“Private charter with security, just in case.”

“See?” I grinned at Em. “I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“Okay.” She smiled, a tear-filled but relieved smile. “I… I’ll be here.”

She bit her lip, but I’d caught that look on her face. That wasn’t at all what she was about to say.

And fuck it, I didn’t want to do it over the phone, but she had to know.

“Same, Em. I feel the same.” I winked, ended the call, and turned to Vik. “What’s going on?”

“Police are doing their job, still investigating the arena. There were a couple other injured guards they found. Our crew should be all right by the morning, probably massive headaches. But shit. What a clusterfuck, and I gotta say, I’m not liking the news swarm that’s going on right now, both outside the arena and inside, and around the hospital.”

He was scowling at me like it was my fault. Instead of reminding him I was the victim in all of this, I bit my tongue. “When can I go?”

“We’ll get you home soon like I promised. Take care of your arm and the rest of your body, okay? Rest up and heal. We’ll need you back on the ice.”

Of course he’d be most primarily concerned about my ice time. Vik Boucher was a damn good coach, but personable he was not.

“Will do.”

“Good.” He clasped my good shoulder and gave me a firm shake. “I need to go check on everyone else. Team has been moved to the hotel, locked down for their safety, although from what you’ve said, the police think the threat is over.”

“Pretty sure that was a personal attack on me, so yeah.”

After he left, the police officer stepped forward. “We just have a few more questions for you, and then we’ll get you out of here.”

Thirty-One

Emmersyn

Gabby and I stared at the television screen. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off it, and as soon as we learned what happened, that Kane had been taken to the hospital after a shooting at the arena, Gabby rushed over to make sure I was okay.

We’d now gone through two bottles of wine, and neither her company nor the alcohol was helping me calm down.

Lincoln showed up in LA with the sole intention of shooting, or worse—something I refused to consider—Kane. To get me back?

To punish me?

“I have no idea when my life turned into a soap opera.”

Gabby chuckled. It wasn’t the first time I’d compared the last month of my life to a daytime television drama. “Yeah, but the news is making it seem exciting.”

“Shut up.” We both chuckled. It was laugh or cry, and I’d done enough of latter while waiting to hear from Kane.

She wasn’t wrong. There was a constant ticker on the bottom of the television screen. Hospitality mogul’s heir shoots ex’s husband. The sports news station that was supposed to show the game had been talking about the shooting and the ensuing mayhem all night long, forgoing showing Carolina playing in Chicago. I was surprised all games weren’t stopped until they determined this was an isolated event, but Kane said he identified Lincoln as soon as security guards and LA’s team doctor swarmed the locker room. Apparently his assurance this was a one-off attack was enough.