Captive by Brenda Rothert Page B

that amazing game with the guys? You’d better be.”
    “I need you to come to Winnipeg tomorrow. To watch the game and spend the night with me. I know you’ve got stuff to do—”
    “I’ll be there. I can make it work. Is everything okay, baby?” The worry in her tone doubled my guilt over getting hard for Lauren.
    “It’s fine. I just need to see you.”
    “I’ll book a ticket online right now.”
    I hailed a passing cab and it stopped. I slid in and gave the driver the name of my hotel. “I can’t wait to see you, babe. I love you.”
    “I love you, too. I’ll be waiting outside the locker room after the game.”
    “See you then.” Just the thought made me smile. I wanted to get everything out in the open. How much I missed our sex life and my concerns over her emotional ups and downs and her hurry to adopt a baby. I’d told Lauren I didn’t talk about my marriage with anyone but Kate, but I hadn’t even been talking to her about it enough to get past what was going on with us.

Chapter 7

     
    Even inside the Winnipeg arena, I was freezing. The leggings seemed like a good idea when I’d packed them, but now I was reconsidering. Canada was a lot colder than Chicago.
    But this modern building and the fact that I’d technically come to another country on a whim this morning had me feeling upbeat. And I couldn’t wait to see Ryke and share my idea with him.
    An usher led me to the friends and family section and I hardly recognized anyone from home. Dave Dennison, a retired NHL player who came to every game to watch his son play, was there. He nodded politely when he saw me. Lauren Monroe, a groupie with nothing better to do than follow the team around, was the only other person I knew. I sat down near strangers to avoid having to talk to her.
    My heart pounded as always when Ryke skated out with his team. I jumped up and cheered, feeling a little out of place wearing something besides my worn blue jeans and a team shirt. I’d dressed in black leggings, a fitted red sweater dress and tall black leather boots to celebrate returning to a game.
    Seeing the game live, cheering with the crowd and knowing I was here with Ryke, whether he could see me or not, brought on a wave of guilt for all the games I’d missed. I wouldn’t miss another home game. I belonged there, supporting my husband.
    We lost in an overtime shootout, and I hoped Ryke wouldn’t be down about it. He’d scored a goal, so hopefully that would help his mood.
    I asked an usher to show me to the locker room doors, and the boys from a high school ice hockey team were gathered in the hallway when I got there. Being checked out by minors felt creepy, so I pulled my black trench coat closed.
    Ryke was the first player out, and he broke into a huge grin when he saw me. He rushed forward, sweeping me into his arms and pulling my feet up from the concrete floor. When he kissed me, I melted into him, but the laughter and hooting from the high school boys made us both pull away, laughing ourselves.
    “Mr. Ryker, can I get a picture with you?” a gangly boy with dark curls asked.
    “Of course,” he said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”
    “Wyatt … sir.” His voice cracked nervously and my heart went out to him.
    “What do you play, man?”
    “I’m a Center, like you. I mean, not like you , because I’d never say that. But just that like you’re a Center, so am I.”
    Poor kid. His face was flaming with embarrassment. The other players were being ushered into the Winnipeg locker room, but Wyatt hung back with us.
    “Cool. Can you get this picture, babe?”
    I nodded and Wyatt handed me his smart phone. Ryke, who was twice as wide as Wyatt, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and they both smiled. I snapped a few photos and handed the camera back.
    Wyatt’s cheeks darkened again and he looked at Ryke nervously. “Could I, uh, get one with your wife, too?”
    Ryke laughed heartily and met my eyes. “Listen to