Page 3 of The Rebound Plan

I gasp and jerk away from him.

Russ catches me and spins me around, pressing me against the wall. Crowding against me.

He murmurs secrets in my ear.

I choke on a sob, and he just holds me tight, pressing me against the wall, until the fight leaves my body and I sag.

Then he turns me around and pulls me into his chest, hugging me even tighter than he pressed me against the wall.

“Why did you…” The words clog in my throat. I hope he can read my mind with the rest of the unspoken question.Why did you get physical like that?

After a long pause, he grates out, “You looked like you needed it.”

I have to fight against this, because I hate what it would mean if he’s right. “You don’t know what I need."

"Maybe I don’t. But neither does your husband."

CHAPTER 2

RUSS

Five weeks earlier

The hockey season is measured in games, and if you’re lucky, wins. If you aren’t, then injuries. Eighty-two games in the regular season. One stint on the injured reserve list for an upper body injury. Sixteen wins in the playoffs to make it all the way to hoisting the Cup over your head.

The hockey off-season, on the other hand, is measured in weddings. And if you’re single and lucky, phone numbers.

Luck has not been on my side this summer. Or last season. Or any season in the sixteen years I’ve been playing professional hockey.

And yet I still believe, deep down, what I learned from my juniors coach—if you’re really stuck into it, if you’re competitive enough, and you’ve got your teammates’ backs, eventually the luck will turn your way. “It’s hard work, boys,” he would say. “Hard work and team work. Never give up on that. Be fucking relentless.”

Last year, we came really fucking close.

Not close to getting the Cup. Notthatclose.

We shat ourselves in the first round, unfortunately. Our playoffs were measured in four losses, and then we were kicked to the curb for wedding season to start earlier than we wanted it to.

But in the regular season, we had the right combination. We worked so fucking hard. We pulled ourselves together as a team, climbing the standings and finishing on a hot streak. And in that streak, at the end of the season, that’s where we got really close.

That’s also where it ended.

But we had the right combination. We could taste it.

All summer, in between the inevitable weddings, all we’ve talked about is getting that energy back for this coming season.

And now everyone else is finished with social events.

Me? I have one more wedding. It’s in progress, actually, and I’m the big dummy paying more attention to his phone and the group chat than I am to the party around me.

But dancing has started and I don’t feel like it.

I’ve been miserably in love with someone off-limits for a year, so I’m not yet ready to browse the singles table. Also, nobody wants to dance with a six-foot-five enforcer. I wear a neon sign that screamsthis guy has no rhythm.

So I’ve succumbed to the team group chat.

The vast majority of us keep training pretty hard in the off-season, but there’s “stay fit and keep skating”, and then there’s “training camp is around the corner and we want vengeance for how last year ended.”

Two different modes, and our captain is officially shifting gears. He starts with the smaller group chat for the older players, those of us who aren’t going to get waived out of training camp.

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