Chapters (108)
- Dedication
- 1. Declan
- Declan
- 2. Hannah
- Hannah
- 3. Hannah
- Hannah
- 4. Hannah
- Hannah
- 5. Declan
- Declan
- 6. Hannah
- Hannah
- 7. Declan
- Declan
- 8. Declan
- Declan
- 9. Hannah
- Hannah
- 10. Declan
- Declan
- 11. Hannah
- Hannah
- 12. Declan
- Declan
- 13. Hannah
- Hannah
- 14. Declan
- Declan
- 15. Hannah
- Hannah
- 16. Hannah
- Hannah
- 17. Declan
- Declan
- 18. Hannah
- Hannah
- 19. Hannah
- Hannah
- 20. Hannah
- Hannah
- 21. Declan
- Declan
- 22. Hannah
- Hannah
- 23. Declan
- Declan
- 24. Hannah
- Hannah
- 25. Declan
- Declan
- 26. Hannah
- Hannah
- 27. Declan
- Declan
- 28. Hannah
- Hannah
- 29. Declan
- Declan
- 30. Hannah
- Hannah
- 31. Declan
- Declan
- 32. Hannah
- Hannah
- 33. Hannah
- Hannah
- 34. Declan
- Declan
- 35. Hannah
- Hannah
- 36. Declan
- Declan
- 37. Hannah
- Hannah
- 38. Declan
- Declan
- 39. Hannah
- Hannah
- 40. Declan
- Declan
- 41. Hannah
- Hannah
- 42. Declan
- Declan
- 43. Hannah
- Hannah
- 44. Declan
- Declan
- 45. Hannah
- Hannah
- 46. Hannah
- Hannah
- 47. Declan
- Declan
- 48. Hannah
- Hannah
- 49. Declan
- Declan
- 50. Hannah
- Hannah
- 51. Declan
- Declan
- Epilogue
- Hannah
- Epilogue Two
- Grant
- Books by Nikki Lawson
But he must know that it’s still on my mind, because when he parks the car at the venue a few minutes later, he pulls me against him as we walk toward the entrance, letting me feel how hard he is against my hip.
“Just wait until I get you home tonight, hummingbird,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
44. Declan
Chapter 44
Declan
The law school alumni mixer is being held in a sprawling ballroom that screams old money and privilege. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, illuminating the sea of designer suits and cocktail dresses below. One glance tells me everything I need to know—this crowd makes NHL salaries look like pocket change.
I’m no stranger to fancy events these days, but there’s fancy and then there’s whatever this is.
For the first time, it reminds me that Hannah and I come from very different worlds. That doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything, but as I watch her stride in beside me, her arm in mine, she looks like a natural. Like she’s done this a million times before, and she probably has. Growing up as the daughter of one of the NHL’s best coaches made sure of that.
I straighten my shoulders and adjust my cuffs, reminding myself that I belong here now too. These days, I move in these circles—different sport, same league. And while I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, I’ve earned my place at tables like these through blood, sweat, and broken bones on the ice.
My mom worked double shifts so I could chase my dream, and now here I am, with my coach’s daughter on my arm and a contract that would make her weep with pride. If these people want to judge me for not having the right pedigree, let them try. I’ve faced down 250-pound defensemen at full speed—I can handle a few judgmental stares.
As soon as we merge with the crowd, a switch seems to flip in Hannah. When I offer to go to the bar to get us drinks, she kisses my cheek and lets go of my arm, then drifts into the sea of people, several of whom recognize her instantly. I watch in awe as she effortlessly glides among them, saying hi and schmoozing like she was born for this. This isn’t a side of Hannah I’ve seen before, and again, it shouldn’t be a surprise considering she’s probably been doing this kind of thing her entire life, but it’s still a sight to behold.