Page 153 of The Pucking Arrangement

“Blue skirt and purple shirt,” she counters. “With the butterfly clips.”

I nod, ruffling her hair. “Deal.”

I leave her to get dressed, but the ache follows me down the hall.

Because this? This routine?

It’s a poor fucking substitute for what I really want.

Erin.

Standing in the kitchen wearing my T-shirt, her hair a mess, her sleepy smile just for me.

I blink hard, shoving the thought away as I step into the kitchen. A picture of warmth and comfort, sunlight spills through the windows, gilding the countertops in gold.

Galina moves with grace, a spatula in one hand, her posture as perfect as if she’s still on stage.

She doesn’t turn.

“There he is,” she says smoothly. “Our champion.”

“Just a regular season game,” I mutter, reaching for the coffee she’s already poured.

“Risochka said you scored the winning goal.” She puts abliniinto the pan. The sizzle punctuates her words. “Very impressive.”

I grunt, noncommittal. It was just a garbage goal. A rebound that ricocheted off my skate. Nothing worth remembering.

Galina turns then, sharp eyes sweeping over me. Taking in the dark circles, the tight jaw. Cataloging me.

“You look terrible,” she announces flatly.

“Thanks.” I take a scalding sip of coffee. “That’s what every man wants to hear at seven in the morning.”

She waves her spatula like she’s swatting away my bullshit.

“When did you sleep last? Three days ago?”

“I sleep fine.” Another lie.

Her eyebrows lift, skeptical.

“Of course. That’s why you haunt the gym at five-thirty like some restless ghost.”

I scowl.

“I always work out early.” I lean against the counter, adding flatly, “I’m a professional athlete.”

She doesn’t even blink.

“Is self-destruction part of your training regimen?”

The words land sharp. Before I can respond, Ris comes skipping into the kitchen, exactly as negotiated—blue skirt, purple shirt, butterfly clips askew in her curls.

But it’s not her outfit that makes my breath catch.

It’s the bracelet on her wrist. The music note charm bracelet Erin gave her. The one from her first cello lesson. It glints in the morning light as she twirls her wrist, making the tiny charms dance.

My heart stalls.

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