Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

On a sunny day in September, under the big oak tree outside Vancouver City Hall, Georgia and I get married.

Again.

My wife is breathtaking, with her hair down and wavy, freckles on her nose and cheekbones from the summer sun. She wears the same dress as when we got married last year, when we hated each other.

A vow renewal, we told everyone.

“Being married to you is a dream I never want to wake up from,” I tell my wife in front of all our friends and family.

Nearby, someone sniffles. Probably one of our moms. Our parents have become tight-knit friends. They even took a group holiday to Italy this summer, staying at my and Georgia’s vacation home.

Holding my hands, my new ring sparkling on her finger above the ugly one she refuses to take off, Georgia smiles. “When you’re not around, I miss you.”

Affection expands through my chest, warm and consuming. “I love you, and I always will.”

She beams at me, recognizing the reversed vows from our first wedding. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Between us, Ward, acting as our officiant, says a few words about love and soulmates. I’m not really listening, I’m just staring at Georgia. Under the big tree, light scatters across her hair, the golden strands sparkling, her whiskey eyes making my heart ache.

With a warm look, Ward nods at us. “You may now⁠—”

I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and haul her mouth to mine. Her hands sink into my hair.

“—kiss your wife.”

Our guests laugh, but my wife consumes my senses—her soft mouth, her dizzying violet scent, her hands on my chest, her body against mine. Her sigh.

We break apart, and she rises up on her tiptoes, bringing her mouth to my ear.

“Great job,” she whispers. “Nothing like kissing the dead body at a funeral.”

That evening, at the restaurant from the double date with Owens and Darcy, I hold my wife close with a firm hand on her waist.

Flowers from my mom’s shop fill the room, bouquets made with every flower I gave Georgia during those life-altering few months. I even convinced my mom to hide blue tansy in a bouquet while Georgia laughed. Around the restaurant, soft lighting splashes a warm glow on everyone, and the sound of our friends and family’s conversation and laughter puts me at ease.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” I tell Georgia. “That dress is something else.”

Her mouth curves, teasing and lovely. “I thought you didn’t like it.”noveldrama

“Because I wanted to buy you a new one?”

She nods.

I turn her so she’s facing me. Our own world, away from everyone. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I’ve been half hard since I saw you this morning, Hellfire. I didn’t know if you wanted to wear it again, that’s all. It could have been your something new.”

“This is a great dress,” she insists, palms smoothing over my chest, over the lapels of the suit she picked out for me. “It deserves it’s moment. It deserves a wedding between two people who love each other.” Her eyes meet mine, sparkling. “It’s my something old.”

“I thought I was your something old.”

She laughs, and my watch goes off. I’ve been using the heart-rate monitoring program as part of my concussion recovery—but to Georgia’s delight, it still goes off like clockwork around her.

“Besides,” her delicate hand comes to the necklace I gifted her this morning. “I already have my something new.”

The Teasing Georgia rose in golden yellow diamonds in marquise, round, and baguette cuts. I’m getting well-versed in diamonds, being with Georgia, because buying her things makes me feel like a king.

Friendship, joy, loyalty, eternity, I whispered in her ear as I put it on her.

“Have I told you how much I love it?” she asks, giving me a kiss on my cheek.

“Yes, Hellfire, but I don’t mind you showing your appreciation.”

She arches an eyebrow, smirking. “Later.”

My watch goes off again.

As I silence it, she lifts the hem of her dress a couple inches, showing off the pale blue heels the designer made for her to match her dress at Miller and Hazel’s wedding. “Something blue.”

I nod, mouth crooking. “Something borrowed?”

She raises her wrist. A thin gold chain with violet-blue stones sparkles in the low light. “From Jordan. It was her mother’s.”

The bartender appears in front of us, looking slightly uncomfortable in a social setting on this side of the bar.

“Volkov.” Her mouth tips in a quiet smile. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

She leans in for a hug. “Happy for you two,” she tells me, giving me a squeeze, and I’m hit with a wave of gratitude. “If you screw it up, I will poison you.”

I cough out a laugh. “Okay. Fair.”

“I told you not to threaten him,” Georgia says as they embrace. “That’s my job.”

At the bar, Ward’s eyes flick to Jordan before he turns his attention back to his daughter, who’s laughing as Owens gives her a piggyback ride.

“I’m going to talk to Ward for a moment,” I tell them, sensing they need a moment. Georgia gives me another soft kiss on the cheek before I head over to him and nod hello.

“Ward.”

“Coach Volkov.”

Once I was cleared for activity, Ward and I made my assistant coach role official, and I moved into my new office beside Georgia’s at the arena. Having my wife so close at work is both heaven and hell. She’s too distracting to get much done when we’re both there, but having her within reach is a luxury I’m grateful for.

I also resumed work with the rookie—along with the rest of the new recruits.

“I’ve had a few complaints about the rookie training camp,” Ward says, eyes sparking. “They didn’t expect it to be so grueling.”

“It’s nothing they can’t handle. If they want to be ready for the NHL, they need to push themselves.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Do you really need to start at six in the morning?”

“If they want to succeed, they can’t be out drinking and chasing girls and boys the night before. They need to be in bed by nine. It’s good practice for the season.” I give him a sidelong look. “They only hate me because they can hardly keep up with me.”

Ward laughs. “No one can. You’re still a machine, Volkov, retired or not. They respect you and they want to make you proud.”

If I can be a tenth of the coach Ward is, that’ll be enough for me. A warm pulse hits me in the chest. “I love working with those guys,” I admit. “I’m already seeing incredible progress in them.”

“Ready for the season?”

Opening night is next week. I think about last year, when everything was so uncertain. When the thought of retirement sent cold dread through my veins.

Another thing I was hardheaded and wrong about. My life in retirement is ten times as fulfilling as before. I’m already anticipating what the new players will do on the ice this season. I get to work with my wife, both with the Storm and the Vancouver Devils, whose practices I attend whenever I can. After the hockey season ended, I convinced her to spend a month in Italy, just the two of us. Four weeks of great food, wine, and skinny-dipping with Georgia.

I was clueless and ignorant to dread this life, like I was clueless and ignorant to dread marriage. My eyes go to Georgia, and a sense of calm settles through me. She hasn’t sleepwalked once since I retired.

“I think this is our year,” Ward says quietly.

My chest expands with anticipation. “I think so, too.”

Last year, the Storm advanced to the final round of playoffs before losing in game seven to a better team. Fortunately, our guys walked away from playoffs without a slew of injuries.

Fucking hell, I hope it’s our year. My gaze goes to Streicher, with his arm locked around Pippa’s shoulders, murmuring something in her ear. Miller, teasing his new wife with a cocky grin while she pretends to look unamused. Owens, smiling and laughing with Darcy, his best friend. Walker, talking to Georgia and Jordan, his big fun-loving grin stretched ear to ear.

I’ve already won the Stanley Cup in my career, but these guys haven’t. For them, I want it more than anything.

My gaze goes back to Georgia. Well, almost anything.

The team owner, Ross Sheridan, appears and shakes my hand.

“Alexei.”

“Ross.”

“The rookies are looking sharp this year.” On occasion, the ex–hockey player joins my early morning practices, watching with quiet interest. “Where’s Dr. Greene? I’d like to say hello before I have to leave.”

I tilt my chin to where Georgia and Jordan stand, talking. Walker’s disappeared—to flirt with someone, I’m sure. Sheridan sees Jordan standing beside my wife, though, and seems to brace himself.

“I’ll join,” Ward says quickly, wearing an odd, serious expression.

When we approach the women, Sheridan hesitates. Georgia’s eyes go wide like she’s surprised; Jordan freezes and falls silent, expression shuttering.

What’s going on?

“Dr. Greene.” Sheridan shakes her hand before turning to Jordan, taking a deep breath like he’s nervous or something. “Jordan.”

This guy owns half of Vancouver. Jordan can be intimidating with her take-no-shit bartender stare, but still.

“You look lovely.”

Her eyes flicker with anger but she doesn’t say anything.

His throat works. “Can we talk?”

There’s that stare of hers. “You’re a decade late.”

Abruptly, she walks away. Ross Sheridan watches her for a long moment, features full of regret.

Ward’s eyes follow Jordan, jaw tight. I’ve never seen the guy look anything less than patient. “Excuse me,” he says before he strides after her.

Sheridan turns to us with a polite but forced smile. “Thank you for inviting me. It was a lovely ceremony.” His eyes go to the direction Jordan went before he shakes his head. “I should be going. See you in the office. Have a great night.”

“Did you invite him?” Georgia asks as we watch him leave.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Uh.” She looks to Jordan. She and Ward are talking in the corner, glaring at each other. Why does Ward look so annoyed? I didn’t even realize he knew Jordan. He almost never comes to the bar. “Ross is Jordan’s father.”

A frown snaps onto my face. This is news to me. “Her last name is Hathaway.”

“She changed it after her mom passed.” Her mouth tightens. “It’s complicated. She doesn’t want people to know they’re related. They aren’t close.”

“Do you need to go after her?”

“She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.” Her gaze trails over the suit we picked out together, and her mouth curves with appreciation.

“See something you like?”

She lets out a soft laugh, eyes dancing. “You’re so hot, Alexei. I always thought that.”

“Always?”

That pretty mouth curves. “Always. Even when I hated you.”

Christ, I can barely stand how much I love her. How my heart beats solely for her. How she changed my life, helped me find a new purpose, made me whole.

“You want to get out of here?” I ask, and she bites her lip, glancing around at our guests.

“Can we?”

“It’s our wedding.” My lips are on her neck, inhaling her, skimming my mouth over her soft skin. “We can do whatever we want,” I murmur in her ear, and she smiles.

My wife. My love. My everything.

“Come on, Hellfire. Let’s go have that wedding night we never got.”