Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I don’t go hugging any of my teammates,” Fensby says.
“Maybe if you did, the team might like you more,” I point out.
“Let me be very clear here.” Coach lifts his voice so even those in the weight room will be able to hear. “Preseason has been an embarrassment without bringing this crap into the locker room. Now unless something changes, I won’t hesitate to trade any one of you. Act like adults.” He turns to Fensby. “Keep your unwanted opinions to yourself.” Then his stare snaps to me. “And pick up your game.”
He turns and stomps from the room as my gut falls out my ass. I drop back onto the bench, but no one else moves.
A trade is all part of the game, but it’s not a part we enjoy. Through the season, we work side by side, seven days a week. Your team becomes your family, and having to leave and join someone else’s is a massive hit to your game.
Leaving all that would be hard enough without factoring Tripp into it.
Even before we started dating, I couldn’t bear the thought of not having him here, and if Coach’s look meant anything, my head is on the chopping block.
I can’t be traded.
I can’t leave here.
Not while we’re exploring this thing between us and finding a way to make it work. I hate the thought of waking up anywhere without Tripp. I might be having a shit time on the ice, but it’s barely been two weeks. I can turn things around. And outside of here, at home, I’ve never been happier.
I need to brush this off.
If I don’t want to be traded, there’s only one option.
I need to refocus on the game and forget about Fensby and the taunts he sends my way.
I can do it.
I can totally do it.
“Dex, Adler, press conference.”
Fuck.
So maybe I can do it after I get my ass handed to me.
Twenty-Two
TRIPP
“Are you coming to dinner with Oskar?” I ask Dex when he comes out of the showers.
He’s in an unusually down mood thanks to Fensby being a dick right before the media pile-on, and I’m not talking about a normal human level of down. Dex is always bright and happy. His disposition is usually annoyingly sunny, which makes moods like this easy to pick.
So when he shakes his head and says he’ll see me at home, I know something’s really wrong. He doesn’t even look at me as he dresses.
“Want me to cancel?” I’m hoping he says yes. I’ve been conveniently too busy to join the queer collective on any of their video calls or pick up when Oskar has tried to reach me. It finally all caught up to me when tonight on the ice, Oskar skated over and said I have a lot of explaining to do.
Which is true. I haven’t spoken to any of the guys since the news got out that Dex and I are legally married, because I’ve been anticipating many lectures about setting myself up for heartache.
“No, don’t do that.” Dex pulls on his navy suit jacket. It’s my favorite suit of his because it makes his dark eyes brighter, and he deserves to be the brightest thing in a room. “It’s a rule you have to catch up with Oskar when he’s in town.”
“Yeah, only a silly rule, not a law.”
“Yet, you guys always manage to make time for each other because you’re like family. Seriously, go.”
“You’re okay?”
Dex’s eyes are weary, and he runs a hand through his wet hair. “Just trying to get my head around the game. That’s all.”
“It doesn’t count for standings,” I remind him.
“I’m in a slump, and the season hasn’t even started yet.”
I rub his arm. “Here, you take my car home. I’ll order an Uber to take me downtown.”
“I’ll drop you off and then head home.”
“It’s out of the way.”
Dex grabs my hand and pulls me against him. “And I’m your husband. So I’ll drop you off.” Then he leans in and kisses me, not caring if Fensby sees and complains again.
It’s as easy as that to get me to melt for him and let the issue go.
When he drops me off, I ask again if he wants to come in and eat with us, but he declines.
I’m too busy worrying about Dex to remember to protect myself from Oskar, who likes to slap the back of my head when I’ve done something boneheaded.
He clips me on my way past him. “Nice game, sweetheart.”
“Asshole,” I mutter when I sit.
“Now, I can’t be sure, you might have to remind me, but I think I remember you telling me that your fake wedding will never get out … Now suddenly you’re married. Oh, and it’s legal. I know because I checked.”
“Oh, shit, look at the time. I should go home.” I stand, but Oskar reaches over and pushes me back down.