“I have been playing hockey outside of Russia for years, Audushka. I’ve needed it many times.”

Maybe it was the thrill of the moment, or maybe it was the realization of being with Aleksandr for the rest of my life, but requesting a marriage application felt as normal as walking up to the counter at a fast food restaurant and ordering a burger. The clerk told us there was a three-day waiting period after handing it in before we could get married. We thanked her, and took an application with us.

“Three days to change your mind,” I told Aleksandr as we walked back to the car.

What if we got into a huge fight and he got mad and wanted to run away? What if I freaked out about him leaving for a road trip?

“I knew I would marry you when you checked out my package in a bar in Canada six months ago. What’s three more days?” He pulled me in for a kiss.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips, because my fiancé always knew what to say to calm my fears. And that’s how I knew it was real.

No more walls.

No more walking dead through another twenty years of life.

Just accepting people for who they are and what they have to give. And being grateful for the family and friends who finally made me realize I didn’t have to go through it alone.

To all the Motherless Daughters out there,

especially Chuck, the one I love the most.

Acknowledgments

Writing a book is not a solitary project. There are so many wonderful people involved and I hope I can do all of them justice in this note.

To everyone who read and critiqued Delayed Penalty. Laeken, Janette, Rebekah, Kim, Kristalyn, JA, Rebecca, Caroline, Sarah, Jamie (x2), Kerri, and Julie at True Blue edits. #TZWNDUBC and #TeamKilt for your unwavering support, friendship, and so much fun! My RT girls who gave me the confidence and encouragement to start this crazy ride. CRW, the NAC, and every author, reader, blogger, and friend I’ve connected with in the writing world for the ongoing encouragement.

To my amazing editor, Sue Grimshaw, and the entire team at Random House. Thank you so much for your belief in me and the Pilots series. A special thank you to every single person who had a hand in making this book the best it could be. The talent at Random House is amazing. To my kick-ass agent, Jessica Watterson, and the Sandra Dijkstra Literary team, for taking a chance on my writing and being my guide and support system.

My inspirations: Sergei Fedorov, Alexander Mogilny, Slava Kozlov, Steve Yzerman, Gerard Gallant, and countless other hockey players who captivated my world as a child and made me a ridiculously crazy fan of hockey—the best sport in the world!

My entire family, because my family is my world and they have always supported me in everything I’ve chosen to pursue. Special thanks to my grandfather, Henry, who stepped up to be the father I didn’t have—and let me use his name. My sister, Chuck, who understands everything about me and loves me anyway. My cousins, Katie and Maureen, better described as sisters and my biggest cheerleaders. And to the family I married into, whom I love like blood.

To Boo Boo and Cha Chi. You are my sunshine. You are my heart. I hope you are proud of me even if you can’t tell your friends what kind of books I write (yet).

To Jeff. Without your unwavering love, support, and confidence, I never would’ve pursued my lifelong dream of sharing my work with the world. Despite all the emotional highs and lows, everything I do, everything I accomplish, everything I am—is for you and our two boys.

You. Thank you for reading this.

I know how difficult it is to be a grieving child. I have a spot in my heart for the people who dedicate their careers to helping grieving kids. The St. John Providence Hospital Open Arms program, based in Detroit, Michigan, is “a support program that helps children ages three to seventeen years, and their family members, find healthy ways to cope with their feelings of sadness, anger or frustration, and be able to return to their day-to-day activities.”

For more information, please visit: http://www.stjohnprovidence.org/OpenArms/.

BY SOPHIA HENRY

Delayed Penalty

Power Play (coming soon)

PHOTO: JEFF BENNETT

SOPHIA HENRY, a proud Detroit native, fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with an English degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to the warmth of North Carolina for the remainder of her winters.

She spends her days writing books featuring hot hockey-playing heroes. When she’s not writing, she’s chasing her two high-energy sons, reading, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, and rocking out at concerts with her husband.

SophiaHenry.com

Facebook.com/sophiahenryauthor

@sophiahenry313

Read on for an excerpt from

Power Play

by Sophia Henry

Available from Flirt

Chapter 1

Rule One: There’s no such thing as love at first sight.

Lust at first sight, sure, but not love. Don’t get me wrong. I love love. I love love so much, I’ve dressed up as Cupid for Halloween. But real love takes time.

Just some unsolicited advice from Gabriella Bertucci, Queen of Having It All Figured Out, except my own life, of course. It’s easy to give advice and boast lofty ideals when no one pays attention to you.

“Hey!”

I knew the voice, but I had to do a double take after looking up from the LIONS AND TIGERS AND RED WINGS, OH MI T-shirt I’d been folding. “You got your haircut.”

Landon Taylor ran a hand over his short blond faux-hawk and grinned. “Yeah. It was time to lose the mop top.”

“Looks nice.” I grabbed another shirt out of the cardboard box filled with our most recent shipment of T-shirts from Totally Detroit, a local screen printer. If I folded the shirt in front of my face, Landon might not notice my annoying habit of hyperventilating whenever I talked to him.

Though Landon and his family had been clients at my family’s produce stores for years, my palms still broke out in a sweat whenever he walked through the door.

“Do you guys have any more of the Tigers Legos?” Landon asked as he dug through a tiny box of toys next to the register. “My brothers are obsessed with them.”

“Yeah, I know. Your mom was in here last week and bought us out.”

“Damn.” His dark blond eyebrows knit in defeat and he turned his attention to a rack of kids’ T-shirts.

“You could buy him an actual tiger,” I suggested.

“Animal or baseball player?” Landon glanced up to shoot me a wink, then resumed pushing the hangers aside quickly, obviously not impressed with our selection.

I grabbed a stuffed tiger with the state of Michigan embroidered in pink across its chest from a nearby table and threw it at Landon. “RAWWR!” It bounced off his freshly shorn head and landed on the floor.

“Geez, Gaby! You’ve gotta tell a guy when you throw a damn tiger at him.”

“Now I see why you play hockey,” I joked before rushing behind the register to help another customer. He couldn’t retaliate while I rang up someone’s purchase, but I’d have to remember to take cover after.

The Taylor family—Charlie, Sharon, Jason, and Landon—had shopped at Eastern Market religiously every Saturday morning for as long as I can remember. They always bought a bushel of apples from our stand and ate them as they walked around the market.