20. Sabrina

Chapter 20

Sabrina

I'd been to the men's league All-Stars plenty of times over the years. Early on, it was to cheer for my father. Later, my brother and—one season, by the absolute skin of his teeth—my ex-husband.

This was the first year I would be playing in the tournament myself. It was only the fifth year our league had even had our own All-Stars; it had taken a few years for us to graduate from having an exhibition game at the men's All-Stars to having an All-Star tournament of our own. It made sense now that the women's league was rolling on its own momentum. We had a huge and growing fanbase. We were selling enough tickets to actually get respectable salaries instead of—as was the case in the first couple of seasons—needing second jobs to make ends meet. We didn't need the endorsement of the men's league in order to be perceived as legitimate.

The men's league did still endorse us, though, and they always sent a few players for some of the fun stuff during the skills competition, as commentators, and even just to sign autographs. The fans loved it, and honestly, so did the male players. If there was one thing all fans of this sport could usually agree upon, it was "more hockey = good."

So I wasn't at all surprised to see an enormous crowd outside the arena this afternoon. Players were arriving for the skills competition, and fans were packed in along either side of the long red carpet leading up to the players' entrance. Lila and I got out of the car, and immediately we had both fans and journalists calling our names. Reporters held out microphones and pointed cameras at our faces. Fans waved phones, pucks, and photos at us.

"Did major junior you ever think this would be us?" Lila asked quietly as we gravitated toward the fans.

"I hoped." I flashed her a quick smile, which she returned. "Now here we are."

"About damn time," she said just loud enough for me to hear.

"Agreed."

Then we were right against the edge of the red carpet, signing pucks, photos, jerseys, and anything else people wanted. We posed for selfies—some together, some on our own—and steadily made our way down the line. Of course we did the obligatory posing for the reporters, but as much as we could, we stuck to the fans. They were the reason we were here, after all.

And what could I say? There was something amazing—something downright addictive —about all these young girls with wide, starstruck eyes telling us they played hockey too and they hoped they'd be here someday.

"How long have you been playing?" I asked a petite blonde girl as I signed a puck for her.

"Since I was four," she said, grinning broadly. "I want to play like you!"

I smiled back. "Keep working at it! You'll get there!"

The hope in her eyes melted my heart. But then she glanced over her shoulder, and her smile faltered just a little. "My dad says I might be too small."

Behind her, a man who might've been in his thirties met me with a sheepish shrug.

I frowned. "How tall are you?"

"She's about four-foot-three," her dad said.

"And how old?"

"Eleven," the girl said.

I smiled and shook my head. "Do you know who Joanna Lawson is?"

The girl's expression lit up once again. "She's so cool!"

"Uh-huh, and she's only about four-foot-ten." I glanced at the girl's father, then back at her. "Are you fast?"

"I'm the fastest!"

I laughed. "Well, being small and fast is good. Keep practicing—you're not too small."

She squealed with delight. At least her dad had the decency to look chagrined, and he mouthed, "Thank you," before I moved on to the next fans. I hoped he really did get the message. Considering he was here with her and she was playing hockey at all, she already had a leg up on me when it came to support from her father. If he could stop wringing his hands about her height, she'd probably do just fine.

As I started down the line again, I realized Lila had been watching the whole exchange. When our eyes met, her soft smile did things I really didn't need to be thinking about right now. Just the fact that she'd accepted my invite for the weekend still had me off-balance.

Don't read to much into it, Sabrina. Friends travel together, too.

As we continued walking, Lila tilted her head slightly toward the girl and her dad. "Think she'll be on this side of the barrier someday?"

Grateful for something to focus on besides my suddenly spinning head, I shrugged. "Well, we got here. No reason she can't."

Lila's smile almost made me trip over my own feet, but I managed to keep my balance, and we continued down the line.

When we were nearly to the end, I glanced up ahead. There were some reporters waiting to interview us, and a few of the players from the men's league were milling around since they didn't really have anywhere to be for a while.

I caught a glimpse of my brother. Then another face caught my eye, and I stopped so abruptly, Lila almost ran into me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I…" No amount of media training could pull the "what the fuck?" out of my expression.

I hadn't expected to see him here. My brother, yes; he'd always been a vocal supporter of the WHPL, much to our father's dismay, and he'd texted me saying he was super excited about this weekend. Not a surprise to see his big grin as I came up the red carpet.

Seeing my ex-husband?

Ugh. Seriously?

Lila's hand on the small of my back both startled me into the present and blanked my brain, and I turned to her. Eyes wide, she asked again, "What's wrong?"

You're touching me. Please don't stop.

"Ugh… I'm good. I'm good." I shook myself, finally managing to school my face so I didn't look like a deer in the headlights. "Ty's here."

"Oh for fuck's sake," she muttered, unaware of my brain again jerking to a stop when her hand disappeared from my back. "Why is he here?"

"No idea." I pushed my shoulders back. "But he's not ruining tonight."

"No, I think he's ruined enough nights for you."

I snickered. "You're not wrong."

She laughed and elbowed me, and when I met her mischievous gaze, some of my irritation melted away. Funny how quickly she'd gone from being the object of my aggravation to the salve I needed when someone else got on my nerves.

We continued up the red carpet toward my brother and ex, and I counted myself lucky that Ty had been talking to a reporter during my mental record scratch. He hadn't noticed me staring at him, so he wouldn't be able to rub it in my face. Someone probably had noticed and would tell him about it later, but at least right now, he'd been characteristically oblivious.

As we inched closer, I hoped someone important would call him away and he'd be elsewhere when I reached the end of the carpet.

No such luck.

I was about ten feet away with Lila right beside me when Ty tilted his head and narrowed his eyes the way he always had when he was irritated with me. In an instant, my nerves about crossing paths with him gave way to pure annoyance.

"Well, look at that." His media smile had never looked so cold. "You made the All-Stars. Even if it's not the real All-Stars." He was clearly trying to make it sound like a joke to anyone who was listening, but I knew better.

"Mmhmm. I did." I forced myself to sound and look pleasant, if only because there were cameras and hot mics around. "So what brings you here? They have you as a guest commentator?"

The corners of his mouth twitched like he desperately wanted to scowl. It was admittedly a cheap shot—Ty's one attempt as a guest commentator had been an embarrassing disaster. He wasn't stupid by any means, but he was not comfortable in front of a camera like that.

After a second or two, Ty fixed his media smile into place. "Houston is campaigning to be included in the next expansion for a women's team. So some of my teammates and I are here to represent our team and the city." Though he had on that smile, his voice gave away how utterly displeased he was by this. Small wonder he couldn't hack it as a commentator.

Beside me, Lila gave a quiet laugh. "Is Houston actually in the running? Doesn't seem like there's much of a hockey culture there. Not anymore, anyway."

I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Houston had been a thriving hockey town for almost twenty years, but in the last five—not so much. Fans were vocally frustrated with the team's poor performance and worse management. The club had the cheapest season tickets in the men's league and could barely sell them.

Ty rolled his eyes. To me, he said, "It was nice to see you, Sabrina. Good luck tonight and tomorrow." Again with that media smile to sell it to the cameras and microphones, but I knew him too well not to catch the sarcasm.

He turned to go, and I called to his back, "Good luck against New York next week."

Even his suit jacket couldn't hide the ripple of irritated tension that went through him, but he kept walking.

I watched him go, then shook myself and continued inside. I wasn't proud of the interaction. The whole mean girl thing wasn't my style. But damn if Ty didn't bring out the cattiness in me.

"New York?" Lila whispered as we walked. "Is that a nerve?"

I laughed. "Ooh, yeah. Houston is on a multi-year losing streak against New York. He hates playing against them." Humor fading, I glanced back in the direction he'd gone. Then I stood aside, out of the flow of traffic, and chewed my lip. "I… kind of feel bad for picking at him."

"Why?" Lila tilted her head. "Not to sound like a kid, but… he started it."

I managed to laugh but with a lot less feeling than before. "I know, but… I don't know. I just feel like…" I gnawed my lip again.

"Don't do that to yourself," she said softly. "He was an asshole to you when you were married, and he was setting up to be an asshole to you just now. You had every right to shut him down before he had a chance to."

I glanced at her. "So why do I feel so bad for being catty?"

"Did he make you feel bad every time you stood up to him while you were married?"

"I…" I wavered on my feet a little. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."

"Right. So you're conditioned to just take his crap and then feel bad when you have the audacity to dish it back." She tugged me into the flow of traffic again, and with that hand on my back again, she gently propelled me forward. The contact made goose bumps spring up under my suit, and my brain record-scratched so hard I almost didn't hear her speak. "If you went out of your way to stomp on his raw nerves unprovoked, then yeah, I could see saying you're the problem." Shaking her head, she added, "You're just not putting up with his bullshit anymore."

I exhaled, letting her words—and let's be real, her hand on my back—soothe me and ease me down from the rafters. "You're right. Maybe eventually I'll learn not to feel like crap when I don't just take it."

"You will." She flashed me a wicked grin, her beautiful eyes sparkling with mischief. "And if I'm there, you'll have backup, which means he'll have two catty bitches to deal with." She winked. "If memory serves, he's not that great at defending against a two-man rush."

The laughter that poured out of me felt amazing, and we continued into the venue.

Bringing Lila as my plus one had been the best idea ever.

With her nearby, it would be a lot harder for me to even notice Ty.

I managed to avoid Ty and his attitude for most of the day. And when we were in the same place, there were usually enough witnesses and recording devices present to keep us both from letting the cracks show. Plus I was pretty sure he wanted nothing to do with Lila, who was there most of the time.

Most of the time.

Just my luck, as I was leaving a photo shoot, I was alone. A reporter had asked Lila for an interview, and I was due to meet up with her after we were both finished.

I stepped out of the room where the shoots were being done, and I took out my phone. The photographers are done with me. Where do you want to meet up?

No response right away, so she was probably still in her interview. That, or she was somewhere she couldn't hear her phone. Either way, there was no hurry, so I leaned against the wall and thumbed through notifications and social media. I'd been warned that the All-Stars meant nonstop people and activity, and I was grateful for a moment to catch my breath.

Shame it didn't last.

There were people walking by in either direction. Someone in heels and in a hurry. Someone else in dress shoes walking at a more sedate pace while talking on his phone. A small group of people heading someplace on a mission.

But somehow, a set of footsteps hit my senses and made me look up from my phone. Maybe because it was a familiar gait. Maybe because I realized the person was coming toward me.

For a second I thought it might be Lila, even though I already knew it wasn't her. Wrong shoes. Wrong cadence.

No, it was…

Oh, for Christ's sake. Yeah, Ty was coming toward me, and he looked pissed.

I straightened against the wall as I pocketed my phone. I didn't say anything, though; I didn't want him to be able to blame me for igniting a confrontation, and I sure as hell didn't feel like giving him a polite hello.

He stopped a polite distance away, but he was still closer than I would've liked. "We need to talk."

"Do we?"

"Yes." His lips peeled back as he growled, "I'm tired of you talking shit about me to the media."

I blinked. "I don't talk about you at all."

"Bullshit you don't," he hissed just loud enough for me and no one else to hear. "You've told at least five reporters that you can play hockey now that we're divorced."

I stared at him, then huffed a humorless laugh. "Nice to see you're keeping up on articles about me. But also—that isn't exactly a lie ."

He worked his jaw so hard I was surprised I couldn't hear his teeth grinding. "You could at least stop telling people I wouldn't let you play hockey."

I gave him a sarcastically innocent look I wouldn't have dared deploy during our marriage. "Why not? It's true, isn't it?"

He tsked and rolled his eyes. "It makes me look like an asshole."

"Well, if the truth makes you look like an asshole…"

Ty huffed sharply. "Seriously, Sabrina?"

"Am I wrong?"

Another eyeroll. "For fuck's sake, you don't—"

"People ask me why I retired from hockey and why I decided to come back," I snapped. "It's a valid question. If you didn't want to be part of that narrative, you could've just—"

"So I'm the bad guy because I wanted a wife?" He sneered. "If I wanted to live with another hockey player, I'd move in with one of my teammates."

"Oh, stop it." My turn for a passive aggressive eyeroll. "I wanted a husband, too, but I wasn't at all threatened by you playing the same sport I did."

His laugh was sharp and caustic. "You wanted a husband, huh? That's not what I've been hearing." He narrowed his eyes. "That why you brought Hamilton with you? Because you want a"—he made air quotes—"husband?"

The response that came to the tip of my tongue was rude to say the least, and I bit it back.

But then I remembered the conversation I'd had with Lila. Why should I avoid his landmines when he danced all over mine?

So… fuck it.

"Well, when we got married," I said evenly, "I did want a husband. But three years with you finally broke through a lifetime of denial." I flashed him a brilliant smile. "Thanks for that! Should I tell reporters and fans that instead of the part where you wouldn't let me play hockey?"

The shock and anger in his face was almost too satisfying for words.

Then he swore, shook his head, called me something that didn't need to be repeated, and stalked away.

As he disappeared down the hall, I pushed out a breath, trying to ignore the jittery comedown from the adrenaline surge. I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. How had I ever been married to that man?

Another set of footsteps broke away from the sparse traffic, but when I looked up this time, relief almost knocked my knees out from under me. Relief, and something I did not need to be thinking about when we'd be sharing a room tonight.

"Hey." Lila's brow was knitted with concern. "Everything okay?" She gestured down the hall. "I saw you guys talking, but…"

I swallowed as I rolled my shoulders. "It's fine. He was being an ass, but… I told him off."

"I saw that, and I'm glad you did." The concern lingered. "But the look on your face while you two were talking, it was…" She bit her lip.

"What?"

Lila glanced in the direction he'd gone again, then shifted her weight. "Okay, you can tell me if it's none of my business, but…" She studied me. "Was he ever, um… unsafe? Like…?"

I could read between those lines well enough, and I shook my head. "No. He never raised a hand to me, and I never thought he would." I exhaled, deflating as the memories pushed down on my shoulders. "He'd just get… loud. It scared me. Not like he'd actually touch me, but…"

"But like there's a man getting angry and loud right in your face," she said softly. "I think that would scare anyone."

The validation hit me in a soft spot, and I had to swallow hard as I nodded. "Living with that—it sucked."

"I can imagine." She searched my eyes. "Do you, um… Do you think he might've picked now to confront you as a way of messing with your head for tonight?"

I tensed. That hadn't even crossed my mind, but now that she mentioned it… "That asshole ."

"Ugh." Lila took my elbow. "Come on. Let's go eat, and then we can do a little skating to get your mind back in the game."

I blinked. "You… want to help me practice for tonight?"

Her smile was cuter than it had any right to be. "I want to skate, because I'm a hockey player at a hockey event and I'm not playing hockey."

Rolling my eyes, I laughed. "Of course, it's all about you, rink rat."

"Absolutely. Now let's go."

Feeling lighter than I had just a moment earlier, I pushed myself off the wall, and we started toward the elevators. Yeah, Ty probably had intended to throw me off my game. He'd known while we were dating that picking a fight with me on game day would torpedo my performance, and it had taken me an embarrassingly long time to catch on to what he was doing.

Thank God Lila had picked up on it this time.

Nice try, Tyler. Your bullshit won't work when she's got my back.