"There's more," Brian says, “because of course your family is involved.”
He flicks to videos of my brothers and cousins, all Brian’s clients. My cousin Wyatt, who doesn’t even play sports in this country, stares into the camera in one video and says, “I am a soccer player, always, but I’m a man, too. And real men show up for their family.”
Alder, Gunnar, Wes… even my Uncle Hawk all made videos about the importance of being human. Of caring for family.
The videos have millions of views. Comments from other athletes, celebrities, regular people all echoing the same sentiment.
Brian swipes again.
More videos. More articles. More support.
"The entire world is Team Tucker," Brian says simply. "It's everywhere. Sports media, mainstream news, social media.People are calling for boycotts of Fury games until the league implements family leave policies."
I stare at the tablet, not quite processing. "I didn't ask for this."
“I know,” Brian says. "But it happened anyway. And Tucker? It's working."
"What do you mean?"
Brian grins and shakes his head. “Other guys are staying back with their sick partners and newborn babies. And I’ve got diaper companies calling me day and night, wanting your smug face on their packages. You’re a freaking poster child, and not for shitty condoms.”
My brain can't quite catch up. "What?"
Brian smiles. "You're rich as hell, you’re a trend setter, and after the kids are born, you get two entire weeks of leave. That’s really unprecedented, kid.”
"Two weeks?" It's not much, but it's something. I haven’t been home for two consecutive weeks in-season since I was four years old. I look at the tablet again, at all the support, all the attention. "Sloane is going to hate this."
Brian ruffles my hair. “The whole world is watching you choose this woman and your babies. You’re a heartthrob, and she’s a role model. She’ll be okay.”
Brian rushes away, shouting something about getting my signature later. And then it’s just … business as usual. I warm up, skate with the guys, and listen to Coach critique my form.
Grentley tips a nod at me like an eagle passing by. I shower, and I go home.
I find Sloane in bed, closing her laptop, looking tired but satisfied.
"How was class?" I ask.
"Good." She stretches carefully. "I think I can actually pull off finishing this semester."
"Of course you can." I sit on the edge of the bed. "You're brilliant."
"I don't know about brilliant, but I'm stubborn." She smiles. "It helps."
I kiss her and she lets me, and for a minute I forget about therest of the world. But a sharp kick between our bodies reminds me of what I wanted to tell her. “So, have you been online lately?”
She snorts. “I’m stuck in bed full time. Yes, babe. I’ve been online.”
I pull back, surprised. “You’re not upset?”
She scoffs. “At my man being called a hero and an inspiration? No. I am not upset about that.” She pulls up her phone to a video of a bunch of dudes in college jerseys saying they didn’t think they could be dads AND hockey players. “It’s really hot, Tucker.”
“Mmm. Not too hot, though. We can’t do hot right now.”
She grins and tilts her head up to kiss me. It's soft, sweet, full of promise.
"I love you," she says when we break apart.
"I love you too." I settle her back against the pillows. "Now rest. Before I get hotter.”
