“Markos.” He uses my legal name, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “How are you, my son?” He has been in Canada almost all his life, but if you listen close enough, you can still hear the accent. Now my brother, Christos—he calls himself Chris—and I lived in Canada our whole life, and no matter how much Greek school we had growing up on Saturday mornings, we still cannot understand it.

“Good, Dad,” I tell him, grabbing my workout shorts. “Just got home actually.”

“Good. How was the drive?” he asks. I spent the last week with them at my summer house in Kelowna, British Columbia, and I stopped in Toronto and then decided to drive down to New York.

“Good. I got to zone out for a couple of hours, so it was peaceful,” I tell him. Even when I was younger, I was always the quiet one, and then once I became a goalie, it just got even worse. I am always in my head, always quiet, and always assessing the situation. Before the games, I don’t talk to anyone. Instead, I put on my music and get in the zone.

“Your mother already misses you,” he says. “She wants to come down for the opening game.”

“No problem. I’ll get you tickets,” I tell him. “I’m getting the official schedule this week, so I’ll let you know the dates.”

“That sounds good,” my father says. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.” I smile because even at thirty-two, almost thirty-three, he still wants me to call him as soon as I get home.

“I’m home,” I tell him quietly. “I’m going to go work out now, so I’ll call you sometime tomorrow or when I get the schedule.”

“Sure thing, son,” he says. “I love you,” he says in Greek, and I say one of the few Greek words I know.

“Love you, too,” I say and disconnect the phone, grabbing my stuff and heading down to the gym. Once I get on the treadmill, I put the Air Pods in my ears, and for the next two hours, I just run, trying to shut down my mind. But instead, I make mental notes and lists for later. When I walk back into the apartment, I grab a bottle of water and hydrate myself.

“It’s going to be a good season,” I say to the empty room. Little do I realize exactly how big this season will be.

Chapter Three

Vivienne

“Do you know you’ve carried me more than any other man before?” I say, giggling as Matthew tosses me over his shoulder like I’m a bag of potatoes. “I mean, I’ve had men carry me before, but I got the happy ending after they did.”