Chapter 36

36

Debbie looked around the box and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my. This is …” She turned to Georgia, tears in her eyes. “Too much. I can’t believe you’ve done this for us.”

A petite blonde in a gorgeous Natori sheath dress approached them. “Mrs. Draven? I’m Harper Chase-DuPre. We have a prime spot for your father over here near the window.”

Debbie blinked and took Harper’s outstretched hand. The woman was a legend in the NHL, this city, and the world of women kicking ass. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. Thanks so much for organizing this and for a Game 7, no less!”

“Well, you can thank Tara and Georgia.” She leaned over Jim and curled her small hand around his frail one. “Welcome, Mr. Dixon, I hear you’re a big fan.”

He peered up at her with rheumy eyes. “The day you won the Cup, and your husband lifted you on that ice was the third best day of my life. After my wedding day and my Debbie screaming her way into the world.”

“One of my best days, too.” Harper smiled. “Let’s hope we have more of them ahead of us.”

Debbie gripped her dad’s shoulder. “You old softie.”

One of the box assistants led the way to a dedicated spot by the window. The Rebels boss lingered behind with Georgia. “Sorry we haven’t met officially yet. I hope you’ve recovered from the accident.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” She touched her forehead and the healing scar. “Thanks for the lovely gift basket.”

Harper waved it off, her gaze following Jim and his family as they were settled near the window. “This is a kind thing you’ve done. How do you know them?”

“I met them through Cherish the Days.”

“Is that part of your parents’ foundation? I’m a big fan of the work they do.”

Georgia smiled, and instead of answering directly, said, “I’m sorry Tara couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, her little one is sickly with a cold.” Harper regarded her with a full, pointed appraisal. “I’m glad you came tonight. I like to meet with new people in the org.”

“The org?”

“You’re married to one of my players. That makes you part of the org.”

“You really needn’t carve out time for me.” Worried that came off as ungenerous, she added quickly, “I’m sure you must be very busy.”

“I am, but I always have time to ensure the people who mean the most to my boys feel welcome.” She pressed her hand against Georgia’s arm. “Call Casey and let’s get tea on the schedule.”

Georgia could only nod. The people who mean the most to my boys. Apparently, she was included in that sacred group.

Banks grabbed his gym bag and walked out of the dressing room.

The Rebels had finally put it away in overtime and now they were on to Round 2. Everyone was heading to the Empty Net to celebrate, but a few of the guys had been asked to say hi to some fans post-game. He shot off a message to Georgia, telling her to come to the bar. It was time he showed his wife off properly.

She had spent the game in the owners’ box, so he was surprised to see her in the visitors’ reception room, a coffee cup in her hand (peppermint tea, he guessed), chatting away to a dark-haired woman in jeans and a Rebels jersey and an older man in a wheelchair.

Spotting him, she waved him over. “Congratulations, Big Guy!”

He’d just won a Game 7, and his gorgeous wife was on hand to greet him. Did it get better than this?

It could.

He kissed her because he wanted to, and no one was on hand to tell him this wasn’t real.

“Thanks, Peaches,” he murmured against her mouth after he’d kissed the stuffing out of her. Her pupils were dilated, and she looked fairly stunned.

She blinked and shook herself. “Dylan, this is Debbie.”

He nodded at the woman standing beside Georgia, who was wide-eyed after his performance—and not the one on the ice.

“It’s so amazing to meet you. We didn’t want to take advantage, but when Georgia invited us, we jumped at the chance.”

“Of course I’m going to use my connections for good.” Georgia squeezed Banks’s hand. “Dylan, I want you to meet someone. This is Jim Dixon, Debbie’s dad. He’s a big fan of the Rebels, and of you.”

Banks met the sharp gaze of the wheelchair-bound man, clearly sick with something that would soon kill him.

“Mr. Dixon, you’ve come on a good night.”

“Certainly have. You played a barnburner out there, son.”

Georgia inched closer to him. “Banks, Jim was in the Army and did three tours of Iraq.”

“We’re grateful for your service, sir.”

Jim nodded, then started coughing. “No need to ‘sir’ me. I hear your dad served as well.”

“He did. Second Battalion, First Infantry out of Fort Washington.”

Jim nodded thoughtfully. “They had a bad go of it. Your dad see you play?”

“Not professionally. But he saw me during my junior years. He was a pretty good player himself.”

Jim’s daughter jumped in. “So’s Dad. He taught us all to play. Made us hockey mad as well.”

Banks smiled at her. “If you’re going to be mad about anything, hockey is probably the best thing.”

He took one look at Georgia and immediately revised that in his head. Georgia was the best thing.

After a few minutes, Jim started to flag. Georgia shared a look with Debbie and within seconds, she was on her phone, texting.

“The car will pick you guys up at the west entrance.” She hugged Debbie and her husband. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Debbie’s eyes were shiny. “This was amazing. Thank you, Georgia. For everything.”

Georgia leaned over and whispered something in Jim’s ear that had him chuckling. Then she kissed his cheek, exchanged goodbyes, and watched as they headed out. A few people remained, fans brought in by various charities. Part of Banks’s job was to glad-hand, but it wasn’t Georgia’s. Regardless, she stuck around asking everyone how they’d enjoyed the game and impressing all with her cheer and charm.

Finally, after one too many ogles of his wife by supposed fans, he’d had enough. “I need a word with you.”

She looked alarmed as he grasped her hand and pulled her into the corridor, then around a corner where he pinned her against the wall.

“How do you know those people?”

“Jim and Debbie?”

“Yeah.”

She blushed. He knew it.

“You’ve been helping them somehow.”

“Nothing much. Just a few visits, small gifts, that kind of thing.” He continued to stare until the moment she relaxed and let go. “I work with an organization that brings birthday gifts to people who are dying.”

To say he was stunned was an understatement. “Georgia, that’s amazing.”

“I don’t know about that. There are a lot of organizations that help with bucket lists and last wishes. Take someone to a ball game or Disneyland, but I wanted to do something more understated and personal.”

He trapped her hand between them. “How often do you do this?”

“Two or three times a week. I show up with a card and something small. Sometimes they have family. A lot of times they don’t. It’s usually a one-and-done deal, but Jim …” She smiled through teary eyes. “He’s still here after a year, Dylan. He probably won’t last long. You saw how fragile he is. But working with him and Debbie—sure it’s not even work.”

“What you’re doing is a good thing.”

Another watery smile. “Getting to know them has given me an idea for what I want to do. A charity for wishes, but for the caregivers. They suffer almost as much as the loved ones in their care. Their lives are so taken up by this dreadful thing that’s happening—the slow dying of someone they love.”

Like Dani. His heart keened, amazed at how this tiny woman could house such a big heart.

She went on. “There are caregiver support groups, but they’re mostly focused on the patient, the person at the center. I want to do something practical for the people on the edges. The ones who are forgotten in all this.”

Georgia had been forgotten, and she wanted to make sure it didn’t happen to other families.

“You’ve been working hands-on with these people who need it, and your parents don’t even know, do they?”

She looked embarrassed. “They want me to do something that they can control. That’s all about Dani. I want to honor Dani, too, but I also want to?—”

“Carve your own path.”

She nodded.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I did. I told you I wanted to create my own charity.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you do this .” He waved back behind him toward the reception room where his wife just made a dying man’s wish come true.

“I didn’t want to …” She trailed off.

“Toot your own horn? Look like you were self-serving? Show me your beautiful heart?”

She peeked up at him with the gaze of a puckish sprite. “Now you know.”

But there was so much more. “I want to learn you, Georgia.”

Her eyes flashed, all that blue turning to gaslight. She remained silent, so he leaned in close, his lips close to hers.

“I want to learn everything about you. Not just Georgia, the flash-card version.”

Her lips trembled. “What if you don’t like what you find?”

“What if I like it even more?”

She snatched a quick breath. “No one can be completely known. People need secrets for self-preservation.”

He understood that. His secrets—injuries, dreams, deep, dark desires—were the things that kept him focused on his goals. The Cup. Ending his career on a high.

But he had other secrets. Wishes for something of his own, a family that belonged to him instead of the other way around. A woman at the center of his world.

Georgia was not that woman. She couldn’t be. Yet she’d thrown herself into the role of wife with gusto.

The role. An acting gig. But every second with her helped him separate it out. Showed him a different Georgia. A woman who wanted to step out of the long shadow of her sister.

Step into the light. Maybe with him.

“Self-preservation is important, but so’s letting go of some of the burdens that come with that weight. Because it’s heavy, Georgia, keeping it all in.”

She stroked gentle fingers through his beard. “And how are you doing, Big Guy?”

His wife understood him so well.

“My shoulder’s aching. But you touch me, and I feel …” He let it go, the tension in his gut that kept everything coiled tight. “You take my mind off it. Off all of it.”

He had just won Game 7 of Round 1 and lived to fight another day. Even better, he had this beautiful woman in his bed, his home. His life.

The coven was right. Consider him obsessed.

“Look at us. Com-mun-i-cat-ing .” She dragged the word out, making him laugh.

“Like we’re married or something.” The thought of hitting a bar no longer appealed. He would much rather celebrate between Georgia’s lovely thighs. “Well, wife, let’s go home and communicate.”