When the puck drops, I feel nothing but pure gratitude to be out here, playing for a sea of maroon and white jerseys cheering the Cyclones on. I’m totally amped up, fueled by the desire to perform for this crowd who have embraced me as one of their own.
I love playing on home ice. And I’m very much aware that the one and only reason I’m still able to call this arena my home is sitting in the family box, cheering me on.
Near the end of the first period, I skate off the ice after a shift and climb over the boards, slapping Jimmy on the arm as he jumps out in my place. As I sink onto the bench, squirting a stream of Gatorade into my mouth, I crane my neck to see if I can spot the woman who made this all possible.
My wife.
It still sounds hilarious to me. I never wanted a wife. And if you told me precisely fifteen days ago that I was about to be in possession of one, I would have laughed in your face.
Which is almost what Roger—the Cyclones-approved sports lawyer who has taken on my paperwork—did. Minus the actual laughing part. He’s more your stern, professor-y type with elbow patches and bushy gray eyebrows that furrow like twin fuzzy caterpillars as he asks a lot of questions about your sudden marriage.
But as Mike reminded him, we’d employed him to fix my immigration status, not question my personal life. And I have to say, I’m happy with how everything has gone down so far.
Right now, I’m on a temporary bridging contract as the team management and lawyers prepare my new one. According to Roger, he’ll file the elementary immigration forms for a change of status for me, and once those process, we’ll be able to proceed with the interview for my green card. In the meantime, I get to keep playing the sport that my life revolves around and take my team to the playoffs.
It also means getting to watch Maddie blush like a tomato every time I tease her.
I keep reminding myself that I shouldn’t flirt with her like that, but my gosh, it’s fun to see her react to me calling her “Mrs. Slater.”
Plus, I gotta make this thing look realistic, right?
I crane my neck forward and finally spot her. She’s seated next to Chantal Holmes and a pretty woman with white-blond hair—Lena, Lars Anderssen’s fiancée. Maddie’s hair is tied in a high ponytail, and she’s talking a mile a minute, clearly not paying much attention to the game. At least she’s not talking on the phone this time.
At that moment, she looks down and spots me peering at her. Grins.
“Hi,” she mouths.
“Nice jersey,” I mouth back. I point to the jersey I’m wearing, and then to the one she’s wearing, and give her as good of a thumbs up as I can with my glove on. Even though all the other wives and girlfriends look to be in their regular clothes, Maddie made use of the clean, perfectly folded gift I left for her to wear.
I was mostly joking, using it as an excuse to corner her in the kitchen earlier and get a reaction out of her. The fact that she actually wore it makes me smile, for some reason.
Over the last couple weeks, Maddie has made me smile a lot. She’s constantly chatting, full of life and energy and ideas. Just last night, she was telling me about her TikTok channel—Maddie’s Creations—and while I’ve never been into social media, her enthusiasm for her healthy sweet treats was beyond infectious.
In the couple weeks that we’ve been married, I’ve been doing my best to keep my promise to her—keep a respectful distance and make sure she feels comfortable and at ease in my apartment. It’s been easy enough given that Maddie and I have been kind of orbiting each other outside of work, our dual busy schedules meaning that we aren’t usually home at the same time (save for when we’re both asleep in our respective bedrooms).
But even when I don’t see her, she’s everywhere.
There’s the sneakers stacked by the doorway, even though there’s a perfectly good closet to put them in. And the girl’s hair. Don’t get me started on her hair… it’s on the couch, on the rugs, on the hardwood floors. It’s like living with a shedding dog.
But then, there’s the fresh flowers on the table. The butter sitting beside the toaster. The orange juice in the fridge, and the bagel crumbs scattering the counters. And sure, I pick up after her, but these little pieces of her, scattered like confetti around my apartment, feel nice and homey.
I’ve been in Atlanta for just over a year and I’ve never taken the time to settle in. My only focus was hockey. And yet, in just a few weeks, Maddie’s made my apartment feel as much like home as playing for the Cyclones does.
And while things are all professional at home, save for the constant mess she seems to make, it’s like when I do see her at work and I get to let my flirty flag fly, I really enjoy letting it fly. Almost as much as I like seeing her get all flustered and blushing.
I’ve decided I quite like my temporary wife.
Maybe quite a bit more than “quite” like…
Now, Maddie gestures down towards her own jersey and blinks innocently before shaking her head. Then, she holds up three fingers on one hand, and five on the other.
35.
Dallas Cooper’s number.
No way. She wouldn’t.
My pulse jumps and I feel my expression slide into a frown as I try to figure out if she’s joking. It occurs to me that my reaction may be a little irrational, but I can’t help it.
There’s not a chance she’d turn up here wearing his number. His name.
Wait… am I jealous right now?
I startle, a little surprised. Nah. I like Dallas. I’m simply concerned about keeping up appearances, that’s all.
Which has been super easy, actually. The guys all like Maddie. After the introductions on our flight home from Vegas, they immediately made an effort to get to know our team’s assistant nutritionist.
And then, of course, once they discovered how cool and funny she is—because she is both of those things—I could hardly get them to leave the poor woman alone. The team even eats their meals in the kitchen now, much to Stef’s dismay seeing as her previously spotless workplace is now a constant chaotic mess.
Maddie holds my gaze for a few seconds, smirking. Then, she blows me a kiss, stands up and twirls around to show me that the jersey she’s wearing is, in fact, number 19 and does say Slater on the back.
Brat.
“Oh, you are in for it later, missy,” I mutter as I shake my head at her. Her eyes are dancing as she looks back at me, delighted by her own joke.
“Huh?” Aaron asks as I get ready to go back onto the ice for my next shift.
“Err… just saying that these guys are in for it.”
“Riiiight.” He sounds sarcastic AF, but still dutifully fist-bumps me with his glove.
As I jump over the boards and skate back out to center ice, I’m suddenly fueled with a bigger drive than ever to perform tonight.
To score.
To lead my team to a win.
To make a certain someone in the crowd proud that she’s wearing my damn name on her back.
She’s waiting for me when I walk out of the locker room.
And when I say “waiting for me,” I mean that she charges at me like a bull to a red flag as I step into the corridor.
“Seb!” Maddie shrieks. Her arms are outstretched, but when she reaches me, she seems to rethink what she’s doing. Stops about two millimeters short and hesitates, arms windmilling as she attempts to balance from grinding to such an abrupt halt.
Half to stop her from falling, half to make this look like a natural hug between a newlywed couple for everyone else in the vicinity, I tug her towards me and wrap my arms around her tight.
I feel her body tense for a moment, then relax, her hands locking behind my neck.
Around me, the other players are hugging their own wives, kids, girlfriends, and/or parents. And it occurs to me that it’s nice that I have someone here for me, for once.
“Nice goal.” She beams. I scored at the end of the second, and another goal from Aaron at the beginning of the third was enough to earn us the W.
“So you saw me score this time, then?”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” I hug her tight for another moment—just long enough that it looks like a loving embrace—and breathe in her cinnamon-vanilla scent before letting go. “You ready to head home?”
“Yup.” She fishes the keys to her old rustbucket Jetta out of her pocket.
As we turn to leave, Aaron looks up from where he’s been practically eating a pretty redhead’s face off and winks at me. “You kids have fun tonight.”
I pointedly look in the direction of his arm candy for the evening. “Likewise.”
“Later, Slater.” He nods at me, then at Maddie. “Later… missy.”
“Missy?” Maddie looks at me with a question in her eyes as I put my arm around her and guide her down the corridor. “Why missy?”
I sigh, debate lying for a moment, but then decide to grab the bull by the horns and go with the truth. We’re still technically at work, and so my at-home boundaries of keeping Maddie comfortable don’t have to count here, right? “I’m pretty sure he thinks we’re heading home to have some wild freaky sex.”
“EXCUSE ME?!” Maddie’s face is priceless.
“What?” I blink at my wife innocently. “Isn’t that what married couples do?”
She gives me a little shove. “In your dreams, Slater.”
“In my wildest dreams,” I confirm with a laugh, tousling her hair. “But I would settle for hot chocolate and a movie when we get home, if you’re up for it.”
Usually after evening games that go late like this, I want nothing more than a long, hot shower, my bed, and a baking show in the background as I drift off to sleep. Alone.
But tonight, I’m not feeling my regular routine at all.
Tonight, I’m actually kinda hoping she accepts my request to hang out because I’m in the mood for company. Specifically her company. My wifey not for lifey, so we may as well enjoy spending time together while we’re in this.
I look down at her, waiting for her response, and she surprises me by smirking. “From freaky sex to hot chocolate? Boy, that de-escalated quickly.”
“Disappointed?” I tease. Because that’s all this is gonna be tonight—silly teasing and hanging out.
No thinking about how cute she looks, how good she smells…
“Nope.” She grins. “Coz I’m picking the movie. And you’d best believe it’s gonna be one of Hallmark’s very best.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. But there had better be a big city girl who is desperate to change her ways after visiting a small town for the holidays and meeting the local lumberjack, or I’m going to revolt.”
She rolls her eyes with a smile. “Dur, that’s all of them. You’re safe.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” We’re in the staff parking area now, her Jetta parked a few vehicles down from my Volvo.
“You’ll love it. See you at home, Seb.”
“Actually… you wanna ride with me?” I ask on a whim. “That car of yours sounds like it’s smoked six packs a day for the past few decades.”
“It’s not that bad!” she exclaims. But then, she casts a side glance at her rustbucket and gives a resigned tilt of her head. “Erm, okay. It was making some worrisome noises as I pulled in here today. Should probably get it looked at. And besides, I’m dying to know if your car is as neat as your bedr… uhh, apartment.”
Even in the dim lighting of the underground garage, I can make out Maddie’s latest shade of tomato-red blush. And I can’t stop my eyebrows from popping up.
She was in my bedroom?
I don’t know why… but instead of making my well-honed stalker alarm bell go off, this thought makes my heart pound. In a good way.
“It’s spotless. Like my bedr-apartment,” I tell her evenly. “Get ready to take notes, missy.”
“Nah, I’m just gonna tinker with everything so that it’s all slightly out of place the next time you get in your vehicle.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I reach for her, but she darts around the car and jumps into the passenger side, cackling like a… well, like a madwoman. My madwoman.
I climb into the driver’s seat, laughing along with her. And as I start my car, it occurs to me how new and cozy this is—driving home with the wifey.
How domesticated of us.
As we drive out of the parking garage, Maddie kicks off her shoes and tucks her legs up under her. “So, tell me about this toy drive.”
“Oh, right.” I meant to tell Maddie about this days ago, but the whole orbiting thing got in the way. “The team does something like this every Christmas. Last year, it was caroling in the children’s hospital. Which was a terrible idea, trust me. Not one of us could sing a single note in tune.” Maddie starts to laugh and I shake my head. “Seriously. Two kids cried.”
“Oh my gosh,” she hiccups. “That is both hilarious and terrible all at once.”
“We will not be doing that one again, believe me. The year before that—before I was a Cyclone—the guys handed out presents alongside Santa at a few different malls. I think that one went over better, but it sounds like Triple J got a little carried away and ended up upside down in Santa’s sleigh.” I grin at her. “It’s a nice concept though, a chance for even the toughest hockey players to show off their sweeter sides.”
Maddie nods sagely. “A little birdie once told me that I shouldn’t judge hockey players by their covers.”
“Hmm.” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “That birdie sounds incredibly wise and also incredibly smart.”
“I also heard that you were the one to come up with this year’s idea. A children’s toy drive is very sweet.”
I lift my shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Guess I was the one to pitch it, but the guys all voted to do it.”
“It’s a great idea.”
“I guess I want to make sure that kids whose families don’t have much still get everything they want for Christmas.”
“That’s really kind of you, Seb. Thoughtful.”
“Not really,” I respond, a little uncomfortable with being complimented for something so nominal. “I grew up pretty poor. My parents worked hard and made a lot of sacrifices so that I could play hockey. And I guess I don’t want other parents to have to make huge sacrifices to see their kids happy on Christmas morning.”
“Definitely sweet,” she responds. “It’s lovely that you’re doing something to honor what your parents did for you.”
The lights of downtown Atlanta sparkle all around us as I turn onto the road where my apartment complex is located—it’s only minutes from the arena. But I’m lost in my memories as Maddie’s words sink in. “I never really thought of it that way.”
“I did,” Maddie replies. She waits a beat. “Are you close with your family?”
“I… don’t keep in touch with them as much as I’d like to.” It’s a massive understatement—my days are consumed with hockey, the sport trickling into all areas of my life to the point where I eat, sleep and breathe it, even in the off season. “I want to make them proud. Prove to them that all their sacrifices have been worth it.”
Maddie smiles at me softly. “Well, I’ve never met them, but I’m sure they’re proud of you, Seb.”
“Thanks.” I’m pulling into my parking spot, and it’s a natural subject change. “Shall we go watch this terrible, sappy movie you promised me, then?”
“Oh, get ready to be proven wrong on so many counts.” Maddie wiggles her eyebrows at me. “This one’s a masterpiece.”
When we get upstairs into the apartment, I sit almost awkwardly on my sectional couch. This is the first time I’ve watched a movie with someone at my place. And I find I’m glad when Maddie forgoes the armchair and plops down right next to me. So close that I can smell that cinnamon-vanilla scent of hers. Map the freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose.
“Get ready to have your mind blown!” she announces, reaching for the remote.
“Kill me now,” I moan dramatically, miming being stabbed in the heart.
But I don’t mean it. Not one bit.
This is… quite nice.
Quite a bit nicer than quite nice.
