The cold, circulated air is thick with the scents of rubber and ammonia, along with a touch of sweat and leather. With the sound of skates scraping over freshly Zamboni-ed ice and sticks clashing against pucks. The buzz of Coach’s yells over the rink, rising over everything else.
Today is our second post-Christmas team practice, and I’m back in my happy place.
Well, up until very recently, I would’ve considered it to be my one and only happy place.
Until Maddie came along and rearranged everything.
Now, my happy place isn’t a place, per se.
It’s waking up to my wife’s brown hair spread over my white pillows, her breathing short and hiccupy as she snuggles her face into my chest. Which is the cutest damn thing. It’s having this woman to return home to at the end of a hard practice. It’s my apartment still bursting with ridiculous, over-the-top Christmas decorations that make it clear that the people who live there actually live there, instead of just showering and sleeping there after a long day of workouts and game tape and ice time.
Since we got back from Aspen a couple days ago, we’ve fallen back into our pre-holidays routine of coming home together, cuddling, and watching movies—including lots of Hallmark romances.
The only change from before Christmas is that Maddie now sleeps next to me. In my bed.
Well, our bed.
After all those nights in Aspen, sleeping next to each other, why go back to sleeping separately when we are, indeed, man and wife? Especially given how magical that last night at the cabin was. How much I was able to express to her without having to say anything at all… It was perfect.
She was perfect.
And I want her next to me every night so that I can touch her, hold her, kiss her until she’s breathless.
We haven’t really discussed what happens next. When Mike called me on Boxing Day, it was to let me know that he’d set up a meeting between Roger and me for this afternoon. He was cryptic with the details, but insisted that I’d want to be present for it.
I have no idea what he’s going to say, but I do know that whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that I want to be with Maddie.
I love being her husband, paperwork or no paperwork—this marriage is no longer about anything but her to me.
I grin, lost in memories of Maddie and me in the kitchen last night, making dinner together but mostly making out. The chicken we ended up eating was bone dry, but neither of us cared about that at all.
“Dude.” Colton Perez gives me a little shove. “You’re up.”
I look over to see my teammate inclining his head at a red-faced Coach Torres screaming from across the ice.
“Slater! You get hard of hearing over Christmas or what?” Coach bellows.
“Sorry, Coach!” I call back, still feeling sunny as all hell as I get into position for the shooting drill.
The coach’s whistle blows, and I shoot forward, skates slicing across the ice, puck dancing against my stick. My eyes flick to Lars’ backup goalie, Randy Allen, and I attempt to read his body language as I gain on him. I zero in on the net’s corners, and I take the shot, reveling in the satisfying thud the puck makes against my stick before it sails in a beautiful line of precision right at its target, evading Allen and hitting the back of the net neatly.
“Nice shot, Slater,” Coach grumbles. “Almost makes up for you being in La La Land today. Almost.”
I’m still on top of the world when we skate off the ice at the end of practice. Tomorrow night, we’re facing the Tampa Storm, here at home, and I’m feeling pretty optimistic that we can beat them if we keep playing the way we have been at the last couple practices. Although, to be honest, I’m pretty optimistic in general these days. Hard not to be with Maddie in my life.
Tonight, I’m taking her to a little sushi place in West Midtown that I found a few months back. Apparently, she loves the stuff, but Adam hated it so she hasn’t been on a sushi date since… well, ever.
I’m more than happy to change that. And then take her home afterwards.
The team pours into the locker room and it’s quickly filled with a cacophony of laughing and teasing and banter as the guys all grab their stuff and head for the showers. Meanwhile, I’m rooting through my gym bag for my phone before I bother to shed any of my gear.
My grin stretches wide when I see that she’s texted.
Stef gave me free rein with today’s lunch menu, so steak tacos are up. I plan to make up for that dreadful dry chicken we ate for dinner yesterday.
I settle down on a bench and start typing out a text back to her. Flirty, of course, because I like to imagine her down the hallway, blushing in the kitchen.
I dunno. I’d say you more than made up for that last night 😉
Sebastian Slater! This is a workplace. Am I going to have to call HR on you?
Sure. You can tell Adrienne about how skilled I am, both on and off the ice.
*GIF of Jake Peralta saying “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now”*
*GIF of Jake Peralta saying “I love your face and I love your butt”
SEB!
Oh, please, you know you love the NSFW comments.
You’re right. I really, really do.
I laugh out loud. This woman…
The fact that she can get behind my ridiculously suggestive banter is just a plus on top of a million pluses that make up Madelyn.
I’m typing out a response when a throat clears above my head. Loudly.
I look up to see a towel-clad Malachi Holmes staring down at me with a dark eyebrow raised. I’m still sitting on the bench in full gear, giggling at my phone like a pre-teen girl. And only then do I notice that the locker room is totally empty—the guys have clearly all traipsed off to the showers already.
The captain folds his arms. “Slater—or at least, I think you’re still Sebastian Slater, I’m not convinced that your body hasn’t been invaded by aliens and I’m speaking to one of Earth’s new overlords… What is going on with you today? And yesterday too, for that matter? It’s like you came back from the Christmas break a whole new person.”
I shoot Mal a sheepish smile. “Well, Captain, it’s that… I think I might have accidentally fallen in love with my wife.”
After a huge feed of steak tacos, wild rice, guacamole, and the ever-present sautéed veggies, I tell Maddie that I’m heading out and I’ll pick her up for our date as soon as her shift ends. It’s actually now turned into a double date, seeing as a gleeful Mal invited himself and Chantal along because he wants to “witness this for himself.”
Luckily, Maddie loved the idea.
I give her a quick kiss goodbye. Then, it’s time to see Roger.
It’s a pleasant day, and I drive with the windows down, breathing in the winter breeze. As much as I love snow and ice, that’s one thing about non-Canadian winters that I have to appreciate—not freezing your tail off every time you step out of your house.
I follow my GPS to the shiny law offices on Peachtree Street, and pull into the underground parking lot. I’m making my way to the elevator when someone behind me calls my name.
Expecting a hockey fan looking for a photo, I turn around with a warm smile. Instead, I’m totally thrown to see Richard Grainger striding towards me. He’s wearing a three-piece suit and has a leather briefcase in his hand. Which is a very different look from the fuzzy and expensive, various-shades-of-gray cashmere sweaters he donned over Christmas, always paired with pressed slacks and an ever-present snowman mug that smelled of hot cocoa and some sort of liquor.
“Richard. Hello,” I say warmly. No matter my wife’s family’s eccentricities, I still want to be polite when it comes to her parents. Unless her mother’s insulting her or her choice in a husband, of course.
“What a surprise.” He extends his hand and gives mine a hearty shake. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“My new lawyer works in this building,” I tell him.
“Let me guess…” Richard says, pointing a finger at me. “Mitch Goldman? Or Roger Delaney?”
I’m surprised—this is a huge firm. But I nod and say, “Yeah, Roger.”
Something flickers across Richard’s expression, but he steps into the elevator before I can tell what it is. He presses the button for Floor 21. “You’re going to want to get off here, then.”
“Thanks. How do you know Roger?” I inquire.
“I’m a senior partner at the firm he works at.” I love that he emphasizes that he’s a partner, whereas Roger is merely working there.
“Wow. Small world.”
“Yes. As we spoke about at Christmas, myself and Paul do criminal defense law, whereas Roger works in immigration law. Specializing in representing professional athletes…” Richard’s glinting brown eyes roam over me shrewdly. “Mitch is the only other pro-athlete specialist we have, but he works more with brand deals. Not immigration.” He pauses for a beat. “I believe Alicia mentioned you’re Canadian?”
I give a nod, resisting the urge to shrink back from his steady gaze. “Roger’s helping me sort out some stuff with my green card, as well as my contract for the Cyclones.”
“Ah.” For some reason, this response feels loaded and the atmosphere in the elevator suddenly becomes a touch suffocating.
Finally, the doors open and we step into an opulent, marble-floored lobby, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows with city views that put the ones in my apartment to shame. The office is literally buzzing with activity as well-dressed people move to and fro, and phones trill noisily. And yet, the silence between Richard and me feels almost painful.
“Well. It was good to see you, son.” For some reason, the way he says this makes me bristle. But I guess I literally am this man’s son-in-law. “Take care.”
“You too.”
Mr. Grainger shakes my hand once more and marches on his way. I stare at his retreating figure for a moment, feeling like I’ve somehow said too much.
Richard and I didn’t spend a lot of time alone at the cabin. In fact, I hardly remember having a single conversation with him, and only him. I assumed that Maddie’s mother would be the difficult parent to deal with given how blatantly and shamelessly she would put down her own daughter. But something in Richard’s demeanor—the keen, sly look in his dark eyes—has put me right on edge.
I don’t have much time to dwell on this, though, because as soon as I inform the secretary that I’m here to see Roger, he immediately escorts me into a lavish office. The bushy-browed man is seated behind a behemoth pinewood desk littered with piles of paperwork, waiting for me with the same stern expression I remember from the last time I met him.
“Mr. Slater. I trust that you spent a merry holiday season.” His mouth twitches upwards at the corner, but I definitely wouldn’t call it a smile. I open my mouth to respond—confirm his not-a-question—when he dives right down to business. “Your paperwork has been filed, and we are moving onto the next step in the process.”
I blink in full surprise. “Wow. Already?”
Roger tsks as he rearranges some of the mess on his desk. “Yes. Someone high up in the immigration office must enjoy your hockey or something because you’ve been given an interview appointment for your green card.” He gives me a pointed look. “The joint interview.”
“Oh. Sure.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling my unease radiating around the room.
The lawyer props his elbows on the desk and peers at me. “In this interview, you will need to convince a USCIS officer that you and Ms. Grainger are man and wife.”
“Which we are,” I say.
Roger nods stiffly. “Which you are.” He then shoots me a look that says a whole lot with absolutely no words. “But if the officer gets a hint of a whiff of a rat, I should warn you that the repercussions are… severe. Separate interviews, further questioning, possible fraud charges…”
He trails off, his watery eyes locked on my face. Meanwhile, my jaw sets. I see what he’s getting at here: he’s not sure he believes me, but he obviously can’t come out and say that, so he’s trying to make sure that I’m aware of how badly this could go.
“I understand,” I say.
He pauses for a long beat. “You’re sure it’s worth it, Mr. Slater?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately. “And, by the way, my wife goes by Mrs. Slater now.”
“Okay.” Roger frowns. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make both you and Mrs. Slater aware that there may be another option…”
