Page 40 of Power Play

fifteen

. . .

Al

I scored a fucking hat trick. I haven’t managed three goals in a game in the last year and a half. And today, with my kid and my wife in the stands, I was able to score three times. If this is what having my family in attendance will do for me, I need them to show up to every game from now on.

Early-2000s emo music rocks the dressing room as we cool down, shower, and change. The guys are rowdy, pumped up after our win, laughing and joking. I much prefer when the room is like this than the somber air after a loss. Lewis and Henry are dancing like they’re in a two-person mosh pit, and Easton is scream-singing to Simple Plan. I’m buoyant like Elphaba, like nothing can drag me down.

“Gonzo, MacGregor, Logan!” Coach calls before I can whip off my shirt. “Media!”

Okay, that might do it.

I salute him before following my teammates to the room where the team holds post-game press conferences. Some reporters will be let into the dressing room for a sound bite, but the formal question-and-answer session is for the full press pool.

I don’t particularly enjoy talking to reporters, but I can hold my own… mostly. My agent put me through media training when I first got into the league, and after a few years of doing this, I’ve got it handled, more or less.

“Gonzo, tell us about your game,” asks the hockey writer for the Boston Union. “What was different about tonight?”

“Having my family in the stands, cheering me on,” I say honestly. “Seeing them during pregame warm-ups lit a fire under my skates. I think I was showing off a little for them.”

Forcing a laugh, I’m gratified when I get a few chuckles in return.

“Sounds like your family will need to be at every game from now on,” he says.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I scratch at my beard with my left hand.

A shout goes through the room. One of the indie blog writers stands up.

“Gonzo, is that a wedding ring?”

I glance at my hand in confusion. “Yes?”

“When did you get married? Who is she?”

Thankfully, my agent prepared a script for me. “My wife enjoys her privacy, and I won’t be going into details of our relationship. We were married at the start of the season, and I am incredibly lucky to wake up each day knowing I get to spend the rest of my life with her.”

At least for the rest of the next year or two, until Emmy is officially mine and enough time has passed that nobody can comment on our quick divorce.

He opens his mouth, but another reporter beats him to the punch, asking Logan about his diving save in the second and subsequent absence for most of the third period.

Coach catches my eye, and he nods, pleased. A warm glow settles over me at his approval. We survived round one of the inquisition. Now, it’s only a matter of how many more.

As the press conference wraps up, we’re dismissed back to the dressing room. I waste no time in stripping down and hopping into the shower. By the time I’m dressed in my suit and out the door to the friends and family suite, I’m late—very late.

The suite is starting to empty as guys retrieve their families. I catch sight of Larsson with Leo and Vanessa, and Easton is giving his kid a piggyback ride.

Riley has her back to me, and I stop in my tracks. She’s wearing my name and number. Holy fuck is that hot. Hopped up on adrenaline from the game, my cock twitches, and I inhale sharply at the endorphins careening through my system.

I cannot act on this attraction to my wife. No. It’s not going to happen.

She turns, and I catch sight of Emmy in her arms. My little princess is crying, soft, snuffling sobs that tug at my heart.

Crossing the room, I set my hand on Riley’s back, and she jumps.

“Hey,” she says, swaying with the baby. “Good game.”

“Thanks.” I duck down, kissing her cheek, and her skin heats beneath my lips. “How was the view up here?”