He groans against me as his tongue sweeps against my lips, and I allow him entry, deepening the kiss. It stokes the rising flame in my belly, and I sigh into him. Until someone jostles us.
“Get a fuckin’ room,” my brother grumbles, elbowing Griffin. “I don’t need to see this shit.”
Chuckling, Griffin turns to Maddy with one raised eyebrow. “You want me to get a room with your sister? Damn. You were always a solid wingman, but I never thought you’d be encouraging me to fuck your sister.”
My cheeks are hot and no doubt bright pink as the people around us laugh, having heard all of that. Luckily, Isla is there to put a hand on my brother’s chest and softly remind him that he can’t start a fight with his brother-in-law in the locker room. Especially not with the press outside.
“Speaking of press,” Maddox says with a sigh, “we need to go answer a few questions.” He levels Griffin with a pointed look. “And you know they’re going to want to talk to you. Let’s go get this over with so we can celebrate.”
The guys grumble but move toward the press room. None of them love giving post-game interviews, but they just won the first game of the playoffs. There’s no getting out of it.
“Drive with me to the bar after?” Griffin asks me softly. His eyes are full of hope and vulnerability.
“Of course. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Watching Griffin walk out of the friends and family room with the rest of the guys makes my chest physically ache. He’s not wearing his jersey anymore, but I can still see the phantomGravesstitched there. A very public declaration that he will do whatever it takes to make me happy, including taking my name.
Suddenly, all the excuses I’ve been making about needing more time to get myself in a better place feel flimsy and hollow. What was it that Griffin said when he proposed to me that night after flying back to the Twin Cities alone because I’d left without him? Something about how he’d been waiting for the perfect time to propose, but love isn’t about perfection. That it’s about choice and commitment and putting someone else before yourself?
I’m an idiot.
While working on my issues is important and necessary, it could take meyearsto feel like I’ve really gotten a handle on them. I may never feel that way. So what, I’m just supposed to lock myself away and live a half-life without love or commitment or risk in the meantime? I’m supposed to look my husband—my best friend in the world—in the eye and tell him I’m not perfect enough yet to love him?
Griffin has never once asked for my perfection. Not once. So why would I think he’d ask for it in this?
No, all these barriers between us have been laid, brick by brick, entirely by me. And it’s time I tear them down.
Heart hammering in my chest, I turn to Lexi and ask, “Do you know someone who can get me into the press room? It’s important.”
My friend grins. “My dad may not be the coach anymore, but I still have some connections. Come on.”
“No way are you leaving me behind,” Isla says, grabbing my hand. “I have a feeling I won’t want to miss this.”
We trail behind Lexi, who taps a man wearing a Rogues polo on the shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear. My heartbeat picks up speed.
Isla’s right. She definitely won’t want to miss this.
fifty
GRIFFIN
The press roomis full to bursting.
“What are you going to tell them when they ask about the name change?” Bash asks me under his breath so none of the reporters can hear.
I shrug. “I’m gonna tell them the truth.”
“You’re going to tell them you and Mira are married? Is she cool with that?” My friend’s dark brows dip and furrow. He’s been nothing but supportive, letting me stay with him, listening to me talk about Mira every second of the day, and doing his best to help me come up with ways to win my wife back.
When I told him I was going to change the name on the back of my jersey to hers, he worried it could backfire spectacularly. All along, Mira has been the one who wanted to keep our marriage a secret, and if I made such a public gesture—one that would be real damn hard to misconstrue—I could make her feel backed into a corner in a big way and undo all the progress I’ve made. I told him he wasn’t wrong, but once the idea popped into my head, there was no ignoring it.
“I’m going to tell them the truth.”
Bash’s smile is grim. “I hope this works.”
“Me too, man. Me too.” If it doesn’t? If he’s right and this backfires? Well, fuck, I don’t know what I’ll do. But as the last of the Rogues players and staff take their seats behind the microphones at the long table and the noise in the room grows, I don’t have time to dwell on my worry.
These sharks can scent fear and weakness, so I won’t show them any.
