Hello.
It’s Seb
Sebastian
Slater
Your new husband
Wow.
The late afternoon Vegas sunshine streams through my hotel window as I stare at my phone screen, then smack my head back against my pillow. I’ve been married for exactly thirteen hours, and I have already lost all my smoothness.
To ensure that I do no further textual damage, I throw my phone across the bed, then rotate my shoulders, relishing in the feeling of the stretch on my sore muscles.
When my alarm went off earlier today—in the midst of a very logistical (and frankly, unexpectedly fun) discussion with Maddie wherein I made her blush about once every five seconds—I had no choice but to say goodbye to her at my hotel room door and then sprint my hungover ass all the way to the City National Arena where the Cyclones had scheduled ice time for noon.
And let me tell you… practice today was difficult. On many levels.
I’d almost forgotten about it in the chaos of the utterly bizarre sequence of events that were last night and this morning. And given that my recent nuptials mean that I am no longer warming the bench for the foreseeable future, it was a practice that I should have been throwing all my effort behind.
By the time I got down to the arena, it was clear that Mike had already briefed Tony and the other coaching staff on my surprise news. Needless to say, my agent was a little stunned when I called him this morning to tell him I was married. But he took it like any good agent would, tuned out the ridiculous details, and focused on the crux of the matter: I could still play hockey, and that was what mattered.
My coaches, however, seemed to be much more amused. Andy Fitzpatrick, an assistant coach who looks exactly like a boiled egg wearing glasses, was practically frothing at the mouth when he saw me.
I shouldn’t have been all that surprised when the coaches divided us up to run drills and Fitzpatrick hollered, “Okay, let’s have married guys on my left, unwed on my right.”
Which, of course, made all of the guys scratch their heads as they split up to their sides… until I wearily skated to coach’s left, and all freaking hell broke loose.
Even Torres looked amused by the guys’ howls as I was forced to spill the beans that I had, indeed, gotten hitched last night. Add the crippling hangover to the equation, and let’s just say that I couldn’t wait for the damn practice to be over.
When I got back to my hotel room, totally exhausted, Maddie was gone. And I need to get ahold of her, stat, so that I can prep her for the insanity that is about to break loose in T minus one hour when our plane departs Vegas for Atlanta. We swapped numbers this morning, so I’m praying that she looks at her phone soon.
As if in response to my thoughts, my phone vibrates on the bed. I reach for it with reflexes I barely knew I possessed… and I’m a professional athlete.
Who, sorry?
Kidding. What’s up, you miss me already?
I snort.
Nope, I actually want my robe back.
Which reminds me, are you dressed right now? Because if you’re naked again, we probably shouldn’t be talking. Rule number two, remember?
Oh I remember, boyo. And you can breathe easy, ‘coz I’m fully clothed. In a turtleneck and long pants.
Phew. Now that I am no longer suffocating from desire… just thought that we should probably turn up for the plane together. What’s your room number? I can pick you up and we can ride to the airport.
1301.
Cool. Also, so you know, everyone knows and they’re very excited to meet you.
WHAT?!
Oh, boy. It’s gonna be a long flight.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’ve collected my wife—who was full of questions about my teammates’ reactions to our elopement—and we are pulling up to the FBO by the airport. Perks of flying private: you can turn up way later than when you fly commercial and walk right onto the plane; no lines.
I tip our driver, and then retrieve both Maddie’s and my own bags from the trunk. The rest of the guys and the staff are already here, boarding the plane, and all of their heads seem to swivel in our direction at once.
Maddie and I share a long look.
“Ready?” I ask, tilting my head towards her.
“Nope.”
“Me neither.” I love my teammates, and I love the pressure of performing on the ice with all eyes on me… but I’m not sure I like being the center of so much attention when it comes to my personal life.
Goodness knows what Jimmy’s gonna say to her.
We greet the staff and I hand the bags to the ground crew. Then, we walk towards the plane.
With every step, my bravado seems to leave my body, leaking like jet fuel all over the runway, and being replaced by a very unsettling, foreign, anxious feeling.
Can I really do this? Can I really make this look believable—play the part of “husband”?
I’m sweating as I climb the stairs behind Maddie, but right before we step into the cabin, she turns around and reaches for my hands. Her small, slim fingers slip through mine, cool to the touch. I look at our joined hands, then up at her, and she offers me a smile. “Gotta make it look believable, right? Just doing my part.”
My eyes widen at how she suddenly takes charge of the situation. While I was enjoying making her flustered this morning, somehow, the tables have turned and she is now the calm, cool, and collected one.
And I’m glad for it. Her composure right now calms me. Reassures me.
This is the right move.
This is how I keep playing hockey, how I keep from letting down the guys currently sitting inside this plane.
Even if it means I’m about to be heckled beyond belief.
“You’re confident,” I tell her.
She grins. “Confidence is sexy, don’t you know.”
I look her up and down slowly. Smile. “Agreed. Here goes nothing.”
We step into the cabin to a thunderous round of applause and an alarming amount of… Wait, are those penis straws?!
“To the happy couple!” Triple J yells, holding up his drink—yup, that’s definitely a penis straw—towards us.
“What the…?” I stare blankly at the offending items.
Jake scowls at Jimmy. “I told him these were for bachelorette parties, not elopements, but would he listen? Nooooo.”
Dallas, meanwhile, jumps to his feet. “Oh, YOU’RE Maddie! Of course. I should’ve known something was going on when Seb wouldn’t shut up about our new nutritionist.”
“Really?” Maddie turns to give me a pointed, cheeky look. “Good things, I hope?”
“The best, my love,” I reply dryly, her confidence still rebuilding mine, piece by piece. I surprise her with this comment, and she blushes sweetly. Which actually looks very convincing, indeed.
“I would have hit on you myself actually, but I have a rule about mixing business and pleasure,” Dallas continues. “But I guess that all worked out because clearly my man was already in deep.”
“That’s what she said,” Maddie deadpans, and I snort, while Dallas breaks into immediate laughter.
“Y’all are cute.” Aaron holds up his own penis-straw-free drink and toasts us. “Congrats.”
“I always wanted to elope in Vegas,” Colton pipes up. “Figured it would be a perfect thing to do with a first wife…” His eyes widen as he clocks Maddie’s amused expression. “Not that I’m insinuating that you’re going to be Seb’s first wife, obviously. I hope you have a very long and happy marriage and—”
“Shut up, dude,” I tell my teammate.
Behind him, Mal—the only person actually in on this whole thing—is practically doubled over with laughter. “Hey, Maddie,” he calls when he can catch a breath. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Likewise.” Maddie gives an easy smile. “I’ve been cooking for you guys for a couple weeks now, so it’s nice to actually get to know you. Despite the penis straws, of course.”
This makes everyone crack up, which puts me even more at ease. I glance at my new wife with something akin to pride.
She’s good at this.
Maybe this crazy charade will work after all.
As we slide into our seats, Maddie continues to sparkle. She fields my teammates’ questions like a pro, and somehow even manages to charm the coaches when they stop by for a chat after we’ve taken off.
All in all, she’s doing way better than I would have. And I’ve had freaking media training.
Finally, about an hour into the flight—when everyone is either asleep or has their headphones in—Maddie and I get a quiet moment. And I find myself almost bursting to say something. Talk to her. Thank her.
For making this look believable… But also for being so damn easy to pretend to be in love with.
“You’re doing incredible,” I tell her.
She takes a slug of her ginger ale. “Good to hear because I feel like absolute crap. Last night is catching up with me.”
“Get some rest.”
“Okay,” she replies. And then, before I know it, she’s asleep, her head snuggled up against my arm. She looks so peaceful that I stay stock still for the rest of the flight for fear of waking her.
I’m exhausted myself, but sleep evades me.
Because in a couple of hours, my new wife will be moving in with me.
