Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“You see what you have to put up with in marriage, kid?” Carlos quips.
I laugh, but inside, I’m thinking it’s not so bad.
And this call wasn’t either. Before I hang up, I remember John’s elbow. “Hey, J-dad, how’s your arm?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s still worried about your sore arm from pickleball,” Carlos explains.
“Don’t worry. I used it to destroy the other team last night. I’m all good,” John says.
“And you’re taking your thyroid meds?” I add.
There’s a pause. “Every day,” he says, sounding kind but also like he wished I wouldn’t ask. “Don’t worry about me.”
But I do. And I always will. “I won’t,” I lie, then tell them I have to go.
It’s time to play, and I’m beyond relieved. Sometimes life is too damn complicated. But hockey? It’s the perfect escape and always has been. I need it so damn much.
22
SECOND WIFE
Asher
I hop in my electric car, turn it on with the app, and drive myself to the rink for morning skate, skipping the usual ride with Max. I need some time alone to shake off the madness of the past day and the tough conversations this morning. Time to get my head back in the game.
On the drive, I flip on the satellite radio, tuning in to a comedy station. A few minutes of Tiffany Haddish does the trick, loosening me up as the city blurs by through the windows. By the time I pull into the Sea Dogs arena, I’m relaxed and ready to block out everything except practice this morning and the game tonight.
I park, grab my phone, and head inside, passing framed photos of past Sea Dogs stars in the familiar hall leading to the locker room. Inside, music is blasting, courtesy of Wesley and one of his pump-us-up playlists.
“What’s up, boys?” I walk in like everything is good in the world. “You ready to make Chicago cry tonight?”
“Fuck yeah.” Hugo grins, pulling on his pads at his stall. But then the bearded brute of a defender gives me a funny look, head tilted, eyes narrowing like he’s about to drop some wisdom. “But…did you cry?”
That’s…odd. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs amiably. “At your wedding. It’s okay if you did, man. I was pretty emotional at mine. No shame in some waterworks. Fuck toxic masculinity.”
Christian Winters, our captain, nods solemnly, sitting in front of his stall, taping his stick. “Same here. I teared up at mine. Weddings will do that to you.”
I stop, raising a brow. I smell a prank. “Okay, but I didn’t,” I say slowly, wondering how we ended up talking about my marital status instead of, you know, the game tonight against Chicago right here in our barn.
Max shoots me a skeptical look as he adjusts his leg pads. “You didn’t cry? Well, shit. I figured that’s why you didn’t invite us—because you didn’t want us seeing you bawl your eyes out.”
Ah, hell. “It was kind of last-minute,” I say, keeping it casual as I explain my wedding.
My wedding.
It’s still such a strange thought. I’m married. Just for a few more weeks, but still, I’m married to my best friend. Naturally, my teammates want to know what’s up.
“Last-minute?” Miles echoes, pulling on his jersey and giving me a serious glare with those dark eyes. Our center’s like the laidback professor who’s scary smart—he can see right through you. “You sure about that? Because I’d be willing to bet my fine scotch collection you’ve been obsessed with her for the last couple of years.” He clears his throat. “Do we need to remind you of the DickNose board observations of the top-five times you said something cute about Maeve?”
“Right, Professor Falcon,” I say, hoping I sound as confident about my wedding as I do about hockey. Did we even talk about what to tell our friends? We were busy taking hits from surprise after surprise.
I head to my stall, shedding my hoodie. “It was...spur of the moment.” I feel bad lying, but I don’t know how Maeve wants to play this. I do know that letting the whole team in on the secret is a surefire way for it to leak, and neither of us needs to be branded a liar right now.
Plus, it was an impromptu wedding.
Miles scoffs. “The DickNose board disagrees.”
“And the DickNose board doesn’t lie,” Wesley puts in.
But whether the board is an oracle of romance or not isn’t the issue. I’m not about to spill my guts to my teammates about my feelings for Maeve when I’ve barely begun to figure them out. I grab my jersey, ignoring them. It’s not like they need me this second since they’re too busy talking about me.
“But don’t worry,” Max says dryly. “We’re here for you. Even if you weren’t here for us.”
“First off, did you ever consider maybe there’s a reason I got hitched in Vegas instead of, ahem, near all of you assholes?” I ask as I tug off my shirt. “Second, have you ever heard the phrase when in Vegas? So, there you go.”