20. Sophie

20

SOPHIE

They lost. Again. The Devil Birds need to win the remaining three games of this wild card round to remain in the hunt for the Dickinson Cup. The next two games will be back in Atlantic City, so they’ll have home-ice advantage. Trevor hasn’t said anything aloud, but I can tell by his slumped shoulders when he thinks no one’s looking that he thinks their season is doomed. Even with a hockey-playing brother, I never knew how superstitious hockey players are with their rituals and lucky socks and stuff. Trevor’s mumbling about how things he's done all season long are no longer working.

He’s started talking in his sleep about how maybe they’ve been right all along and he doesn’t belong on the team. That he’s not good enough and only on the team because of nepotism and the rest of the team has carried him all season long. It breaks my heart to hear him say those things, for him only to feel vulnerable enough to share it when he’s asleep and unaware. There’s nothing I can do for him to make it better other than hold him and whisper back that he’s good enough, he deserves to be there, he’s an important part of the team’s success. I hope my words sink into his subconscious and quiet the nastiness his mind conjures up when he’s not strong enough to fight back.

Five more days. That’s all I have with Trevor. We’ve started to learn the choreography of our dance for the finals tomorrow. It’s been two days since my injury during dress rehearsal. My ankle is healed, and I’m cleared to dance. Bless shifter healing. I’m taking Trevor’s strengths—literally and artistically—into account while planning the choreography, including lots of lifts, which will help me not put too much stress on my ankle. Even though it’s healed, I know the risks of reinjury if I put too much strain on it too soon.

We’re alone in the barn’s dance studio. We do our taped rehearsals with Nigel at Devil’s Den but having private time to dance, just the two of us, without having to filter anything, is freeing.

“Argh!” Trevor yells, pulling at his hair in frustration because he missed a step.

“Hey,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his pec. “It’s okay.”

His eyes are closed as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Obviously he’s not, but I don’t know if it’s because of dance or hockey or us.

“Five days,” he says.

My breath catches. “What?”

“Five days until the finale. Of the show.” In a softer voice, he adds, “Of us.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “That’s what we agreed to. It’s the right thing to do. To drag it on would only hurt you.” There’s no holding back the sadness in my voice.

“Hurt me? What do you mean?” His brows draw together as he looks down at me. I step out of his arms and start to pace. If he’s holding me while I tell him the truth, it will break me when he lets me go.

He holds out his hand, and in a moment of weakness, I place mine in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “What do you mean about hurting me?”

I pull my hand from his, my shoulders hunched under the weight of what I need to tell him.

“Soph?”

“We agreed it was just going to be for the run of the show. A fling,” I say.

“We did,” he says evenly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Trevor. I can’t give you what you want.” I swallow heavily, trying to keep my sobs from bubbling up.

“What is it you think I want?”

I let out a shuddering breath. “Marriage, kids, a wife at home. I can’t do that, Trevor. I can’t be that woman. I don’t think I ever want children. I’m selfish. I want my career. My mother sacrificed years of dancing to raise us. My father’s horses and their races were more important than dance competitions. She trained me and Ian, and that’s when she started performing again. But that’s just because she was there for us. We were still the focus. It wasn’t until we were all grown that she joined the show.” She shakes her head. “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. No matter how much I love you.”

My hands fly to my mouth, and I can feel my eyes widen in shock. Crap. I didn’t mean to say that last part. I do love him. But I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

I must have shocked Trevor too. That is the only reason that damn man should be laughing at a time like this. At least I don’t have to worry about tears anymore—the way my blood is starting to boil is evaporating them.

“Thrilled you find this so amusing, Trevor. Forget I said anything.” I turn and walk over to my phone to restart the song. We may as well get back to dancing. That’s all that matters now.

“No,” he says, jumping in front of me and grabbing my hands. He raises them to his lips and kisses the backs of them gently.

“My darling Sophie. I’m laughing because you are so incredibly wrong. I don’t want kids anytime soon, if ever. I want to focus on my hockey career and be free to travel. I don’t want to be tied down. Metaphorically. Literally, could be fun sometime. Our safe word would be pineapple.”

That gets a laugh out of me.

“Seriously. I grew up as an afterthought. I was a mistake. My parents love me, but I messed up their plans. They took care of me physically and materially, but emotionally, they were past the little kid stage. They were happy to have my aunts and uncles care for me. Put me in whatever activity would keep me busy and out of their hair. I won’t ever do that to a child. I like kids, but I don’t want to give up what I enjoy for them. One of the things I really like about kids is the ability to give them back. I don’t know if my opinion will ever change. I know how it is for wolf shifters. We’re supposed to want kids and a pack. Especially female wolf shifters. You come from a large family. I assumed that’s what you’d want.”

I blink up at him. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You don’t want to get married and have kids?”

He shakes his head. “Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever. That’s why I wanted a fling. I didn’t want to lead you on and have you expecting me to propose or want kids.” He leads me over to the chairs in the corner of the studio and kneels in front of me. I open my legs to accommodate him scooting closer.

“Sophie, I love you too. These past couple of months with you have been wonderful. I don’t want to stop seeing you. I know we both have our careers, and that means we won’t have a traditional relationship, but I don’t want to be with anyone else. We’re together whenever we can be. I can come to you when the hockey season is over. What do you think?”

“Yes, absolutely yes!” I exclaim, wrapping my arms around him before kissing him passionately. I could do this forever. I want to do this forever.

But we have five days until the finale. We need to focus.

Reluctantly, I pull back from our kiss. “Now that we have that settled, we can spend the next five days getting this dance perfect. Okay?”

He sighs but nods. “Okay, but after the five days, no more using dance as an excuse to put off talking about our future.” The wink he gives lets me know he’s teasing.

“What is it with your family and this song?” Trevor asks as we take our opening positions. We’re dancing to a slowed-down version of “(I’m Gonna Be) 500 Miles” by The Proclaimers. We’ve gone over the moves by counts and now we need to start doing it to music.

My brow furrows as I look up at him. “What?”

“Mac and Randi sang a duet version on New Year’s Eve.”

My heart melts hearing that. I wish I’d been there early enough to see it. “Really? That’s so cool! You know The Proclaimers are Scottish, right?”

He nods.

“It’s our father’s favorite song and what he’d sing to us when it was his turn to put us to bed. You’ve heard him, he has a deep, rumbly burr. My earliest memory is being held by him with my cheek resting on his chest as he sang and feeling it vibrate through me. I felt so safe and loved. I don’t know if my brothers felt the same way, but Dec is the most sentimental of us, so I could see him liking it for similar reasons.”

He nods, looking thoughtful. I wonder if knowing the personal connection I have to the song makes a difference. We start in opposite corners of the dance floor and jog toward each other, clasping hands as we pass and turning to face one another. He pulls me toward him and swings me into an inverted lift before gently lowering me back to my feet. The whole routine is a lot of pushing and pulling, pretty reminiscent of our relationship. But we always come back together even after we’re apart. We do a lot of lifts, but they aren’t the acrobatic and cheer lifts we’ve done previously—these are more ballet than football field. We don’t even discuss the moves—we do them instinctually, knowing what’s right for the music and for each other. It’s as if admitting our feelings for each other has torn down the wall between us and made dancing together effortless. I’ve never danced from the heart the way I am with this dance. To save my ankle, we do a lot of turns on my other foot and any landings are done softly. I know I’m technically healed, but I don’t want anything to jeopardize being able to dance on tour this summer.

Our ending pose is with us sitting side by side, facing each other. Trevor pulls me into his lap and kisses the daylight out of me. That’s not how we’re going to do it in the ballroom, but for today, for us, it’s the perfect ending. Or beginning. Whatever it is, it’s perfection.