The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(27)

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“No, I’m sorry. You know, it’s a total conversation killer when I bring up the dead wife.”

His dark humor pulled shocked laughter out of me.

His tone became more serious. “I loved her. With all my heart. She was everything to me and when she left me, I didn’t think I would recover. But now, as much as I love her, I just want to get past that. When you are widowed, it becomes part of your identity, and frankly, I’m tired of it. Tired of the pitying looks and tired of feeling sad.”

I thought about my mom and how I felt when she passed away. “I get it. I felt the same way when my mom died.”

“Right? You mourn. You feel awful, more awful than you’ve ever felt, but then one day, you get damn sick of your own pain.”

I wasn’t used to having a man share so openly with me. “So, are you getting past it?”

He thought about that question. “Sort of. I’m focusing on doing things that make me happy. My wife was one of the happiest people I knew, and the best way I know to honor her life is to find my happiness again.”

“That’s nice.”

He glanced down at me. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out what I should share. “I work at a sports agency. My boss is actually the agent. I’m her assistant.”

He clutched his heart. “I love sports. I am a hockey addict. Tell me she deals with hockey players.”

I gave a wry smile. “We have professional hockey clients.”

“What? You’re officially the most famous person I know.”

“Hardly. Working in the agency, you quickly realize that everyone is human.”

“Don’t spoil the fantasy,” he chided. “In my mind, professional athletes are the closest we have to gods walking on this earth.”

I rolled my eyes. “I assure you that is not the case. Besides, I don’t love sports.”

He stopped walking. “I’m not sure we can be friends.”

I laughed.

He added, “How can you work in a sports agency and not love sports?”

“I don’t need to love sports to do my job.”

“I heard a rumor that there is a professional athlete that lives on this street. A hockey player. I still haven’t figured out which house or which player, but I’m on it.”

We were approaching Mica’s house when he drove his Porsche into the driveway right before us.

“Holy shit, do you know who that is?” Andrew stopped walking and watched in awe as Mica got out of his car.

Mica turned his head, caught sight of me and paused.

I tried to think of how to tell Andrew that Mica was my soon-to-be husband, but Andrew didn’t give me a chance.

Andrew ducked his head towards my ear, speaking excitedly. “That is Mica Petrov! He’s the greatest defenseman in the league. Yes, I’m biased, but he’s a phenomenal player. I heard he got suspended, but no one knows why.”

Mica’s eyes narrowed on us.

Go in the house, Mica. Just go in the house.

Instead, he moved down the driveway towards us, and the look on his face told me he wasn’t impressed.

“Oh my God, he’s coming to talk to us.” Andrew continued to speak in a low, excited tone. “Do you think I should ask him for his autograph?”

Mica stopped before us and looked between the two of us. He didn’t look remotely neighborly. He looked ornery as fuck.

“Hi.” My stupid voice sounded nervous. Which implied guilt. Even though I had nothing to feel guilty about.

Without missing a beat, Andrew turned back to Mica, a massive smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Andrew. I live a couple doors up. I’m such a huge fan. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Mica’s expression didn’t budge an inch.

Andrew didn’t seem to notice or care. “And this is Charlie. She works at a sports agency. Or so she tells me.”

Mica’s gaze flicked back to me. His expression hardened. “Charlie is my fiancée.”

Fiancée. That word did not sound right coming out of his mouth. He actually managed to make it sound like a swear word.

A long pause ensued before Andrew recovered. Shock marred his face as he turned to me, almost accusing. “You never told me you were engaged!”

Andrew couldn’t have made this situation worse if he tried.

My laugh sounded forced. “Well, we didn’t really have time to share that much.”

He nodded and said with sincerity, “Well, hopefully, that will change. I meant what I said. You’re invited out to walk with us any night of the week.”

I needed to end this conversation. I bent over Sandy, loving how she lifted her face to mine. I gave her furry face a good rub and said, “Be a good girl.”

Mica stood, waiting.

“Thanks, Andrew.” I glanced over my shoulder. Mica, without saying a word to Andrew, followed behind me up the driveway.

Mica opened the door and then held it for me. I kicked off my shoes and decided that this was one of those moments when Mica could use some alone time. I started to make a beeline towards my bedroom, but his voice behind me stopped me cold.

“Who was the guy?”

I spun around, working to be casual. “I went for a walk and met his dog first. He invited me to join the neighborhood dog-walking group.”