She closed her eyes as a wave of yearning swept over her.

Tears slipped out of her eyes and she held the popcorn bag, not eating. The kernels she’d just chewed and swallowed felt stuck in her throat.

She remembered Marc tracing a finger over her tattoo. Live. Laugh. Love.

She’d thought she was living her motto. Living life to the fullest. Pursuing her dream, the dream she’d finally realized. Starting a new life in a new city, making new friends.

She’d thought living, laughing, and loving meant having fun. But life was more than that. She’d thought she was fun and spontaneous and adventurous. In reality, she was undisciplined and self-indulgent. That comment of Duncan’s the night he’d walked in on them—what Lovey wants, Lovey gets…Duncan was right, she couldn’t commit. To jobs. To men. To a hair color.

Well, that had been a few years ago. She now accepted her strawberry-blond hair and freckles.

But still. She was a screwup. Then Duncan’s words played through her mind. If that’s what’s stopping you from being with Marc…you better think again, Lovey.

She was still living in big brother’s shadow, so afraid to fail, she wouldn’t commit to anything. And that had caused a good man to get hurt.

A very good man. The best. Sure, they teased him and called him Captain Codger. But she’d seen him laugh and smile. She’d seen the lighter side of him. And what was wrong with a man who was responsible and honorable, dedicated to his sport, loyal to his team and his teammates? Giving his all every game, even concerned for his boys off the ice too, wanting to make sure Dale got help, wanting to make sure Ryan and Andrew felt like part of the team.

She’d thought having sex with Marc was loving. But loving was so much more than sex.

Loving was being together and talking about anything and everything. Sharing hopes and dreams and fears. Like Marc had shared the weight of responsibility that was dragging him down when the team had been losing, when he knew he needed to do something difficult. And she’d told him about her business, her hopes and dreams for it, how growing up she’d always felt she could never be good enough or live up to her big brother. She’d never told anyone else that.

Love was cooking together, shopping together, him doing the dishes for her after she made a big meal. Love was wanting to do things for each other with no promise of—or need for—anything in return.

All the time she’d been living with them, all the time she’d been spending with Marc, she’d thought she was having fun. But really…she’d been falling in love with him. And she’d screwed up and hurt him and lost him because she was too scared to admit that.

Chapter 23

She was making a complete fool of herself.

Deep breath.

Lovey sat in the stands, row one, at the end of the rink where the Aces warmed up. At the other end, the Montreal Canadiens skated. Linkin Park blasted over the sound system for the warm-up.

She clutched the rolled-up cylinder of bristol board in her hands. Waiting. There was Marc. Helmet-less, as usual in the warm-up. He stood at the blue line on the opposite side of the ice, talking to another player, then with a fast push he was off, skating. Flying, really, around behind the net, whizzing right past her, oblivious to her presence.

She needed just the right moment. Her heart tapped out a rapid rhythm and her palms dampened the thin cardboard. She wiped one, then the other, on her jeans.

This was crazy. But she was determined.

There he was, skating slower, right toward her. She bit her lip as she quickly unfurled the poster she’d made. Her heart pounded now and her hands shook as she held the edges of the poster and flattened it up on the glass, right in front of her face. She peeked around it.

He saw it. He blinked. He continued to glide toward her.

She stood so he could see her, now trembling all over. His gaze lifted from the poster to her face. He came to a slow stop right in front of her. Some kids who’d lined up against the boards started banging on the glass, calling “Marc! Marc Dupuis! Super Duper!”

Marc’s eyes flicked to them and he flashed a brief smile, but his gaze snapped back to her. She gave him a tentative smile.

He set a gloved hand on the Plexiglas right in front of her. She laid her palm there. The poster curled up, released from her hold.

Their eyes met and held, people and noise all around them, kids banging on the glass, loud music, skates scraping across ice, sticks slapping pucks. It was so not romantic.

“Really?” he said.

She nodded.

“Lovey.” He grinned and shook his head. “Now? Really?”

She gave him a shaky smile back.

Some of the other players had noticed and were looking at them. She lifted her chin. “Get back to your warm-up.”

“I’ll find you after the game. Don’t leave the arena.”

She nodded, her heart climbing into her throat and lodging there as she clumsily rolled up the poster and took her seat. The kids and people sitting near her were shooting her curious glances, but Marc distracted them by flicking a couple of pucks over the glass for them to catch and keep. They jumped up and down with excitement.

One little girl in a tiny Aces jersey came up to her. “What does your poster say?”

Lovey sucked in her bottom lip. “I’ll show you.” She unrolled it.

“ ‘I love you, Marc Dupuis,’ ” the little girl read aloud. She lifted her eyes to Lovey. “I love him too!”

Lovey grinned. Her heart expanded fast and hard against her breastbone and she sniffled a little.

“And he talked to you,” the girl said. “I’m gonna make a poster like that next time!”

“You should totally do that.” Lovey nodded seriously.

Now she had to sit through the whole game, nerves twisting inside her, waiting to find out what he thought of her crazy gesture, waiting to find out if he could forgive her, if there was any hope for them.

—

Marc managed to keep his shit together through the game. It took some determination, but he turned distraction into a positive. Knowing Lovey was there watching made him want to make her proud. He wanted to impress her.

As if it was the first time she’d ever seen him play.

But it was the first time she’d seen him play after telling him she loved him. His chest swelled at that thought but he also had to laugh. Christ! What a way to tell him. And then expect him to focus on hockey.

He’d taken heat in the dressing room after the warm-up, first from Coach, who’d seen him standing at the glass talking to her, then from the guys who’d seen the sign. He didn’t give a shit. They could bug him all they wanted. They didn’t have Lovey holding up a sign that said she loved them.

He skated hard, hit hard, drove hard to the net, scored two goals, and got two assists and they pulled off another fucking win. It was sweeter at home, with the crowd behind them, going crazy. After the game, he skated up to Stoykers and bumped helmets, patted his back, then glided to center ice to circle with other players, sticks in the air, saluting their loyal fans. He found Lovey in the crowd, right up front, her beaming smile as she clapped her hands together reaching out to him like a beacon. He saluted her and then skated off to head to the dressing room.

Pumping music and an electric atmosphere filled the room. He’d never been so motivated to get out of there quickly, but Modi in Communications had lined up two interviews for him with media. Then he had to go up to the suite where the kids from Saint Joseph Hospital were tonight. He huffed out a frustrated breath.

Done with the interviews, he showered, changed into his suit, and pulled out his cellphone. He exchanged a few text messages with Lovey, instructing her to meet him on the Level B concourse. He’d take her to the suite with him. What the hell. She could hang out and see the kids and how special they were. They’d both just have to be patient.