That's amazing! See? My sandwich-making skills are clearly helping.
Sloane
You might be right about that.
I'm about to set my phone down when another message comes through.
Sloane
I'm going to celebrate by swimming in your tub. This thing is massive. Pretty sure I could fit a dolphin in here.
The image hits me like a punch to the gut. Sloane, in my tub. Naked. Water sliding over her skin, her curls piled on top of her head, her hand resting on her stomach where our babies are growing.
“Fucker? You good?"
I look up to find Alder watching me with amusement.
"Yeah. Fine."
Alder punches me in the arm. "Oh man. You've got it bad."
"Shut up."
“Talk to her. When you get back. Tell her you want more than roommates."
I stare at my phone, at Sloane's messages. At the proof that she's comfortable in my space, in my life.
I want her. God, I want her so badly it's hard to breathe.
But first, I have to get through this game. Have to survive three periods on the ice with Josh Grentley, who hates me.
I can do this. I can keep my head in the game, focus on hockey, not think about Sloane in my tub.
Except I'm absolutely going to be thinking about Sloane in my tub.
"T-Stag!" Coach Thompson's voice booms through the locker room. "You with us?"
"Yes, Coach."
"Good. Because I need you sharp tonight. Chicago's bringing heavy hitters, and Mayhem's already nursing a shoulder injury. You're my primary enforcer. Don't let me down."
"I won't."
I send one last text to Brian and Uncle Tim. I need an update on the parental leave policy, and the players’ union is dragging their ass.
Then I start suiting up, piece by piece. Shin guards. Pants. Shoulder pads. Each piece of equipment is familiar and comforting. This is what I know. This is what I'm good at.
Protecting people. Fighting when necessary. Being the guy who makes sure his teammates can play without fear.
But tonight, there's an extra layer of complication. Because Josh Grentley is one of those teammates. And I'm supposed to protect him, too.
Even though he hates me.
Even though the woman I love used to be his wife.
Love feels like the wrong word, but I can’t figure out another one. Not when I need to get my head in the game.
I lace up my skates and stand, testing my weight. Everything feels right. Solid. Ready.
