooked up to her oxygen again, she turns in my lap and throws her chubby arms around me, squeezing my neck tightly.
I meet Van’s gaze across the room. He looks as torn up as I feel, and I wipe my tears away before she releases me, climbs off my lap, and into her mother’s waiting arms. Her mother smiles at me as if I’ve made their whole lives, which is ridiculous because I just stand on stage and sing songs. I don’t save lives. I don’t help people or put out fires, or feed the homeless. I just sing. That’s all I’ve got. That and money. I nod to Lana, and she smiles and jots a note on her clipboard.
Every meet-and-greet, we try to find at least one fan who we can give back to. She’ll talk to the mother and get an address, stating that we’d like to send them a signed gift pack, but instead we’ll do a little digging to find out how much money the family might need and write them a check. I may not be able to save this little girl’s life, but hopefully I can make it a little easier.
I chat with all the other kids and pose for photos with the fans who’ve paid for them, and just when we’re about to leave, one of the young girls notices Van and strides over. “I knew you’d be here. You know that hit you made on Ambrosio from the Detroit Red Wings last week was awesome.”
“Er . . . thank you,” he says, shooting me a look. “Are you a Crushers fan?”
“Meh, I’m a Pens fan. Crosby is my guy. He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re getting married.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, you wanna make your future husband-to-be jealous, and take a picture with me, eh? I’ll tweet it to him.”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure. He and I go way back.”
She narrows her eyes. “I thought you two were enemies, since that cheap shot you took in Pittsburgh back in 2014?”
“Hey, he had that coming. Besides, we might have a long-standing rivalry on the ice, but off it, he’s a decent guy,” Van says. “Don’t tell anyone that, though. If he finds out, all my credibility is shot to hell.”
“Okay, deal.”
Van poses for several pictures with the girl and even some of the adults, and then he takes my hand and presses a kiss to it before we leave the room, and I won’t lie. I think every woman within a thirty-mile radius just blew an ovary, or two, including Lana. I am no exception. I’d give it all up for this man in a heartbeat. I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next three months that we’re apart, but I’ll be giving his proposal some very serious thought.